Elendor
Confrontation with orcs in South Ithilien
The soldiers of Ithilien are headed south, but they run into a band of orcs and are overwhelmed by them. Meanwhile, Aearion gets bloodlust and runs into the forest!
Sort Date: no date set
Location: South Ithilien, Forest Edge
Game Date: June 1, 3047
Description:
South Ithilien, Forest Edge
The forest here is still, as if the dark trees themselves hold their breath in anticipation. Tall and ancient, of ruinous age, moss-covered oak, birch, pine and cedar grow in groves, and the forest floor is a maze of ivy, thorn and undergrowth. Several strange paths crisscross the wood, though whether made by beast or man it is not clear. Eastward lie the dark Ephel Duath, and to the north begin the rolling hills of Emyn Arnen. To the south the terrain grows brighter, as deep forest gives way to open field and the soil becomes more sandy. Even the birds are silent in this watchful land. It is daytime.
Contents:
Ceredir
Aearion
Obvious exits:
East, South, and North
The scouts move out and join other scouts moving southward. They fall into a single-file line and hug the folds of the terrain to keep out of sight.
Aearion is in the middle again, feeling the bite of fatigue in his arms and legs. His youth, however, lends him vigor and enables him to endure. The group makes their way south for several hours, going fairly slow in order to stay concealed. Flankers are out to ensure the column doesn't fall into an ambush. Soon they are out of the rocky hills of Emyn Arnen and moving through the grassy foothills. The forest looms to the south.
"You've not been this far south before, have you Aearion?" Ceredir, walking up and down the ilne of the column, has now fallen into step next to Aearion, though his eyes do not go to the Scout. Instead, he constantly--even nervously--looks to the right, left and ahead of the column, searching the landscape for signs of movement. His voice, too, is pitched low.
As usual, Daerthor is at the end of the column, this time providing a lookout for their backs. He is tired from the marching, but he continues on, being used to the harsh conditions of Ithilien already. As they near the forest, the wind begins to stir slightly through the thin canopy, providing an ominous backdrop to their mission. Dark clouds continue hanging overhead, as the sorcery of Mordor seeps out to nearby lands, just like it has been for the past few weeks. Squinting to the front to keep track of where they are going, he catches a brief glimpse of Ceredir talking to Aearion.
Aearion answers lowly, "No sir, I've never been further south than where we killed the orcs." Fatigue shows in the young man's reddened eyes. A thousand thoughts filter into his mind and like most soldiers he thinks of home for comfort and the thought makes him long to be there. "I'll bet the breeze is blowing through Dol Amorth from the sea..." He falls silent, realizing he has said too much.
The column passes to the southeast, crossing a small creek. The forest looms ever larger in their eyes with each passing step.
"Well we are not in Dol Amroth, boy!" Ceredir snaps, irritably adding the 'boy' to his words, though he himself is only some 20 years. He stops walking to watch the line of scouts as they march, then points to Aearion and Daerthor. "You two. Over here by me. I want you to keep your eyes sharp from here on out for signs of the Southrons. Not that the rest of you lazy bastards shouldn't be doing the same," he grumbles to the rest of the men. "But the Southrons have been logging up here, or were, and Amrundirn was taken near here."
Daerthor snaps to attention at Ceredir's gestures. Abandoning his post with a quick word to the scout in front of him, he jogs briefly up the line. "Yes, sir," he says in acknowledgement, his eyes already flitting about the trees. As his gaze roams, it lands on Aearion for just a second. A quick thought of how he is doing on his first expedition so far south crosses his mind. But now is not the time for such questions, and he continue his constant survey of the land.
Suddenly, a movement catches his eye, just at the corner of his field of vision. He snaps his head towards it, but he sees nothing except for the shadows of trees. Perhaps it was just a passing bird.
Aearion falls out on the far right flank. Being away from the main column gives him a boost of anxiety and awareness that comes with being all alone with an orc possibly around every corner. He does stay in closer in the dark. Flankers didn't last long if taken by surprise, so he keeps his eyes open and his ears tuned to the sounds of the night.
The column continues to snake along slowly in the darkness.
With a gesture of his gauntlet-covered hand, Ceredir indicates to Aearion where he should position himself in relation to the column. He opens his mouth to whisper something to the Scout, but his attention snaps instantly to Daerthor, and the Master Scout squints into the trees. "What is it?" he whispers to Daerthor.
