Forest Edge Skirmish

Eastern Edge of Mirkwood
The edge of the forest curves to the north east and south west here. The plains to the east are non descript, while the forest rests thick and impassible to the west. The air of autumn is chilly, and there is a small breeze shimmering at the leaves at the edge of the trees. The sun shines fully here, while the entrance to the comforting darkness of the forest to the west is defended by razor sharp thorn bushes which are as densely packed as the leaves on the trees.

Snow falls from the clousd blotting out the mid afternoon sun and sky, slowly making their way to the place where they rest on the muddy and partially snow-covered forest floor.

Contents:
Thranduil
Mara
Uruk Camp
Drikh
Elowen
Grishnákh
Obvious exits:
SouthWest and NorthEast

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:
Mid Afternoon on Highday, Day 14 of October.
Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 20:31:23 MDT on Sat Dec 26 2009.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The tall trees of Mirkwood cast their shadow across the plains that come up to meet the forest. These lands are fertile, but empty against the evil of the Wood, the river winds its way south and back into the east, draining the Long Lake.

It is along this plain that the Elves of Mirkwood march, both spears and bows at the ready, silent and watchful, keeping not to the shade of the wood, but rather in the bright sunlight, their greens and browns blending, to some extent, with the tall grasses, though it could hardly be called concealment.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 A good amount of activity can be seen a couple miles to the south of the elves. These creatures keep to the darkness of the wood where possible, unlike the silent elves. But this camp has already been half emptied. For Grishnakh is on the hunt. Leading a band of somewhere around one hundred orcs, all running due north along the edge of shadow.
 
 Over these flat plains it isn't hard to see and the orcs pound towards the elves. Most try to keep under the trees, but there are those among them, Grishnakh included, who fear not the sun and run out from the shade.

[Combat(#13388)] Thranduil wields Longbow.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
At the first sight of the on-rushing orcs, a short, shrill whistle goes up from amongst the elves. Their advance stops, and their spears lower to the ground, the spearmen among them bending to one knee, while others stand tall and draw back their great bows.

The King is among them, his green and brown cloak flying open as he draws back his own bow, for it does not take him long to spy the orcish Captain. His own arrow is the first to fly from amongst the elves, but it is followed swiftly with a volley that slices through the air, towards the bulk of the orcs in the shadow.

Thranduil launches an arrow...
Thranduil's bowshot hits Grishnakh, badly wounding him.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The mightier Uruk-hai may thunder along heedless of the baleful stare of the sun overhead, but the smaller orc, Bagaglok is not one of these larger breeds the faint flash of red can be seen briefly as the hunched form of the Shaman plods against the line of the trees, the tattered cloak catching stray rays of Anor that manage to pierce the gloom of Mirkwood. Though he is separated by a number of other goblins, Bagaglok maintains a fairly steady pace nigh the Vorazg--but again, the light of day is more difficult for him to travel under.

A leather shield is strung on one arm, and the other is hidden in the scarlet garb.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 The commander is stopped in full run by an object travelling far faster than he. The sickening crunch of bone is heard as Grishnakh tumbles to the earth. Rolling several yards the big orc is nearly trampeled by his own men. As the first wave of arrows rolls through, more than a couple others are afflicted by the same problem.
 
 Several black clad uruk-hai do stop, forming around the commander, shields high. Grishnakh stops tumbling and lands on his back, gasping, an arrow half protruding from his left shoulder. His armor is rent, but the barb did not pierce his rear side.

[Grishnákh(#22300)] The rest of the orcs swiftly close ground on the elves.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The Elven arrows fly once more, the second volley being loosed just as the first slice through the charging horde. The King's, however, is a moment later, for the Captain is obscured by the aid he receives from his guard. It is towards one of these that the Elf-King's second arrow flies.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
And as the elven volley cuts through the air, it seems a combination of clumsiness and blind luck manages to save the trailing Malkog for even as one of the darts speeds forward, the elf-king's barb strikes its target, and Bagaglok promptly trips over the fallen form of the Vorazg--just as another arrow whizzes past the spot where he had been standing moments prior. A muttered curse comes.

