Elendor
High Pass: Who's for dinner?
Once again, the Gondorian visitors receive a suitable welcome. This time, there's a surprise for the hosts
Sort Date: no date set
Location: High Pass, Western Face
Game Date: Feb 3049
IC Time: Evening/early night
Description: High Pass, Western Face
The path here twists and turns about a dangerous drop. Clouds of mist loom both above and below. The footing on this blanketed and icy ascent is tricky at best. The pathway leading down forks to the north into a small canyon, while it also continues westward. Above you to the east, the worst of the climb remains.
The icy sleet beats the mountains and all who dare venture out into this weather. It is very difficult to keep a footing in the wet snow on this dark winter night. The early night winter air is icy and stinging. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing gibbous phase.
Obvious exits:
North leads to High Pass, Mountain Path.
West leads to High Pass, Twisting Trail.
Ascend leads to High Pass, Summit.
===== +MTIME =================================================================
IC Time: Early Night on Sterday, Day 5 of February. The moon is not visible
Current Balrog Mood: Low Simmer. Tread with caution!
==============================================================================
It's better than snow, but not by much: An icy rain is drenching the mountainside as the sun sets, leaving the travelers here cold to the bone and wet, to boot. A guard has been set up, of course, but then all members of the small group are likely on alert.
Menelglir, a Squire, is up and about again, the few days of rest and healing under the elf's care having done him a world of good, so that the young man is at least fit to resume their journey again. At the moment, he is bent over a small fire made under the protection of the overhang of a tent.
Somewhere above, the sound of rock being dislodged is barely audible above the crackling of sleet. A few pebbles skip down the rock-face and lie in the slushy snow.
Frost sticks to the short beard that has grown on Gwendion's cheeks. Wrapped in furs originally brought for furs, he slips under the protection of the tent, coughing out words in a hoarse voice, "It is impossible to see or hear anything beyond my face."
As the sun's last rays fade, the denizens of the Mountains come forth to claim the land they call their own. News of the fall of a Morghash Tetrak has spread, and many the orc seeks to confirm the rumours - if true, the prize of armour and weapons awaits the bold. A dozen or so of the creatures, lesser ones for the most part, slink their way along the slope, relying on the icy rain for cover.
The sound of the pebble dislodging is followed by a sudden warning hiss - mere wind? Or is it a voice? The yellow eyes of the creature known as Barzhaat gleam briefly in the dimness as they turn toward the source of the movement.
WHile the tent is guarded by Menelglir, Elladan is standing further uphill, leaning against the rocky face of a nearby cliff. Warily he eyes the icy trail that ascends to the Pass but the wind drives even more sleet down the mountains so anyone's vision is soon lost after a dozen yards.
From where he tends the small fire under the tent overhang, Menelglir looks up at the knight, frowning at the man and then at the driving sleet. "Will we even face the threat of an attack in this weather? The mountain, it seems, fights us."
Menelglir lights campfire.
From the other side of the pass, something squeaks in reply to the wind-induced (of course) hissing. It sounds even apologetic. And then it quiets, at least below the driving, freezing rain.
"An attack?" Gwendion casts his look towards Elladan, "Surely, we are the only fools that brave this path this day?"
Elladan's tall figure is wrapped in his grey elven cloak and the icy rain even contributes to make him blend into the rocky landscape as if he was a mere spire, a part of the mountain. But below the soaked cloth there is steel and even finer metal hidden. If any would brave the path tonight, they would surely come past this unobtrusive sentinel.
The scrawny orc that goes by the name of Barzhaat does not appear mollified by the squeaking, for dirty fangs are bared in response. But there are voices in the wind ... the goblin crouches down in the lee of a rock and squints downslope, then reaches round to its back for a short curved bow and something else - a small pouch. Thin clawlike fingers paw through the contents.
"Where is he?" Menelglir asks, standing now and peering into the rain besides Gwendion. "Keeping the orcs off of us, he said, but I don't see him. At least not in this rain."
To the north, down one of the forks in the path leading into a canyon, there is slush pooling on the hard stone floor. And then a great foot steps forward into the slush, parting it fiercely. The great orc grunts once and then turns its head to look back at its war party issuing forth from a cave, a small group of hand-picked scouts and bodyguards. They are still lost in shadow and out of sight around the bend of the path north as they muster, the sound of freeing of weapons lost in the weather.
"I saw him," Gwendion's eyes again seek out the form of the Elven Lord, but as his eyes scan the path, he shakes his head, "But I cannot now. Perhaps he circled back once more."
The squeaking, fleshy-faced orc stares sullenly across the pass, then peers into a bag at his belt. A stack of small javelins is still there -- good. He smiles hideously.
Below the grey hood, a pair of eyes moves northward for a second, then back to the opposing slope of the canyon. Something seems to stir unrest within Elladan but he stands still as the rain runs down his figure. Only his hand moves towards the hilt of his sword.
There is suddenly a whistling, higher pitched than normal. But then it is gone as quickly as it had come. Just the wind between rocks...
Up on the northeastern slope, Barzhaat crouches in the meagre protection of that lump of rock, busy with what one close enough might identify as flint and tinder. A few fumblings, and then the creature looks up to shake a fist at the sky above, its thin lips parting to utter a hissing curse. "Skai!" So much for silence.