His voice equally as soft, Daerthor replies. "I thought I saw movement there, sir, but now I see naught but the shadows of the leaves and branches. Yet I believe there could be something there - for the movement was abrupt, I am sure."
He continues scanning the forest edge, pausing significantly at the site... and there, again, a flicker of another shadow reaches out beyond the darkness of the canopy. "There, sir, do you see it?" he asks. The column of scouts continues moving, slowly and quietly, and soon they will pass the area.
They continue on past the suspicious area and into the outer edges of the forest. Aearion is careful here, moving very slowly. The moon has wained before the scout column reaches the perimeter. Other scouts are hiding behind trees. In the distance within the confines of the forest, there is an orange glow from the orcish fires. Now that the column has stopped, Aearion waits for orders to filter down to him.
There is no stealth in the sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard, but Ceredir draws his sword, then nods to Daerthor. "There's something there, yes," he says, voice low, as always on this patrol.
Ceredir stops, too, as the patrol stops, and waits for orders, which come shortly from one of the Rangers. "Spread out and find good cover. Arrows first to draw them this way, then swords. Hit and run," Ceredir says, relaying the orders.
Taking an arrow from his quiver, Daerthor puts it to the string of the longbow, ready to nock it in and fire. He goes towards the source of the movement, but not too close - he does value his life, after all. Blending into the green and brown of the forest, he lurks in a shady grove and keeps his eyes focused on the target, waiting for the signal to shoot.
Farag loved the smell of roasting meat. He rubs his sweaty orcish hands together and watches as the chief cook in his unit roasts a man's leg on a spit. Man-flesh...a delicacy to be sure. "Hurry up Bolarg, I'm stawvin," he says to the cook as the smaller orc turns the meat on the spit. "Shut yaw mouth Farag and wait yow turn." The orcs cut slabs of meat from the roasting man-leg. When it comes Farag's turn, there isn't much left. "You bleedin bastards," he yells at an orc with a larger portion. "Gimme that mayt," he throws his dirty dish at the orc and a fight ensues.
The sounds of clanging dishes and orcish yelling filters back to the scouts. Aearion mouths, "They're fighting," to Ceredir. The young man from Dol Amroth notches an arrow in his long bow and moves through the trees to come up beside the master scout. Aearion takes cover behind a thick oak tree.
Tucked behind a large tree, Ceredir nods to Aearion, whispering back. "Good time to shoot," he says, then grimaces at the smell of cooking flesh, a wave of sickness passing over his features momentarily. He nocks an arrow on the string of his bow--his sword hanging unsheathed from a loop on his belt--and carefully takes aim. A bird call sounds through the forest--it's a signal from the Rangers to shoot at will and Ceredir does so, loosing an arrow toward Farag.
The nauseating smell of the orcs' meal filters to Daerthor's nose and he grimaces. The flying dish confirms his suspicions that the orcs are fighting over a meal. Seeing the large, irate orc start the fight, he aims towards him. There is nothing more dangerous than a hungry orc, out for human flesh. Hearing the signal, he fires his arrow and it heads towards Farag, in unison with Ceredir's arrow. As the fray worsens, he mutters a quick curse and readies himself for an all-out confrontation, should it occur.
The Scene: A wide spot in the forest is occupied by a group of orc tents and a couple large fires. There are about 40 orcs there, many fighting over a meal. Their weapons are gathered near their tents, but no guards had been placed beyond the fire's glare. Around the camp site is a circle of trees.
Farag is in the middle of punching another orc in the face when the sound of a bird calling tweaks his ears. There are no bird calls in the dark. He lets the orc go and sees something in the distance behind a tree. "MEN! TO Arms!" The orcs scurry about, surprised and angered. They rush toward their weapons and their tents cursing.
Aearion hears the alarm go up and steps from behind the tree, he draws his great bow and releases quickly, sending an arrow flying toward an orc as he runs toward his tent. The arrow misses, but others follow, pin-cushioning dozens of them as they run for their weapons.
Aearion notches another arrow and lets it loose, in quick succession, his quiver is halved.