Carefully keeping the right claw smothered in the depths of the dark cloak, the shield bearing hand reaches up hesitantly. "Cursed pointy-eared toothpicks!" Without waiting further, the Shaman takes the left claw and quickly tears the arrow loose from Grishnakh's shoulder Bagaglok's eyes narrow slightly in a wince, realizing it would have been better perhaps to ask or at least warn the commander before taking the initiative. A nervous glance is yielded to the Black Guard, and then he moves to rise to his feet.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 Grishnakh's half concious eyes stir open in one pain filled moment. The arrow shreds even worse on the way out. A feral howl breaks his lips. He blinks twice at the shaman and grinds his teeth. Without a single word to the shaman, Grishnakh sheds his shield and roars an order. The orcs in front of him move forward, larger shields blocking, and the commander lunges forward again, blood oozing from his brutal wound.

[Combat(#13388)] Drikh puts on Metal Shield.
[Combat(#13388)] Drikh puts on Metal Helmet.
[Combat(#13388)] Drikh slips a black ring mail tunic over his head.
[Combat(#13388)] Drikh wields Maul Hammer.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
All the while the distance between the two forces dwindles, and as the other orcs renew the charge, so does Bagaglok stumble upright to follow in the wake of the shielded uruk-hai their advancing line serves as perfect cover from the rain of death hailing from the north.

The commander's lack of response, while bringing slight relief to an already tension-filled situation, is mirrored by the Shaman. The yellow gaze narrows again, this time seemingly occupied with searching for something or someone. But the same row of Black Guard which provides shelter, simultaneously obscurs the view ahead. Hissing in annoyance at his lack of height compared to the larger goblins, Bagaglok curses once more, and now the right claw emerges from the red cloak clutching a small vial of somesort. The contents are difficult to discern in the passing shade of the trees, but it glints every now and then in a sickly green hue.

[<#5440>]
The King's third arrow flies on the heels of the second, again aiming at one of the Captain's protectors, as the orcs draw nearer, the elven arrows grow deadlier, no longer shot in arcs to strike wantonly among the charging orcs, they fly straight and true, the grim-faced firstborn taking aim at the heads of the twisted creatures before them.

"" a cry goes up, as the spears rise from the ground, forming a line, three elves deep, between onrushing orcs and archers.

At this, the King's bow is passed to a page, and he strides forward, drawing out his blade, to stand at the fore of the charge. 'To the last!', he answers the call in the common tongue, his voice thundering across the field with all the fury of the elven darts, 'You shall all fall here, to the last!'

[Drikh(#31337)] The skirmish seems in full, grand swing now. uruk's litter the ground, Grishnakh and his lackeys move upwards towards the bowmen, and the Shaman work their own way into the fray. It would seem this a dark day for the Forces of The Eye.

The Eye, however, is all knowing.

Orcish trumpets blare from the south, heralding the pounding of perhaps a dozen sets of boots. The foliage breaks, ripped down by the hacking of Uruk-hai, and Uruks. The banner's are of Minas Morgul, and more specifically, The Ushataar Krimpatul. "I am Drikh! I am Norikh reborn! Taste death at my hand!" The lead Uruk-hai roars, howling afterwards as his ranks break into three columns, all of which fan out to charge the fairies, breaking off as each uruk-hai and uruk finds a playmate.

As his unit breaks from him, the massive hammer is pulled from his back, before the lumbering Uruk-hai bursts into motion, heading towards the circle of black guard surrounding the Vorazg.

[Combat(#13388)] Thranduil smoothly draws the ancient blade Endumegil from its scabbard.

[<#22300>]
 The orcs fall swiftly under the onslaught. But many more still remain. Not to mention the horn that just began blaring and the renewed activity 3 miles south. Grishnakh sweats hard as he runs, a wheeze on his breath. The scimitar is unsheathed now though and he grunts at Bagaglok, " The one I go for: Your target." The ranks break in front of him and the king is in sight. The crimson eyes narrow and the fangs drip saliva. The vorazg has eyes for only one.

[Elowen(#24844)]
Elowen is in the second row of the three and the other elves are shouting around her. Her eyes are cool as she pulls an arrow from her quiver and fits it against her bowstring.

[Combat(#13388)] Elowen wields Longbow.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
Even as the elves brace against the force of the charge, their long spears held forth against the charge, the King himself leaps forward into the fray, as soon as the uruk ranks clear the path to Grishnakh, it is Endumegil, his blade, that fills their gap.