Giving up on the quest for flame, the orc instead pulls a black-fletched arrow from the quiver slung at its back and fits it to the bow. The driving sleet makes it hard for even dark-adapted eyes to see, but few could miss the sight of a campfire.
"What was that?" Menelglir steps out from the protection of the tent's overhang, hand on his sword hilt, searching futility for the source of the high pitched whistling.
"What was what?" Gwendion asks, reaching into the tent for his shield, "Elladan perhaps? The wind?"
BOOM BOOM BOOM boom boom BOOM!
The avalanche must be out of sight, but the sound of great boulders and rocks letting go and falling down the slope into the abyss is unmistakable.
Gwendion's head glances up towards the thunderous rumble above, "Not the wind! To the wall!" He dashes towards the wall of the pass, covering his head as he can with his shield.
Menelglir's question is answered by another also. Barzhaat's breath is drawn in as the black curved bow is pulled slowly back, the wood and sinew creaking softly in protest. A moment she pauses, squinting through the ice toward the campfire, perhaps debating her target: but then comes the great booming and the arrow is released willy-nilly, to go where it may.
The orc clutches the bow as she twists this way and that, seeking the source of the avalanche. Stone and ice can crush goblin and human alike ...
You fire off an arrow at Gwendion...
Your arrow hits Gwendion, lightly wounding him!
Menelglir, too, ducks into the tent, grabbing for his shield before he follows at a run after Gwendion, drawing his sword as he runs.
A clod of snow hits the javelin-wielding orc over the head, and he scrapes it off, chattering angrily.
Magua grins at the whistle and then the avalanche. He looks back over his shoulder to his fellow orcs, his disgusting fangs flashing and nods to them. " Ready boys! It's time to get on and get us some man-flesh! You smell that elf? Leave leaf-ears to me!" With that, he starts forward towards the bend in the path that leads to the mountain pass trail.
"Garg!" Gwendion shouts as the arrow strikes true in his side. "Cursed beasts!"
"Menelglir, it is an attack! Stay by my side!"
And to the wind he calls, "Attack! Bows!" As he readies his shield towards the direction of that the arrow struck.
A quick step aside brings Elladan under the bulge of the cliff. He peers down at the tent at the ensuing confusion but there is a sound uphill on the other side of the ravine that draws his attention. "Seek cover," he calls in Westron and pulls forth his longbow to counter what foes may come down upon them.
Elladan wields an elven longbow of fine making.
Gunk follows close behind Magua, keeping one eye on their prey and the other on his fellows, lest one of them get the jump on him. " Save some of Leaf-ear for me. Thems good eatins."
The sun sets in the west, darkness falls and with it hope seems to plummet as the uruk attack begins. Yet even as it does, hope rises from the east - light appears, bobbing swiftly towards the scene. A patrol of Beorning folk, shielding their torches against the sleet, make their way swiftly towards the unfortunate Gondorians, "This way! Hope we are not too late!" One cries.
Another stands among them, not speaking. As the Beornings sprint towards the faltering campfire he pauses a second, surveying the scene with keen gray eyes. Then, fixing a dark helm over his face, Imladech makes his way to aid the humans.
Imladech fits a black dragon-helm to his head.
Magua issues forth onto the main mountain trail and snarls, challenging any and all to face him as he hefts his great battle axe, ready for battle. Sighting the camp of the Men of Gondor, he narrows his eyes and charges.
Blocks and snow fall around Gwendion as he crouches low against the wall. A quick glance at his wound and the arrow still lodged in his side produces a gutteral curse from between clenched teeth. A scarlet splotch begins to form at his feet.
Lesser orcs are, oftentimes, cowards. Barzhaat has no intention of going closer to the light-lowers and their weapons just yet, not with others to do that for her. Instead she twists around, seeking the source of the avalanche ... it is thus that she catches sight of the Beorning torches. "Curse the filthy light-lovers!" she hisses, pulling another arrow hastily from her quiver. Then, as she draws the bow back, her thin lips curve in a smile. "Keep those torches bright, my lads!" Lovingly she looses towards the new threat ...
Long distance to Imladech: Barzhaat is straight newbie, so shouldn't do much damage ) Ok, CS then
You fire off an arrow at Imladech...
Your arrow flies wide of Imladech, doing no harm.
Menelglir needs no urging to stay by the Knight's side. He rushes toward the man, flattening himself against the low wall, falling into a crouch, shield raised for protection. "Are you hurt badly?" he asks Gwendion, breathless. He peers around his shield, ducking at the falling ice and rocks. "More lights? What is this? Who are they?" he asks, looking toward the arriving Beornings.
From his relative shelter, Elladan points an arrow at the dark creatures that charge down the hill. There is a great one wielding an axe, a valid target even under such conditions of sleet and rain. The bow sings and a present from the fletchers of Rivendell is sent to Magua!
Elladan launches an arrow...
Elladan's bowshot hits Magua, moderately wounding him.
Snow and stone falling from the sky do not startle Gunk. Only the hunger in his belly and the warm meat ahead drive his thoughts. Hefting the war hammer in his hands, he orc starts to wheeze from the effort and battle has not even been joined yet. " Hey, Gothshaka. You m'kay?"
Magua's charge is not missed by the Knight and he draws his sword, calling behind to his squire, "Save your breath, they are upon us. Easy prey for our blades," he lies.
He stands, tall and proud, clears what snow and ice he can from his feet and prepares to meet what onslaught approaches.