"Dammit," Ceredir hisses as his first arrow misses when Farag springs up and sounds the alarm. More arrows are sent from the Master Scout's bow, and the night sky is peppered with the missiles, but Ceredir steals a quick glance to Aearion. "Best be ready with your sword," he says. In the noise of the fight that has erupted, he doesn't bother whispering anymore, though he doesn't yell either, so as not to reveal their positions. "We're outnumbered, so shoot until you can and then ambush and run."
Unfortunately for Daerthor, his arrow misses Farag as well, instead spearing into the outstretched fingernail of another orc. Hardly anything to be proud about. He quickly looses arrow after arrow into the melee, aiming for heads and necks. The hail of arrows ensures that some orcs are taken down, but not nearly enough. His quiver nearly empty now, Daerthor spares a moment to unsheathe his sword before firing the few arrows he has left. He pushes his longbow across his body, getting it out of the way, and arms up with his sword, ready to move.
Farag falls with a half-dozen Ranger and scout arrows in his body. But there are others still fighting. The number has been reduced to about 25 effective orcs who have ran into the darkness to engage the humans in the southern edge of the surrounding ring of rangers and scouts.
Aearion moves southward in an attempt to help those men fighting for their lives against the chaotic and unorganized orc push.
As he moves, Aearion also swings his bow around his torso and removes his shield. He places it upon his forearm and pulls his sword free...all the movement within the confines of the forest are risky...Aearion slams into a tree with his shoulder.
Ceredir fights with no shield, but a dagger in his right hand and sword in his off, left hand. Two orcs come running by his position, and he sticks a leg out to trip the first one, causing the second to stumble into his companion and fall. The Master Scout falls on the vile creatures, stabbing one in the back and the other in the throat and kicking their swords from their hands.
"Watch yourself!" he hisses to Aearion, noticing the Scout's stumble as he stands, and then glancing toward the enemy camp to see what coming their way.
Daerthor's eyes rove around the scene as his fellow scouts scramble to tackle the orcs immediately in front of him. A loud thud to his left and he turns his head. Seeing Aearion crash into a tree, and the sheer number of orcs in that area, he runs quickly towards that area. But just as he is nearing, an orc steps in front of him and flings his sword down. Instinctively, Daerthor brings his sword up to parry, thankful for the consistent training he has received.
His frustration grows as another orc steps in and joins the fight. Entangled in two orcs, the only thing keeping Daerthor alive is his agility, avoiding the harsh and heavy blows of the orcs. He starts moving, attempting to draw the orcs towards Aearion's side, where there are more soldiers of Gondor, rather than risk being isolated.
The pain in his shoulder is fairly intense and causes him pause. He hears a commotion behind him to his right and turns to see Daerthor's form dancing, dodging...engaged with two orcs. The young man brings his shield up and rushes toward his comrade. He is almost to Daerthor's position when another, smaller orc shoots Aearion in the back with a black-feathered arrow. Aearion stumbles forward, the shock is painless.. He resumes his charge and puts his shoulder down...he plows into the second orc with his shield, and uses his longsword to jab at the orc's side.
"Get back! Head for cover!" Ceredir yells, though he uses Sindarin so that the orcs will not understand. He spins around and barely out of the way of a black blade that comes slashing toward his head, losing his balance as he does so and winding up on the ground on his back. The orc slashes down again with his blade, only the creature howls suddenly as it does so, as Ceredir kicks up with one foot into its groin. Orc and blade fall on top of the Master Scout and a struggle ensues.
With the second orc distracted by Aearion, Daerthor knocks the first orc's blade away with his shield and drives his longsword in, kicking the orc in the process. The orc stumbles and lies still on the ground, bleeding all over his clothes. Swiftly, he deals with the second orc as well, cutting right through the back of his neck. He then turns to Aearion, and his eyes widen at the sight of the point of the arrow embedded in his back. "Aear! You're in no condition to fight now."
But just as his words leave his lips, the terrible howl reaches his ears and he looks up to see an orc semi-crushing Ceredir. Now he is at an impasse. Go to his superior's aid, or make sure his friend makes it out of the brawl safely? Making a quick decision, Daerthor picks up a solid, sharp-edged rock from the ground, and hurls it in the direction of the hulking orc. A stupid and primitive act, but it's all he has.