Gripping the blade with both hands, and holding it on high, Thranduil slashes downwards, hard, towards the uruk-hai Captain.

Thranduil attacks Grishnakh with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Drikh continues his charge with a roar as he meets up with Grishnakh's group, just as that strike from the elf meets the Vorazg. Bloodshot eyes narrow for but a moment, before Drikh leaves Grishnakh to his fate, as he run his eyes through the elven ranks, spotting a female who knocks an arrow. "Your blood is mine...Might let you live awhile." He snarls as he bursts into movement, hoping to close the gap before the female elf can get a shot off.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 The orc commander's wounded shoulder is in grave danger of being destroyed. Luckily the orc is able to dip and allow the blade to slide down corded bicep. Still, it gets beneath to leather pad and draws blood and Grishnakh's sweat pours anew. The few black guard around them get to work attempting to draw all others away.
 
 The vorazg grunts and flashes a look of pure hatred at Thranduil. As he dips, he side steps right, planting his foot and pushing forward. The scimitar trails, low. Snapping his muscles, the beast launches the blade, it's trajectory raising to bowel height as it sweeps across.

[Elowen(#24844)]
Elowen's cool gaze searches among the orcs and latches at last upon Drikh as he charges her.

She runs backwards through the grasses as elves bearing spears turn their weapons toward him. Her hand opens the arrow flies.

Grishnakh attacks Thranduil with his Scimitar, but he misses by a handspan.

Elowen launches an arrow...
Elowen's bowshot hits Drikh, badly wounding him.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
A quick nod is given to Grishnakh as the Black Speech is uttered, and the Shaman draws backward a little as the ranks part in front. The vial is raised to his mouth, sharp fangs ripping the stopper out. Then, ere stowing the stained container away, the brackish liquid is unceremoniously poured downward to meet the curved tip of a dark scimitar that takes residence in one claw. Chaos reigns all about, and it is quickly taken advantage of as the red-garbed orc edges through the fray, his path slowly but steadily bearing him toward the dueling Vorazg and Thranduil.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 Still, after the arrow fire, the orcs' ranks were thinned. Only the arrival of Drikh and the Ushataar Krimpatul bring the numbers to at least similar. One hundred more warriors begin a run from the south, heeding the call of the horns, but still far away. Perhaps too far....

[Drikh(#31337)] There is little time before the arrow finds a chink in the rings of his shoulder, the adjustment as the Uruk-hai moves from dark to light being the oppertune moment of injury. Snarling, Drikh rips the bolt from his shoulder and pursues the bow wielding menace. As she moves to hide behind the spear wielders, a wild swing of his maul hammer bats spears enough to break through the small line, to close the distance to Elowen. "Now you die RIGHT away!" he roars, swinging his maul hammer up and over his head, to grasp it with both hands before bringing the massive weapon down, intending on crushing the elvish woman.Drikh attacks Elowen with his Maul Hammer and badly wounds her!

[Combat Function Library(#15)] Elowen's bow is knocked out of her hand!

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The elf-king's focus is fixed on Grishnakh, but his long strides bring him crashing past the uruk-captain, and out of the reach of the scimitir's thrust. He too plants a foot hard against the soft dirt. It is his left, as he twists back to the right, and lunges back towards Grishnakh, now facing his own line of spears, the King is fully amongst the horde of orcs.

Thranduil attacks Grishnakh with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

[Elowen(#24844)]
Elowen continues running backward and starts to turn when the hammer blow falls. The meaty sound of the weapon crushing through her armor is underscored by the snap of bones in her shoulder. She falls to her knees with a scream of pain and her bow falls to the ground. She doesn't even turn to face Drikh, scrambling away despite the King's order not to fall back.

[Combat(#13388)]
Elowen dodges aside Drikh, and manages to escape!

Elowen follows the edge of the forest to the north east.
Elowen has left.

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 Ilidhosh slaps around, swiping nothing but air in the parry attempt. The stabbing blow strikes him midrift, The clang of metal is heard and this time the blade does not penetrate.

A swivel and the blade skims past, but the wheezing increases. Still, with the dance turning them about, Grishnakh does not waste an opportunity. Grinding teeth he launches himself forward. Two steps, trying to run past the blade and he sweeps it in. He is close though, and pushing forward hard. Blade lined up center mass, vertical strike.