Gwendion wields Bruncrist.
Behind Gwendion, Menelglir nods. Sword drawn, he steps forward, expression grim as he looks to meet the oncoming orcs, seeking an opponent.
The Beornings arrive with a rush of woodland fury, crashing to the encampment and on towards the oncoming uruk. Imladech is among them, his pale features hidden behind an eery black helm sporting a dragon raging on its crest. The tall stranger snarls as an arrow flies past him, locking bright eyes on the archer - Barzhaat. He sprints towards her, reading his hammer with easy grace.
Magua snarls at the arrow that just dug into his thigh. He reaches down and closes his powerful hand around the shaft and pulls hard!
Magua carefully removes an arrow from himself...
Magua yowls, but then grins as blood drips out of the wound and he tosses aside the arrow.
Stunned surprise flashes on Gwendion's face as the Beornings arrive. He looks to his squire, 'I hope they are fighting for us and not over who gets us as dinner.'
Smile becomes snarl as none of the shapes hurrying downslope from the east falls to a black-fletched orcish arrow. Barzhaat curses softly, and slings the curved bow round to her back. She tries to scramble away as she draws a jagged long-knife in its place.
The sleet is no friend to any, however, and its treachery lies all about. One clawed foot slips in the icy murk and her 'retreat' ends as an ungainly slide onto her rear, leaving her wide open and vulnerable to that hammer-wielder ...
Unwielded: Bow
COMBAT - Wielded: Scimitar
You forego your chance to attack.
A brief laughter breaks from Elladan's lips as his arrow strikes true. But then he slings the bow over his shoulder to make way for his blade - too many orcs are seemingly spilling down the slope. With a bright flash, Nallaklaure springs forth from its sheath as the elf takes a defensive stance.
Elladan lowers his longbow.
Elladan draws his fell sword Nallaklaure ringing from its scabbard
Dug in and ready for battle, Gwendion holds his sword out, counting the enemies when a group of icy boulders of snow comes crushing down upon him, knocking him to the ground where he lays, unmoving.
Magua resumes his charge, hobbling this time on his one good leg. Swinging his great battle axe in a wide arc, the orc finds one of the Beornings just arriving!
Magua attacks Imladech with his Battle Axe and lightly wounds him!
Menelglir has managed to step out of the way of the boulders, but now he drops to his knees to check on Gwendion and make sure the Knight is alive. Reassured, he hurries to stand up and stand in front of the fallen man, guarding him against the oncoming attack.
Torches burn furiously against the sleet, flame driven hither and thither by the the wind casting dark shadows. Imladech makes his way up the slope as swiftly as possible, intent on Barzhaat until suddenly another blade strikes from the darkness, carving a neat but not too worrying slice through his armour. Checking his charge, the human strikes angrily out into the night, hammer swinging heavily towards Magua.
Imladech attacks Magua with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.
Charging past Magua as the huge war captain draws the arrow from its sheeth of flesh and tissue, Gunk raises his war hammer. Sighting Menelglir taking a stand over his dinner, the orc hurls himself forward and swings!
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but he misses by a hair.
The Squire's eyes widen in fear at the sudden onrush of the hunk of flesh that is Gunk, but he holds his ground. Menelglir twists out of the way of the attack, hacking down with his sword at the orc, trying to cut into its side.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Imladech misses badly and Magua grunts with pleasure as he hacks at the shoulder of the extended Man. In tortured Westron, he calls out, "You'll be over me fire this night! I'll feed yer heart to me spawnlings!"
Magua attacks Imladech with his Battle Axe and severely wounds him!
Gunk's swing misses cleaning, leaving himself open to Menelglir's counter. The blade hits the orc's exposed mail. Though unbloodied, Gunk howls in pain as ribs cleaning break under his flesh. Pulling away, he raises his hammer for a blow straight down at the squire. " Awwww, what you doing that for!"
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but Menelglir parries the attack with his Longsword!
Barzhaat's yellow eyes widen as a battle-axe flashes past her - but she takes advantage of the moment to roll over and then to her feet. Her lips pull back from her dirty fangs as she glances round what has now become a battlefield, long-knife at the ready. Alas, between Beornings and southern humans she is spoilt for targets. Decisions, decisions ...
"Not if we feed you to the ravens first!" This call comes from Elladan as he leaps towards the great orc. A slash is aimed at Magua's back just as the wind blows back the hood from Elladan's head, revealing his face in the dim light of campfire and Beorning torches.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.
Steel clangs on steel and the Squire's arm shakes with the impact as he uses his sword to ward off Gunt's blow, but he lets his sword come down the length of the axe blade, trying to use the momentum to strike a blow where the orc's head meets its neck.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Now Magua's bitter axe finds its mark, and sinks in deep with cruel anger. Imladech screams despite himself, stumbling back on the mountain as crimson blood flowers from his shoulder and chest where the axe sinks in. A hand remains gripping his hammer, but the apparent-beorning falls on his back unceremoniously, unable to gather his strength yet.
Barzhaat's nostrils twitch as a newcomer assails the orcish captain, one smelling decidedly different from the rest. Hissing, she spins round and sends her longknife out in a wide slashing arc, aiming for the back of Elladan's legs.
You attack Elladan with your Scimitar...
Elladan dodges your attack.