Aearion was unaware that he had been hit. He turns to see the arrow sticking out of his back. Fear wells in his young eyes briefly. "There is no pain, Go..Go help Ceredir," he says just as he spies another orc, the arrow shooter from before taking aim at him.
It is the first time Aearion has been under fire from archers and it simply enrages him. He pulls his shield up in time to absorb that arrow shot. But a beast cries out from the mouth of the young man from Dol Amroth. He curses the orc loudly and charges toward it. The little, creepy orc is terrified and turns. His little legs pump wildly as he flees into the dark woods heading southwest. Aearion gives chase, forgetting order, forgetting logic...blood mad...
The rock bounces off the armor of the orc grappling with Ceredir, doing no harm. The orc has drawn a black bladed dagger and is seeking to plunge it into Ceredir's throat, though the Master Scout is barely holding him off by sheer force of will, his arm slowly slipping down. He kicks at the beast and tries to get the gloved fingers of his left hand into his eyes, suceeding , perhaps, for the orc gives a sudden, blood curdling scream. The other Scouts have fled already.
Nodding, Daerthor's heart pounds as the scream sears through the air. Running as quickly as he can, he reaches the orc and knocks the dagger from his hand before slicing his sword through its neck. Too bad the rock didn't distract at all. He gives a kick to the orc's side, attempting to push it off Ceredir before its black blood pools all over the Master Scout. Unfortunately the orc resists with all its might, determine to bring someone down, though it is already nearly gone. Finally, with one last kick, the orc rolls off to the side, dead and unmoving.
All this happens in a few brief moments, and Daerthor winces at the sight of his superior on the ground. "Sir, we must go now, can you get up?" The remaining orcs will spot them soon enough. He extends his hand to help, if Ceredir wishes to take it.
For a few seconds, Ceredir lies there stunned, blinking at the suddeness of it all. He's half covered in orc blood, and it takes a moment for him to realize that it's the beast's blood, not his own. Then he reaches for Daerthor's hand and springs to his feet. "Thank you." He frowns, looks around. "The patrol? Which way did they head? And Aearion--he lives? He had an arrow in his back, last I saw."
Daerthor starts heading towards the cover of a bush, speaking as he moves. "I do not know, sir, everyone else seems to have scattered in all directions. But they must not have gone far, I believe." Just then he spots a gathering of scouts in the distance, shielded from the orcs but a large rock face.
"There they are!" he mutters softly, a subtle nod indicating the direction. "Aearion lives, but I know not where he is. He heard the call to retreat, I am sure, and now it remains to see if he is in that gathering."
"Let's go, then," Ceredir says, wasting no time in moving. "We are as good as dead if we stay here." He glances once behind them, searching for orcs in the trees, then sets off at a swift trot toward cover.
As they reach the gathering, Daerthor skims the various soldiers frantically, searching for Aearion's characteristic thick, muscular build. But his search turns up empty. He then proceeds to question the scouts nearest to him, if they have seen him... but all give negative replies. "Sir," he says to Ceredir, "Aearion is nowhere to be found." Only his training and relative experience keeps his voice from rising in panic, though the tension is obvious.
"What do you mean nowhere to be found?" Ceredir growls. The Master Scout is using his blood-soiled cloak to clean off the blade of his dagger, but he lets the cloth drop and looks up to Daerthor, then to the other Scouts gathered here. "None of you have seen him? No bodies that were ours? Everyone, dead or alive brought back?" There's more nodding from the group.
Ceredir curses.
Daerthor thinks furiously, though an ache is building up between his temples. He ignores the pain and flips through his recent skirmish memories. The black-feathered arrow embedded in Aearion's back... orcs all about... a small orc with a crude bow that he ran past on the way to Ceredir. He groans inwardly. The Valar help him now... "Sir," he begins rather hesitantly, "it is possible that Aearion is still in the field, hunting orcs. For he has a strong sense of vengeance."
"Oh, Eru's balls..." Ceredir says, cursing to himself. "Come on." He gestures to Daerthor. "Damn fool. If he's not already dead, he will be by the time this night is over. The rest of you--rendezvous with the rest of the group and follow the Ranger's orders. Tell him Daerthor and I are off to find that idiot Aearion."
A frown crossing his already-grim face, Daerthor follows behind Ceredir, hoping, just hoping, that they can find Aearion... in time.