Grishnakh attacks Thranduil with his Scimitar, but he misses by a mile.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Closer and closer Bagaglok prowls, stooped more than usual as he attempts to keep lower to the ground. The coated blade is held at an angle to prevent stray beams of sunlight from glinting off its surface. There is naught but pure hatred and malice that is conveyed from the Shaman's glare which remains fixed upon the high elven king not far ahead. A quick glance is spared to the surroundings, the look lingering a moment longer on the row of spear-wielding elves behind Thranduil. A hesitation as if calculating the odds of the distance and the speed of the Quendi's reactions, and then Bagaglok creeps onward, coming still from the side toward the elf-lord's left flank. The scimitar is poised to strike, and the green substance drips upon the deadening grass of early autumn.

Drikh roars in victory as the crumple sack of elf wussiness crawls away from his burly uruk-hai self. "Yes, Run elf witch...Pray for mercy!" Drikh breaths in the air of dominance

Elowen's departure grants him, before turning to swing his ample shafted hammer to clear himself from the Elvish spearmen, rushing pack towards Grishnakh.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The Elf is swift, his right foot pivots, and he spins around it, the vertical strike finding only air, and beneath that grass, and earth. The King's blade spins wildly, around, a warning to any orcs bold enough to interrupt this combat.

Finding no targets behind him, the spin continues, the blade swinging through a full circle, its long edge aimed squarely for the orc's neck, slicing upwards from the King's hip.

Thranduil attacks Grishnakh with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Indeed, there may be no targets behind the elf-king, but beside him on the otherhand...

The whirl of steely death causes Bagaglok to pause for a second, and he crouches lower still, determindely resuming his path forward. But the dueling pair has succeeded in clearing the immediate vacinity, and so far it seems the Shaman's advance has gone unnoticed.

And as Thranduil moves to strike again, so too does the smaller orc finally spring, sealing the gap with a single bound. Out stabs to poisoned blade--for it is indeed such a horrid concoction that adorns it--toward the elf's midsection. No words accompany this motion only a vicious snarl comes from parted lips and fangs.

You attack Thranduil with your Scimitar...
Thranduil parries your attack with his Longsword!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 The duck comes swift enough to save his life at least. The elf lord's blade connects solidly, but the mithril on his head spares him a death sentence. Still the ring of metal is resounding and Grishnakh's eyes cross momentarily. he staggers backwards, falling more towards the line of elves. He is stained in black ichor and coated in sweat. The eyes burn into Thranduil, rage burning. he takes a step forward, blade held defensively, eyes darting.

[Drikh(#31337)] The swing of Thranduil's blade brings Drikh into range, the hammer is lifted for the swing, even as the lithe little bugger parries Bagaglok as if without trying. The distraction may be enough. With a viscious roar, Drikh brings the hammer down, looking to end the Elf.

Drikh attacks Thranduil with his Maul Hammer and mildly wounds him!

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The Elf King is struck in his flank from behind, as he plants his feet once again, facing Grishnakh. Giving this first foe a pause, however, he twists backwards, his blade gripped firmly now in his left hand, he twists back towards Drikh and his own lines, whipping the sword towards this new attacker with a vicious backhand.

Thranduil attacks Drikh with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 As the blade leaves the elf's side, bloody Grishnakh leaps forward. He runs past the elf king, towards the orcs hacking and spinning as he runs. The scimitar slides through the air in downward chop at Thranduil's side as the orc spins past, rear aligning with his own, starting to back away.

Grishnakh attacks Thranduil with his Scimitar and lightly wounds him!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 Horns erupt from the south. Reinforcements are closing fast that would more than double the orc's forces. Over half of the original force is destroyed though. Over a quarter of an alreay depleted army too far from home. Far more orcs than elves litter the blood soaked ground on this wretched field. Overhead, the birds begin to gather, coal eyes seeking death with hunger, crying loudly in the breeze.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The snarl intensifies as the scimitar misses, but then a new distraction surfaces in the form of the other uruk-hai, Drikh thank the Eye, for his attempt remains unacknowledged, despite failing to connect. Hardly deterred however, Bagaglok slips to the right as Grishnakh attacks. With the rear and one flank occupied, the Shaman steps forward again, gaze squinting through the daylight as he peers upward toward Thranduil's other side. A flash of jade lightening: the dripping blade comes slicing up anew, this time aimed for the king's lower leg.