Magua grunts with effort as he pulls free his axe. Noting well the scent of the Half-elf fresh in the air, he pivots on his good leg and swings horizontally at Elladan!
The orc ducks in surprise as Menelglir's blade almost takes his head from his shoulders. Backing away and grunting as each step jostles his broken ribs, Gunk raises his war hammer over his head and swings it in a wild display of prowess.
" Man, why you hurt Gunk! I's hungry! I's cold. I's miserable. GET OUTTA I's WAY!"
Imladech struggles again to his feet, blood running freely down his arm and torso, freezing brightly in the snow beneath. For half a second he leans on his hammer in pain, unable to do more.
"" Elladan calls at the bleeding human right next to Magua just as the orcish warleader evades his strike. And noting the she-orc in his back, he attempts a quick stab backwards with his blade.
Elladan attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 41 hp's by Elladan's attack...
...you have 42 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
Whatever the orc has said to him, Menelglir does not understand, but he still growls in a sudden fury. "" But he holds his place in guarding Gwendion, not taking the orc's taunt as excuse to leave his post.
Gunk is wheezing even harder now, his war hammer getting heavier in his hands with every passing moment. There is weariness in his eyes and his shoulder slump with fatigue. But, Gwendion remains a hot meal ... behind Menelglir. Take a step at a time, the orc trudges forward and raises his hammer for a blow. " Get outta I's way or finish I's."
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.
Sometimes, back-stabbing receives its just reward. Barzhaat's quick, dancing movements take her past Elladan just as his blade sings out: the longsword cleaves her filthy leather tunic as though it were butter and bites deep into her side beneath, sending a spray of black blood to tarnish his cloak. The she-orc tumbles groundward with a wordless gurgle, her feet skidding on the icy ground beneath so that her final resting-place is a few feet away. There she lies, her clawed fingers still clutching the longknife even in unconsciousness.
Magua watches his war party and calls out in a great voice of command, " Pull back, get back into the cave, we'll regroup and counterattack!" Then the chieftain takes a hack at Elladan as a diversion.
Magua attacks Elladan with his Battle Axe and mildly wounds him!
If Imladech hears the strange words of the Half-elf, there is no recognition on his helm-covered features, nor does he even turn towards him. Strangely, though, his head turns as Menelglir speaks. The battle continues though, and Imladech joins it again. His hammer swings in a high arc towards Magua!
Imladech attacks Magua with his War Hammer, but Magua parries the attack with his Battle Axe!
The orc's slow approach gives Menelglir time to prepare for the attack. He easily steps out of the way and swings another blow in return, this at the orc's arm.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword and terribly wounds him!
As the big axe swings at him, Elladan tilts his body within a moment but still the blade scratches his cheek, leaving a crimson trail. And the response comes at once as the elf wields his blade in an upward arc against Magua.
Menelglir's blade cuts to the bone. Orc blood sprays from the gaping wound. Already starving and now bleeding profusely, Gunk sinks to his knees and then falls foward, his nose cracking on the frozen ground.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Barzhaat is in no condition to respond to Magua's order, whether it is heard or no. Her breathing rasps, but she lies still.
Neither are orcs known for their comradeship. But that longknife she still clutches is precious, as is the rent leather tunic. A fellow uruk tugs futilely at the knife-hilt, but fails to release it from her grasp. Then, with a snarl, he starts to drag the prone orc backwards like a sack of grain - or perhaps a gutted deer would be more appropriate. In her wake a sticky trail of black blood stains the half-frozen ground.
His war party falling apart, Magua waves at his remaining minions to fall back. Just then, a hammer swings his way and he parries it before dodging a longsword from the leaf-ear. He snarls and gets clear to begin his retreat!
Magua tries to flee from Elladan, but he fails!
As the battle thins swiftly, Imladech does not pursue. He leans for long moments on his hammer, in pain. Then at length he adjusts his helm to be sure it is covering his face, and begins to move away from the battle. But blood still flows happily from his wound.
Again the Squire does not move to finish off the fallen Gunk, or perhaps he thinks the bleeding orc already dead. He stays, still, by Gwendion, sword dripping blood on what remains of the white snow in this sleet. Under his helm, the rain runs down his face, dark hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks.
Gunk, ignored by the Menelglir, takes the oppurtunity to crawl away back to the orcs' cavern lair.
The immediate threat gone, Menelglir doubles over to catch his breath and likely, from the look on his face, also in sudden pain from his only recently healed wound. There are others with hurts to heal, though, and the Squire says nothing, but grunts as he struggles to pull Gwendion back toward the meager fire.
Elladan's blade cuts through rain and air only but what goes up must come down and so Nallaklaure is falling towards the great orc's shoulder now. Elladan's eyes seem to flash from within with bitter hate as he fights this villain.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Magua grins as he ducks, but really didn't need to do so in the first place. He decides he's going to fight it out as he chops at Elladan's arm with glee.
Magua attacks Elladan with his Battle Axe and lightly wounds him!
Imladech moves slowly away from the campfire, stumbling as he goes. At last one of the Beorning finds him collapsed some distance away in the snow and brings him back. "No, not here." The human murmurs in Westron, his accent strange and foreign. Though - perhaps in this camp alone - not so foreign. He is placed among the wounded for treatment.