Muttering a string of curses under his breath, Ceredir disappears into the blackness of the forest at night, leaving it up to Daerthor's skill to keep up with him.
South Ithilien, Forest Edge
The forest here is still, as if the dark trees themselves hold their breath in anticipation. Tall and ancient, of ruinous age, moss-covered oak, birch, pine and cedar grow in groves, and the forest floor is a maze of ivy, thorn and undergrowth. Several strange paths crisscross the wood, though whether made by beast or man it is not clear. Eastward lie the dark Ephel Duath, and to the north begin the rolling hills of Emyn Arnen. To the south the terrain grows brighter, as deep forest gives way to open field and the soil becomes more sandy. Even the birds are silent in this watchful land. It is daytime.
Contents:
Ceredir
Aearion
Obvious exits:
East, South, and North
The scouts move out and join other scouts moving southward. They fall into a single-file line and hug the folds of the terrain to keep out of sight.
Aearion is in the middle again, feeling the bite of fatigue in his arms and legs. His youth, however, lends him vigor and enables him to endure. The group makes their way south for several hours, going fairly slow in order to stay concealed. Flankers are out to ensure the column doesn't fall into an ambush. Soon they are out of the rocky hills of Emyn Arnen and moving through the grassy foothills. The forest looms to the south.
"You've not been this far south before, have you Aearion?" Ceredir, walking up and down the ilne of the column, has now fallen into step next to Aearion, though his eyes do not go to the Scout. Instead, he constantly--even nervously--looks to the right, left and ahead of the column, searching the landscape for signs of movement. His voice, too, is pitched low.
As usual, Daerthor is at the end of the column, this time providing a lookout for their backs. He is tired from the marching, but he continues on, being used to the harsh conditions of Ithilien already. As they near the forest, the wind begins to stir slightly through the thin canopy, providing an ominous backdrop to their mission. Dark clouds continue hanging overhead, as the sorcery of Mordor seeps out to nearby lands, just like it has been for the past few weeks. Squinting to the front to keep track of where they are going, he catches a brief glimpse of Ceredir talking to Aearion.
Aearion answers lowly, "No sir, I've never been further south than where we killed the orcs." Fatigue shows in the young man's reddened eyes. A thousand thoughts filter into his mind and like most soldiers he thinks of home for comfort and the thought makes him long to be there. "I'll bet the breeze is blowing through Dol Amorth from the sea..." He falls silent, realizing he has said too much.
The column passes to the southeast, crossing a small creek. The forest looms ever larger in their eyes with each passing step.
"Well we are not in Dol Amroth, boy!" Ceredir snaps, irritably adding the 'boy' to his words, though he himself is only some 20 years. He stops walking to watch the line of scouts as they march, then points to Aearion and Daerthor. "You two. Over here by me. I want you to keep your eyes sharp from here on out for signs of the Southrons. Not that the rest of you lazy bastards shouldn't be doing the same," he grumbles to the rest of the men. "But the Southrons have been logging up here, or were, and Amrundirn was taken near here."
Daerthor snaps to attention at Ceredir's gestures. Abandoning his post with a quick word to the scout in front of him, he jogs briefly up the line. "Yes, sir," he says in acknowledgement, his eyes already flitting about the trees. As his gaze roams, it lands on Aearion for just a second. A quick thought of how he is doing on his first expedition so far south crosses his mind. But now is not the time for such questions, and he continue his constant survey of the land.
Suddenly, a movement catches his eye, just at the corner of his field of vision. He snaps his head towards it, but he sees nothing except for the shadows of trees. Perhaps it was just a passing bird.
Aearion falls out on the far right flank. Being away from the main column gives him a boost of anxiety and awareness that comes with being all alone with an orc possibly around every corner. He does stay in closer in the dark. Flankers didn't last long if taken by surprise, so he keeps his eyes open and his ears tuned to the sounds of the night.
The column continues to snake along slowly in the darkness.
With a gesture of his gauntlet-covered hand, Ceredir indicates to Aearion where he should position himself in relation to the column. He opens his mouth to whisper something to the Scout, but his attention snaps instantly to Daerthor, and the Master Scout squints into the trees. "What is it?" he whispers to Daerthor.
His voice equally as soft, Daerthor replies. "I thought I saw movement there, sir, but now I see naught but the shadows of the leaves and branches. Yet I believe there could be something there - for the movement was abrupt, I am sure."