You attack Thranduil with your Scimitar...
Thranduil dodges your attack.

Drikh howls in pain as the backhanded blow strikes the side of him, splitting several rings of his mail and bringing forth a wound to rival the oozing arrow hole in his shoulder. "Worthless scum!" The Uruk-hai snarls as he swings his Maul hammer around, letting the weapon gain momentum before unleashing the force of the hammer upon Thranduil's midsection.

Drikh attacks Thranduil with his Maul Hammer, but he misses by a mile.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
Struck in his right flank, even as his blade hits the new attacker, Thranduil is beset on all sides. Bringing his blade back to his right hand, he twists out of the way of another orcish blade, causing him to shift to his newly planted left foot, his lightning quickness evading the blow of the maul hammer almost unseen.

But its wielder, the King does see, the blade now in his right hand, and held high up, comes crashing down towards the uruk-hai, a powerful stroke aimed at the junction of neck and shoulder.

Thranduil attacks Drikh with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 Grishnakh keeps backing away, attempting to fade into the melee and out of this battle. He calls out and the black guard answers as they can, heavily beset. The horde in the south keeps running as the night begins to fall. A mile or so out now.

[Combat(#13388)]
Grishnakh tries to flee from Thranduil, but he fails!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
All pretense of stealth is abandoned as limbs and swords fly whither they will through the chilly air, and at the second miss the smaller goblin plants his further foot firmly in the soil, the blackened claws rending the earth a little as he does so. "Dance, dance!" cackles the Shaman in the midst of a pant, yellow eyes flitting upward as a sneer contorts orcish features. "But how long can you avoid the sting of my blade?"

Although the other Mordain are on the verge of retreating, stubbornly--if not foolishly--Bagaglok stays put, determinded to score at least one hit upon elven skin. The scimitar whips forward, the tip glistening as it is thrust outward for the same target as before.

You attack Thranduil with your Scimitar...
Thranduil parries your attack with his Longsword!

[Drikh(#31337)] The gurgling of bloodied breath is the sound that comes from Drikh as again he is struck by the Elf king's sword. He too follows the Vorazg's lead, only with less finesse. Turning around, and seeing none of his men, he hauls away from Thranduil.

[Combat(#13388)]
Drikh tries to flee from Thranduil, but he fails!

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
This last uruk-hai is saved by the swing of another scimitar as Thranduil follows through on the heavy-handed strike to Drikh, he brings both hands again to his blade, turning aside Bagaglok's scimitar once more, with a continuation, slamming the blade downward towards the ground.

But he does not turn to this new foe, nor towards the fleeing Drikh, instead launching himself after Grishnakh, the Uruk-Hai Captain, with wild abandon. He strides forward, his blade trailing behind him, pushing forward with his left foot, and then his right, as the spears behind him again now surge forward, he swings powerfully across his body, the blow aimed at Grishnakh's hamstring.

Thranduil furiously attacks Grishnakh with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 The orc is not caught unawares though. He cannot take his eyes off so fierce a foe. So it is that the blade finds not it's target. Grishnakh twists his leg and the sword slides a glancing blow up the calf. The vorazg growls at thranduil, the purest malice raging in his eyes. he again attempts to elude the elf, the rest of the army half a mile out.

[Combat(#13388)]
Grishnakh tries to flee from Thranduil, but he fails!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
The scimitar is batted harmlessly downward, and fury clouds Bagaglok's countenance as the tall Firstborn pursues the wounded figure of Grishnakh as the Vorazg turns to draw back. But part of the weapon's head is wedged into the ground, and the Malkog is forced to stop for an instant to tug it free. A swift inspection reveals that most of the poisonous lather lingers undisturbed, if not dirtier.

As the sea of elf spears surges forward, the orc manages to dislodge the scimitar, and he whirls around, the scarlet of his clothes trailing in his wake. Sprinting forward in pursuit, he reaches the spike of the steel for Thranduil's upper shoulder.

You attack Thranduil with your Scimitar...
Your attack against Thranduil mildly wounds him!

Drikh again tries to keep himself from the range of the weapon, swinging his hammer at a elvish spearmen as he again tries to flee.