And again the axe bites into elven flesh - but Elladan does not care. Stepping sidewards he attempts to hit Magua's neck with a powerful chop. "Utulie'n aure," he cries in anger, the old warcry of an age long gone by.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Magua is stabbed with pain and he squints. Hocking up a big one, he spits green phlegm at the light lover and then rains orcish curses at him as he attempts to flee!
"Yes, fly back to the pit whence you came or I would have your head put on stake on the Pass," yells Elladan at the fleeing orc. But then he sheathes his swords and turns back to what is left of the campsite. The wounded have to be tended to.
The path here twists and turns about a dangerous drop. Clouds of mist loom both above and below. The footing on this blanketed and icy ascent is tricky at best. The pathway leading down forks to the north into a small canyon, while it also continues westward. Above you to the east, the worst of the climb remains.
The icy sleet beats the mountains and all who dare venture out into this weather. It is very difficult to keep a footing in the wet snow on this dark winter night. The early night winter air is icy and stinging. The moon is above the horizon and in its waxing gibbous phase.
Obvious exits:
North leads to High Pass, Mountain Path.
West leads to High Pass, Twisting Trail.
Ascend leads to High Pass, Summit.
===== +MTIME =================================================================
IC Time: Early Night on Sterday, Day 5 of February. The moon is not visible
Current Balrog Mood: Low Simmer. Tread with caution!
==============================================================================
It's better than snow, but not by much: An icy rain is drenching the mountainside as the sun sets, leaving the travelers here cold to the bone and wet, to boot. A guard has been set up, of course, but then all members of the small group are likely on alert.
Menelglir, a Squire, is up and about again, the few days of rest and healing under the elf's care having done him a world of good, so that the young man is at least fit to resume their journey again. At the moment, he is bent over a small fire made under the protection of the overhang of a tent.
Somewhere above, the sound of rock being dislodged is barely audible above the crackling of sleet. A few pebbles skip down the rock-face and lie in the slushy snow.
Frost sticks to the short beard that has grown on Gwendion's cheeks. Wrapped in furs originally brought for furs, he slips under the protection of the tent, coughing out words in a hoarse voice, "It is impossible to see or hear anything beyond my face."
As the sun's last rays fade, the denizens of the Mountains come forth to claim the land they call their own. News of the fall of a Morghash Tetrak has spread, and many the orc seeks to confirm the rumours - if true, the prize of armour and weapons awaits the bold. A dozen or so of the creatures, lesser ones for the most part, slink their way along the slope, relying on the icy rain for cover.
The sound of the pebble dislodging is followed by a sudden warning hiss - mere wind? Or is it a voice? The yellow eyes of the creature known as Barzhaat gleam briefly in the dimness as they turn toward the source of the movement.
WHile the tent is guarded by Menelglir, Elladan is standing further uphill, leaning against the rocky face of a nearby cliff. Warily he eyes the icy trail that ascends to the Pass but the wind drives even more sleet down the mountains so anyone's vision is soon lost after a dozen yards.
From where he tends the small fire under the tent overhang, Menelglir looks up at the knight, frowning at the man and then at the driving sleet. "Will we even face the threat of an attack in this weather? The mountain, it seems, fights us."
Menelglir lights campfire.
From the other side of the pass, something squeaks in reply to the wind-induced (of course) hissing. It sounds even apologetic. And then it quiets, at least below the driving, freezing rain.
"An attack?" Gwendion casts his look towards Elladan, "Surely, we are the only fools that brave this path this day?"
Elladan's tall figure is wrapped in his grey elven cloak and the icy rain even contributes to make him blend into the rocky landscape as if he was a mere spire, a part of the mountain. But below the soaked cloth there is steel and even finer metal hidden. If any would brave the path tonight, they would surely come past this unobtrusive sentinel.
The scrawny orc that goes by the name of Barzhaat does not appear mollified by the squeaking, for dirty fangs are bared in response. But there are voices in the wind ... the goblin crouches down in the lee of a rock and squints downslope, then reaches round to its back for a short curved bow and something else - a small pouch. Thin clawlike fingers paw through the contents.
"Where is he?" Menelglir asks, standing now and peering into the rain besides Gwendion. "Keeping the orcs off of us, he said, but I don't see him. At least not in this rain."
To the north, down one of the forks in the path leading into a canyon, there is slush pooling on the hard stone floor. And then a great foot steps forward into the slush, parting it fiercely. The great orc grunts once and then turns its head to look back at its war party issuing forth from a cave, a small group of hand-picked scouts and bodyguards. They are still lost in shadow and out of sight around the bend of the path north as they muster, the sound of freeing of weapons lost in the weather.
"I saw him," Gwendion's eyes again seek out the form of the Elven Lord, but as his eyes scan the path, he shakes his head, "But I cannot now. Perhaps he circled back once more."
The squeaking, fleshy-faced orc stares sullenly across the pass, then peers into a bag at his belt. A stack of small javelins is still there -- good. He smiles hideously.
Below the grey hood, a pair of eyes moves northward for a second, then back to the opposing slope of the canyon. Something seems to stir unrest within Elladan but he stands still as the rain runs down his figure. Only his hand moves towards the hilt of his sword.
There is suddenly a whistling, higher pitched than normal. But then it is gone as quickly as it had come. Just the wind between rocks...
Up on the northeastern slope, Barzhaat crouches in the meagre protection of that lump of rock, busy with what one close enough might identify as flint and tinder. A few fumblings, and then the creature looks up to shake a fist at the sky above, its thin lips parting to utter a hissing curse. "Skai!" So much for silence.