He continues scanning the forest edge, pausing significantly at the site... and there, again, a flicker of another shadow reaches out beyond the darkness of the canopy. "There, sir, do you see it?" he asks. The column of scouts continues moving, slowly and quietly, and soon they will pass the area.
They continue on past the suspicious area and into the outer edges of the forest. Aearion is careful here, moving very slowly. The moon has wained before the scout column reaches the perimeter. Other scouts are hiding behind trees. In the distance within the confines of the forest, there is an orange glow from the orcish fires. Now that the column has stopped, Aearion waits for orders to filter down to him.
There is no stealth in the sound of a blade being drawn from its scabbard, but Ceredir draws his sword, then nods to Daerthor. "There's something there, yes," he says, voice low, as always on this patrol.
Ceredir stops, too, as the patrol stops, and waits for orders, which come shortly from one of the Rangers. "Spread out and find good cover. Arrows first to draw them this way, then swords. Hit and run," Ceredir says, relaying the orders.
Taking an arrow from his quiver, Daerthor puts it to the string of the longbow, ready to nock it in and fire. He goes towards the source of the movement, but not too close - he does value his life, after all. Blending into the green and brown of the forest, he lurks in a shady grove and keeps his eyes focused on the target, waiting for the signal to shoot.
Farag loved the smell of roasting meat. He rubs his sweaty orcish hands together and watches as the chief cook in his unit roasts a man's leg on a spit. Man-flesh...a delicacy to be sure. "Hurry up Bolarg, I'm stawvin," he says to the cook as the smaller orc turns the meat on the spit. "Shut yaw mouth Farag and wait yow turn." The orcs cut slabs of meat from the roasting man-leg. When it comes Farag's turn, there isn't much left. "You bleedin bastards," he yells at an orc with a larger portion. "Gimme that mayt," he throws his dirty dish at the orc and a fight ensues.
The sounds of clanging dishes and orcish yelling filters back to the scouts. Aearion mouths, "They're fighting," to Ceredir. The young man from Dol Amroth notches an arrow in his long bow and moves through the trees to come up beside the master scout. Aearion takes cover behind a thick oak tree.
Tucked behind a large tree, Ceredir nods to Aearion, whispering back. "Good time to shoot," he says, then grimaces at the smell of cooking flesh, a wave of sickness passing over his features momentarily. He nocks an arrow on the string of his bow--his sword hanging unsheathed from a loop on his belt--and carefully takes aim. A bird call sounds through the forest--it's a signal from the Rangers to shoot at will and Ceredir does so, loosing an arrow toward Farag.
The nauseating smell of the orcs' meal filters to Daerthor's nose and he grimaces. The flying dish confirms his suspicions that the orcs are fighting over a meal. Seeing the large, irate orc start the fight, he aims towards him. There is nothing more dangerous than a hungry orc, out for human flesh. Hearing the signal, he fires his arrow and it heads towards Farag, in unison with Ceredir's arrow. As the fray worsens, he mutters a quick curse and readies himself for an all-out confrontation, should it occur.
The Scene: A wide spot in the forest is occupied by a group of orc tents and a couple large fires. There are about 40 orcs there, many fighting over a meal. Their weapons are gathered near their tents, but no guards had been placed beyond the fire's glare. Around the camp site is a circle of trees.
Farag is in the middle of punching another orc in the face when the sound of a bird calling tweaks his ears. There are no bird calls in the dark. He lets the orc go and sees something in the distance behind a tree. "MEN! TO Arms!" The orcs scurry about, surprised and angered. They rush toward their weapons and their tents cursing.
Aearion hears the alarm go up and steps from behind the tree, he draws his great bow and releases quickly, sending an arrow flying toward an orc as he runs toward his tent. The arrow misses, but others follow, pin-cushioning dozens of them as they run for their weapons.
Aearion notches another arrow and lets it loose, in quick succession, his quiver is halved.
"Dammit," Ceredir hisses as his first arrow misses when Farag springs up and sounds the alarm. More arrows are sent from the Master Scout's bow, and the night sky is peppered with the missiles, but Ceredir steals a quick glance to Aearion. "Best be ready with your sword," he says. In the noise of the fight that has erupted, he doesn't bother whispering anymore, though he doesn't yell either, so as not to reveal their positions. "We're outnumbered, so shoot until you can and then ambush and run."