[Combat(#13388)]
Drikh tries to flee from Thranduil, but he fails!

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
Thranduil's cloak is torn, the blow glancing off the mail upon his shoulder. His pursuit of Grishnakh stops, and it is too late to pursue the other. He is drawn up sharply, even as the lines of spearmen surge towards him, for there is a glistening in the sun of blood, along his neck the unbreakable mail having directing the orc's blow to the nape of his neck, through the light summer cloak, and beneath the reach of his helm.

But his revenge is severe, and unforgiving, his turn swift and sudden, the thrust of his blade towards the lowly orc's head is vicious and cruel.

It is a backhanded blow, again, for the King has spun about once more, towards this new attacker, aimed downwards, towards the right of the orc's head, near the eye.

Thranduil attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and he hits! Ouch!

[Grishnákh(#22300)]
 The front waves of the remander of orcish forces crashes into the rear lines. The elves have dealt a significant blow, decimating many of the foul creatures. Grishnakh sees what happens as Bagaglok gets in. One nasty smirk is flashed at thranduil and Grishnakh fades into the south.

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
At long last the cast strikes true, and a hideous grin lights the Shaman's mouth but it is just a soon wipped clean off as the other's longsword returns the favor, none too gently either. Twisting to the side, Bagaglok ducks too slowly, and a nice gash is opened on the uruk's cheek, nigh the dark neck. A string of foul words flow forth as the cut burns from the elven blade, and Bagaglok stumbles a few paces in reverse away from the onpressing elves of Mirkwood.

"Ha!" the orc halts to sneer, now facing his foe once again. "I hope you enjoy the taste of poison, dear king, for you will not obtain the antidote from he whom delt you the blow." Perhaps the hit has raised the creature's courage, for even now Bagaglok stoops again the scimitar lashes out for a final time, as though to make sure the wicked poison is ensured to take effect.

You attack Thranduil with your Scimitar...
Thranduil dodges your attack.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
Whatever poison is on the blade is not swifter than the King to the Nandor, however. For the King easily steps astride the scimitar's blade, and draws back his own blood-soaked steel, thrusting it foward again, with the same target as before, the eye of the pitiful goblin.

Thranduil attacks you with his Longsword!...
...and you parry his attack with your Scimitar!

[Bagaglok(#24847)]
Alas, for no eye does the mighty sword pierce--even as the king's weapon cleaves downward, up flashes the goblin scimitar to meet it, and the sharp clang of metal on metal rings in the openness of the bordering plains only the fell oppressive forest to the west stiffles the sound.

The backward motion is given a lengthier pause, and the Shaman dithers for a moment, the calculating look returning anew as Bagaglok debates whether or not to press his luck thusfar. But a hiss comes instead of a countering assault as the spearheads draw closer, and a glance behind reveals that the rest of the orcish horde have decided to retreat fully. Perhaps the poison will be good enough after its single cut.

And with this thought to happily muse over, Bagaglok darts a malicious glare toward the elf-lord, ere the uruk whirls around after the surviving Mordain fading into the distance.

[Elowen(#24844)]
The sunlight filters through waving grass to the ground a bit to the north, where an elf-woman lies. Elowen's pale face is wet with tears as she curls there, holding her arm, her breathing rough.

As the distant sounds of the battle begin to fade, she rolls to her knees, whimpering a little, and stands, her arms about herself, looking to the other elves.

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The Elven spears surge forward, at last beyond where the King stands, the goblin lost in the fray, as Thranduil stumbles forward, into his own lines, as they pursue the orcs in the rout, he stumbles, and drops to one knee. His sword still held in the right hand, his left reaches up to touch the wound at his neck.

From one knee, he falls forward, eyes squeezed shut against the poison of the orc-blade.

[Elowen(#24844)]
Elowen is walking toward the others when the King falls. She cries aloud, as do others, and jolts into a run toward him.

Another elf with dark hair, a Silvan by the name of Luithiad, is closer, and he crouches, reaching for Thranduil's arm, his other hand still bearing his bloodied spear. "Up, my lord," he urges in a low voice. "Lean against me if you will."

[Thranduil(#5440)] 
The King rises slowly, leaning heavily upon the other elf, as he slowly steps away from the battle.

The lines of spears march onwards, re-forming into organized ranks, as they drive the orcs before them.