Giving up on the quest for flame, the orc instead pulls a black-fletched arrow from the quiver slung at its back and fits it to the bow. The driving sleet makes it hard for even dark-adapted eyes to see, but few could miss the sight of a campfire.
"What was that?" Menelglir steps out from the protection of the tent's overhang, hand on his sword hilt, searching futility for the source of the high pitched whistling.
"What was what?" Gwendion asks, reaching into the tent for his shield, "Elladan perhaps? The wind?"
BOOM BOOM BOOM boom boom BOOM!
The avalanche must be out of sight, but the sound of great boulders and rocks letting go and falling down the slope into the abyss is unmistakable.
Gwendion's head glances up towards the thunderous rumble above, "Not the wind! To the wall!" He dashes towards the wall of the pass, covering his head as he can with his shield.
Menelglir's question is answered by another also. Barzhaat's breath is drawn in as the black curved bow is pulled slowly back, the wood and sinew creaking softly in protest. A moment she pauses, squinting through the ice toward the campfire, perhaps debating her target: but then comes the great booming and the arrow is released willy-nilly, to go where it may.
The orc clutches the bow as she twists this way and that, seeking the source of the avalanche. Stone and ice can crush goblin and human alike ...
You fire off an arrow at Gwendion...
Your arrow hits Gwendion, lightly wounding him!
Menelglir, too, ducks into the tent, grabbing for his shield before he follows at a run after Gwendion, drawing his sword as he runs.
A clod of snow hits the javelin-wielding orc over the head, and he scrapes it off, chattering angrily.
Magua grins at the whistle and then the avalanche. He looks back over his shoulder to his fellow orcs, his disgusting fangs flashing and nods to them. "
"Garg!" Gwendion shouts as the arrow strikes true in his side. "Cursed beasts!"
"Menelglir, it is an attack! Stay by my side!"
And to the wind he calls, "Attack! Bows!" As he readies his shield towards the direction of that the arrow struck.
A quick step aside brings Elladan under the bulge of the cliff. He peers down at the tent at the ensuing confusion but there is a sound uphill on the other side of the ravine that draws his attention. "Seek cover," he calls in Westron and pulls forth his longbow to counter what foes may come down upon them.
Elladan wields an elven longbow of fine making.
Gunk follows close behind Magua, keeping one eye on their prey and the other on his fellows, lest one of them get the jump on him. "
The sun sets in the west, darkness falls and with it hope seems to plummet as the uruk attack begins. Yet even as it does, hope rises from the east - light appears, bobbing swiftly towards the scene. A patrol of Beorning folk, shielding their torches against the sleet, make their way swiftly towards the unfortunate Gondorians, "This way! Hope we are not too late!" One cries.
Another stands among them, not speaking. As the Beornings sprint towards the faltering campfire he pauses a second, surveying the scene with keen gray eyes. Then, fixing a dark helm over his face, Imladech makes his way to aid the humans.
Imladech fits a black dragon-helm to his head.
Magua issues forth onto the main mountain trail and snarls, challenging any and all to face him as he hefts his great battle axe, ready for battle. Sighting the camp of the Men of Gondor, he narrows his eyes and charges.
Blocks and snow fall around Gwendion as he crouches low against the wall. A quick glance at his wound and the arrow still lodged in his side produces a gutteral curse from between clenched teeth. A scarlet splotch begins to form at his feet.
Lesser orcs are, oftentimes, cowards. Barzhaat has no intention of going closer to the light-lowers and their weapons just yet, not with others to do that for her. Instead she twists around, seeking the source of the avalanche ... it is thus that she catches sight of the Beorning torches. "Curse the filthy light-lovers!" she hisses, pulling another arrow hastily from her quiver. Then, as she draws the bow back, her thin lips curve in a smile. "Keep those torches bright, my lads!" Lovingly she looses towards the new threat ...
Long distance to Imladech: Barzhaat is straight newbie, so shouldn't do much damage ) Ok, CS then
You fire off an arrow at Imladech...
Your arrow flies wide of Imladech, doing no harm.
Menelglir needs no urging to stay by the Knight's side. He rushes toward the man, flattening himself against the low wall, falling into a crouch, shield raised for protection. "Are you hurt badly?" he asks Gwendion, breathless. He peers around his shield, ducking at the falling ice and rocks. "More lights? What is this? Who are they?" he asks, looking toward the arriving Beornings.
From his relative shelter, Elladan points an arrow at the dark creatures that charge down the hill. There is a great one wielding an axe, a valid target even under such conditions of sleet and rain. The bow sings and a present from the fletchers of Rivendell is sent to Magua!
Elladan launches an arrow...
Elladan's bowshot hits Magua, moderately wounding him.
Snow and stone falling from the sky do not startle Gunk. Only the hunger in his belly and the warm meat ahead drive his thoughts. Hefting the war hammer in his hands, he orc starts to wheeze from the effort and battle has not even been joined yet. "
Magua's charge is not missed by the Knight and he draws his sword, calling behind to his squire, "Save your breath, they are upon us. Easy prey for our blades," he lies.
He stands, tall and proud, clears what snow and ice he can from his feet and prepares to meet what onslaught approaches.
Gwendion wields Bruncrist.
Behind Gwendion, Menelglir nods. Sword drawn, he steps forward, expression grim as he looks to meet the oncoming orcs, seeking an opponent.