Unfortunately for Daerthor, his arrow misses Farag as well, instead spearing into the outstretched fingernail of another orc. Hardly anything to be proud about. He quickly looses arrow after arrow into the melee, aiming for heads and necks. The hail of arrows ensures that some orcs are taken down, but not nearly enough. His quiver nearly empty now, Daerthor spares a moment to unsheathe his sword before firing the few arrows he has left. He pushes his longbow across his body, getting it out of the way, and arms up with his sword, ready to move.
Farag falls with a half-dozen Ranger and scout arrows in his body. But there are others still fighting. The number has been reduced to about 25 effective orcs who have ran into the darkness to engage the humans in the southern edge of the surrounding ring of rangers and scouts.
Aearion moves southward in an attempt to help those men fighting for their lives against the chaotic and unorganized orc push.
As he moves, Aearion also swings his bow around his torso and removes his shield. He places it upon his forearm and pulls his sword free...all the movement within the confines of the forest are risky...Aearion slams into a tree with his shoulder.
Ceredir fights with no shield, but a dagger in his right hand and sword in his off, left hand. Two orcs come running by his position, and he sticks a leg out to trip the first one, causing the second to stumble into his companion and fall. The Master Scout falls on the vile creatures, stabbing one in the back and the other in the throat and kicking their swords from their hands.
"Watch yourself!" he hisses to Aearion, noticing the Scout's stumble as he stands, and then glancing toward the enemy camp to see what coming their way.
Daerthor's eyes rove around the scene as his fellow scouts scramble to tackle the orcs immediately in front of him. A loud thud to his left and he turns his head. Seeing Aearion crash into a tree, and the sheer number of orcs in that area, he runs quickly towards that area. But just as he is nearing, an orc steps in front of him and flings his sword down. Instinctively, Daerthor brings his sword up to parry, thankful for the consistent training he has received.
His frustration grows as another orc steps in and joins the fight. Entangled in two orcs, the only thing keeping Daerthor alive is his agility, avoiding the harsh and heavy blows of the orcs. He starts moving, attempting to draw the orcs towards Aearion's side, where there are more soldiers of Gondor, rather than risk being isolated.
The pain in his shoulder is fairly intense and causes him pause. He hears a commotion behind him to his right and turns to see Daerthor's form dancing, dodging...engaged with two orcs. The young man brings his shield up and rushes toward his comrade. He is almost to Daerthor's position when another, smaller orc shoots Aearion in the back with a black-feathered arrow. Aearion stumbles forward, the shock is painless.. He resumes his charge and puts his shoulder down...he plows into the second orc with his shield, and uses his longsword to jab at the orc's side.
"Get back! Head for cover!" Ceredir yells, though he uses Sindarin so that the orcs will not understand. He spins around and barely out of the way of a black blade that comes slashing toward his head, losing his balance as he does so and winding up on the ground on his back. The orc slashes down again with his blade, only the creature howls suddenly as it does so, as Ceredir kicks up with one foot into its groin. Orc and blade fall on top of the Master Scout and a struggle ensues.
With the second orc distracted by Aearion, Daerthor knocks the first orc's blade away with his shield and drives his longsword in, kicking the orc in the process. The orc stumbles and lies still on the ground, bleeding all over his clothes. Swiftly, he deals with the second orc as well, cutting right through the back of his neck. He then turns to Aearion, and his eyes widen at the sight of the point of the arrow embedded in his back. "Aear! You're in no condition to fight now."
But just as his words leave his lips, the terrible howl reaches his ears and he looks up to see an orc semi-crushing Ceredir. Now he is at an impasse. Go to his superior's aid, or make sure his friend makes it out of the brawl safely? Making a quick decision, Daerthor picks up a solid, sharp-edged rock from the ground, and hurls it in the direction of the hulking orc. A stupid and primitive act, but it's all he has.
Aearion was unaware that he had been hit. He turns to see the arrow sticking out of his back. Fear wells in his young eyes briefly. "There is no pain, Go..Go help Ceredir," he says just as he spies another orc, the arrow shooter from before taking aim at him.