The Beornings arrive with a rush of woodland fury, crashing to the encampment and on towards the oncoming uruk. Imladech is among them, his pale features hidden behind an eery black helm sporting a dragon raging on its crest. The tall stranger snarls as an arrow flies past him, locking bright eyes on the archer - Barzhaat. He sprints towards her, reading his hammer with easy grace.
Magua snarls at the arrow that just dug into his thigh. He reaches down and closes his powerful hand around the shaft and pulls hard!
Magua carefully removes an arrow from himself...
Magua yowls, but then grins as blood drips out of the wound and he tosses aside the arrow.
Stunned surprise flashes on Gwendion's face as the Beornings arrive. He looks to his squire, 'I hope they are fighting for us and not over who gets us as dinner.'
Smile becomes snarl as none of the shapes hurrying downslope from the east falls to a black-fletched orcish arrow. Barzhaat curses softly, and slings the curved bow round to her back. She tries to scramble away as she draws a jagged long-knife in its place.
The sleet is no friend to any, however, and its treachery lies all about. One clawed foot slips in the icy murk and her 'retreat' ends as an ungainly slide onto her rear, leaving her wide open and vulnerable to that hammer-wielder ...
Unwielded: Bow
COMBAT - Wielded: Scimitar
You forego your chance to attack.
A brief laughter breaks from Elladan's lips as his arrow strikes true. But then he slings the bow over his shoulder to make way for his blade - too many orcs are seemingly spilling down the slope. With a bright flash, Nallaklaure springs forth from its sheath as the elf takes a defensive stance.
Elladan lowers his longbow.
Elladan draws his fell sword Nallaklaure ringing from its scabbard
Dug in and ready for battle, Gwendion holds his sword out, counting the enemies when a group of icy boulders of snow comes crushing down upon him, knocking him to the ground where he lays, unmoving.
Magua resumes his charge, hobbling this time on his one good leg. Swinging his great battle axe in a wide arc, the orc finds one of the Beornings just arriving!
Magua attacks Imladech with his Battle Axe and lightly wounds him!
Menelglir has managed to step out of the way of the boulders, but now he drops to his knees to check on Gwendion and make sure the Knight is alive. Reassured, he hurries to stand up and stand in front of the fallen man, guarding him against the oncoming attack.
Torches burn furiously against the sleet, flame driven hither and thither by the the wind casting dark shadows. Imladech makes his way up the slope as swiftly as possible, intent on Barzhaat until suddenly another blade strikes from the darkness, carving a neat but not too worrying slice through his armour. Checking his charge, the human strikes angrily out into the night, hammer swinging heavily towards Magua.
Imladech attacks Magua with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.
Charging past Magua as the huge war captain draws the arrow from its sheeth of flesh and tissue, Gunk raises his war hammer. Sighting Menelglir taking a stand over his dinner, the orc hurls himself forward and swings!
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but he misses by a hair.
The Squire's eyes widen in fear at the sudden onrush of the hunk of flesh that is Gunk, but he holds his ground. Menelglir twists out of the way of the attack, hacking down with his sword at the orc, trying to cut into its side.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Imladech misses badly and Magua grunts with pleasure as he hacks at the shoulder of the extended Man. In tortured Westron, he calls out, "You'll be over me fire this night! I'll feed yer heart to me spawnlings!"
Magua attacks Imladech with his Battle Axe and severely wounds him!
Gunk's swing misses cleaning, leaving himself open to Menelglir's counter. The blade hits the orc's exposed mail. Though unbloodied, Gunk howls in pain as ribs cleaning break under his flesh. Pulling away, he raises his hammer for a blow straight down at the squire. "
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but Menelglir parries the attack with his Longsword!
Barzhaat's yellow eyes widen as a battle-axe flashes past her - but she takes advantage of the moment to roll over and then to her feet. Her lips pull back from her dirty fangs as she glances round what has now become a battlefield, long-knife at the ready. Alas, between Beornings and southern humans she is spoilt for targets. Decisions, decisions ...
"Not if we feed you to the ravens first!" This call comes from Elladan as he leaps towards the great orc. A slash is aimed at Magua's back just as the wind blows back the hood from Elladan's head, revealing his face in the dim light of campfire and Beorning torches.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.
Steel clangs on steel and the Squire's arm shakes with the impact as he uses his sword to ward off Gunt's blow, but he lets his sword come down the length of the axe blade, trying to use the momentum to strike a blow where the orc's head meets its neck.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Now Magua's bitter axe finds its mark, and sinks in deep with cruel anger. Imladech screams despite himself, stumbling back on the mountain as crimson blood flowers from his shoulder and chest where the axe sinks in. A hand remains gripping his hammer, but the apparent-beorning falls on his back unceremoniously, unable to gather his strength yet.
Barzhaat's nostrils twitch as a newcomer assails the orcish captain, one smelling decidedly different from the rest. Hissing, she spins round and sends her longknife out in a wide slashing arc, aiming for the back of Elladan's legs.
You attack Elladan with your Scimitar...
Elladan dodges your attack.
Magua grunts with effort as he pulls free his axe. Noting well the scent of the Half-elf fresh in the air, he pivots on his good leg and swings horizontally at Elladan!
The orc ducks in surprise as Menelglir's blade almost takes his head from his shoulders. Backing away and grunting as each step jostles his broken ribs, Gunk raises his war hammer over his head and swings it in a wild display of prowess.
"
Imladech struggles again to his feet, blood running freely down his arm and torso, freezing brightly in the snow beneath. For half a second he leans on his hammer in pain, unable to do more.
"
Elladan attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
ARB: You've been injured for 41 hp's by Elladan's attack...
...you have 42 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.
Whatever the orc has said to him, Menelglir does not understand, but he still growls in a sudden fury. "
Gunk is wheezing even harder now, his war hammer getting heavier in his hands with every passing moment. There is weariness in his eyes and his shoulder slump with fatigue. But, Gwendion remains a hot meal ... behind Menelglir. Take a step at a time, the orc trudges forward and raises his hammer for a blow. "
Gunk attacks Menelglir with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.
Sometimes, back-stabbing receives its just reward. Barzhaat's quick, dancing movements take her past Elladan just as his blade sings out: the longsword cleaves her filthy leather tunic as though it were butter and bites deep into her side beneath, sending a spray of black blood to tarnish his cloak. The she-orc tumbles groundward with a wordless gurgle, her feet skidding on the icy ground beneath so that her final resting-place is a few feet away. There she lies, her clawed fingers still clutching the longknife even in unconsciousness.
Magua watches his war party and calls out in a great voice of command, "
Magua attacks Elladan with his Battle Axe and mildly wounds him!
If Imladech hears the strange words of the Half-elf, there is no recognition on his helm-covered features, nor does he even turn towards him. Strangely, though, his head turns as Menelglir speaks. The battle continues though, and Imladech joins it again. His hammer swings in a high arc towards Magua!
Imladech attacks Magua with his War Hammer, but Magua parries the attack with his Battle Axe!
The orc's slow approach gives Menelglir time to prepare for the attack. He easily steps out of the way and swings another blow in return, this at the orc's arm.
Menelglir attacks Gunk with his Longsword and terribly wounds him!
As the big axe swings at him, Elladan tilts his body within a moment but still the blade scratches his cheek, leaving a crimson trail. And the response comes at once as the elf wields his blade in an upward arc against Magua.
Menelglir's blade cuts to the bone. Orc blood sprays from the gaping wound. Already starving and now bleeding profusely, Gunk sinks to his knees and then falls foward, his nose cracking on the frozen ground.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Barzhaat is in no condition to respond to Magua's order, whether it is heard or no. Her breathing rasps, but she lies still.
Neither are orcs known for their comradeship. But that longknife she still clutches is precious, as is the rent leather tunic. A fellow uruk tugs futilely at the knife-hilt, but fails to release it from her grasp. Then, with a snarl, he starts to drag the prone orc backwards like a sack of grain - or perhaps a gutted deer would be more appropriate. In her wake a sticky trail of black blood stains the half-frozen ground.
His war party falling apart, Magua waves at his remaining minions to fall back. Just then, a hammer swings his way and he parries it before dodging a longsword from the leaf-ear. He snarls and gets clear to begin his retreat!
Magua tries to flee from Elladan, but he fails!
As the battle thins swiftly, Imladech does not pursue. He leans for long moments on his hammer, in pain. Then at length he adjusts his helm to be sure it is covering his face, and begins to move away from the battle. But blood still flows happily from his wound.
Again the Squire does not move to finish off the fallen Gunk, or perhaps he thinks the bleeding orc already dead. He stays, still, by Gwendion, sword dripping blood on what remains of the white snow in this sleet. Under his helm, the rain runs down his face, dark hair sticking to his forehead and cheeks.
Gunk, ignored by the Menelglir, takes the oppurtunity to crawl away back to the orcs' cavern lair.
The immediate threat gone, Menelglir doubles over to catch his breath and likely, from the look on his face, also in sudden pain from his only recently healed wound. There are others with hurts to heal, though, and the Squire says nothing, but grunts as he struggles to pull Gwendion back toward the meager fire.
Elladan's blade cuts through rain and air only but what goes up must come down and so Nallaklaure is falling towards the great orc's shoulder now. Elladan's eyes seem to flash from within with bitter hate as he fights this villain.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Magua grins as he ducks, but really didn't need to do so in the first place. He decides he's going to fight it out as he chops at Elladan's arm with glee.
Magua attacks Elladan with his Battle Axe and lightly wounds him!
Imladech moves slowly away from the campfire, stumbling as he goes. At last one of the Beorning finds him collapsed some distance away in the snow and brings him back. "No, not here." The human murmurs in Westron, his accent strange and foreign. Though - perhaps in this camp alone - not so foreign. He is placed among the wounded for treatment.
And again the axe bites into elven flesh - but Elladan does not care. Stepping sidewards he attempts to hit Magua's neck with a powerful chop. "Utulie'n aure," he cries in anger, the old warcry of an age long gone by.
Elladan attacks Magua with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Magua is stabbed with pain and he squints. Hocking up a big one, he spits green phlegm at the light lover and then rains orcish curses at him as he attempts to flee!
"Yes, fly back to the pit whence you came or I would have your head put on stake on the Pass," yells Elladan at the fleeing orc. But then he sheathes his swords and turns back to what is left of the campsite. The wounded have to be tended to.
Players: Menelglir, Gwendion, Nurenhir, Barzhaat, Elladan, Magua, Gunk, Imladech