It is the first time Aearion has been under fire from archers and it simply enrages him. He pulls his shield up in time to absorb that arrow shot. But a beast cries out from the mouth of the young man from Dol Amroth. He curses the orc loudly and charges toward it. The little, creepy orc is terrified and turns. His little legs pump wildly as he flees into the dark woods heading southwest. Aearion gives chase, forgetting order, forgetting logic...blood mad...
The rock bounces off the armor of the orc grappling with Ceredir, doing no harm. The orc has drawn a black bladed dagger and is seeking to plunge it into Ceredir's throat, though the Master Scout is barely holding him off by sheer force of will, his arm slowly slipping down. He kicks at the beast and tries to get the gloved fingers of his left hand into his eyes, suceeding , perhaps, for the orc gives a sudden, blood curdling scream. The other Scouts have fled already.
Nodding, Daerthor's heart pounds as the scream sears through the air. Running as quickly as he can, he reaches the orc and knocks the dagger from his hand before slicing his sword through its neck. Too bad the rock didn't distract at all. He gives a kick to the orc's side, attempting to push it off Ceredir before its black blood pools all over the Master Scout. Unfortunately the orc resists with all its might, determine to bring someone down, though it is already nearly gone. Finally, with one last kick, the orc rolls off to the side, dead and unmoving.
All this happens in a few brief moments, and Daerthor winces at the sight of his superior on the ground. "Sir, we must go now, can you get up?" The remaining orcs will spot them soon enough. He extends his hand to help, if Ceredir wishes to take it.
For a few seconds, Ceredir lies there stunned, blinking at the suddeness of it all. He's half covered in orc blood, and it takes a moment for him to realize that it's the beast's blood, not his own. Then he reaches for Daerthor's hand and springs to his feet. "Thank you." He frowns, looks around. "The patrol? Which way did they head? And Aearion--he lives? He had an arrow in his back, last I saw."
Daerthor starts heading towards the cover of a bush, speaking as he moves. "I do not know, sir, everyone else seems to have scattered in all directions. But they must not have gone far, I believe." Just then he spots a gathering of scouts in the distance, shielded from the orcs but a large rock face.
"There they are!" he mutters softly, a subtle nod indicating the direction. "Aearion lives, but I know not where he is. He heard the call to retreat, I am sure, and now it remains to see if he is in that gathering."
"Let's go, then," Ceredir says, wasting no time in moving. "We are as good as dead if we stay here." He glances once behind them, searching for orcs in the trees, then sets off at a swift trot toward cover.
As they reach the gathering, Daerthor skims the various soldiers frantically, searching for Aearion's characteristic thick, muscular build. But his search turns up empty. He then proceeds to question the scouts nearest to him, if they have seen him... but all give negative replies. "Sir," he says to Ceredir, "Aearion is nowhere to be found." Only his training and relative experience keeps his voice from rising in panic, though the tension is obvious.
"What do you mean nowhere to be found?" Ceredir growls. The Master Scout is using his blood-soiled cloak to clean off the blade of his dagger, but he lets the cloth drop and looks up to Daerthor, then to the other Scouts gathered here. "None of you have seen him? No bodies that were ours? Everyone, dead or alive brought back?" There's more nodding from the group.
Ceredir curses.
Daerthor thinks furiously, though an ache is building up between his temples. He ignores the pain and flips through his recent skirmish memories. The black-feathered arrow embedded in Aearion's back... orcs all about... a small orc with a crude bow that he ran past on the way to Ceredir. He groans inwardly. The Valar help him now... "Sir," he begins rather hesitantly, "it is possible that Aearion is still in the field, hunting orcs. For he has a strong sense of vengeance."
"Oh, Eru's balls..." Ceredir says, cursing to himself. "Come on." He gestures to Daerthor. "Damn fool. If he's not already dead, he will be by the time this night is over. The rest of you--rendezvous with the rest of the group and follow the Ranger's orders. Tell him Daerthor and I are off to find that idiot Aearion."
A frown crossing his already-grim face, Daerthor follows behind Ceredir, hoping, just hoping, that they can find Aearion... in time.
Muttering a string of curses under his breath, Ceredir disappears into the blackness of the forest at night, leaving it up to Daerthor's skill to keep up with him.
Players: Ceredir, Aearion, Daerthor
Search Terms: A confrontation with orcs in South Ithilien.
Located in: Gondorian
