(Archive) Go go Gondor! 1/2 - Land Battle

Gondor Attacks! (Land Battle)

Real Life Date: 1999-08-15 MUSH Date: 22 Nenime 3018 TA

Participating Players: Ra\'d Halanshil Re\'kha Shethu-kal D\'oh Taryn Leuthyn Lossaran Entrag Gardan Cordan Imrahil Rorgan Phelan Maeghan Keleir Harthad Eartnan Krisorn

Participating Cultures:

Gondorian, Haradrim

Location(s): Crossing of Poros, S. Bank, Harad,

Description: The Gondorian threat unites most of the tribes of Harad with the armies of Umbar, as the Northern forces move to invade. Log provided by Re\'kha [also known as Madhuri].

*Note - borrowed from the Harads*

Crossing of Poros, S. Bank To the north the Poros spreads out in its wide banks, forming what looks to be an easy ford. The remains of several wagons jut up out of the water, suggesting otherwise. The ruins of a ancient bridge\'s foundation sit on either bank, and some of its rubble marks the passage of the ford. To the south the Harad Road cuts through the tall brown grass of the Harondor savannah.

The day sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The midday winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is new.

Contents: Ra\'d Halanshil Umbar Camp Obvious exits: North and South

Even though it is winter and the wind cold coming in from the northwest, the semi-arid grasslands are not bitter with a warm sun occationally trying to peak through the cloud cover. Many people move about wrapped in warm garments. Umbarians and tribals mix freely here at this temporary camp.

From the north comes a contigient of riders from the Narakshi camp that has been stuck and now moves to the east. Dozens of mounted Outriders come armed and in good spirits to join their hundred or so kinsmen already scattered through the camp. In the lead of the last arrivals rides Leuthyn himself.

Re\'kha sits upon a crate, using a stone to carefully sharpen the already-gleaming edge of her scimitar. She pauses occasionally to test the edge against her thumb.

Shethu-kal has arrived.

D\'oh steps up behind Re\'kha and gives one of her braids a quick yank, grinning wolfishly. \"That thing gets any sharper, and you\'ll break it on the first thing you strike,\" she notes teasingly.

You look at D\'oh:

Could there be deception, or is this truly a mirror image of Re\'kha? Black eyes, like her sister\'s, peer out of a coppery-bronze face, piercing like those of a desert predator. High cheeckbones offset full lips, only a shade darker than her skin. Identical Tattoos swirl across her cheeks in the tradition of their tribe. Where they differ tho is that her sister\'s hair is braided, and her own is cropped very close to her skull, sticking out in rough tufts where the cutting was haphazard and uneven.

Her clothing is loose and light-colored, baggy on her small frame. Her belt supports a pouch and a small utility knife. She grasps a finely carved spear loosely in her hands, though it is obvious she knows what end is the dangerous one.

A group from Black Tower has assembled, and in the midst of them is none other than Taryn, wrapped in a thick cloak, which she has pulled tight around her. She speaks softly to those around her, an excited grin playing about her lips. It would seem that she is quite ready for battle.

Already amidst the crowd of tribals already assembled is the man Ra\'d, his scimitar resting in the ground infront of him, Shield already attached to his arm. His hand absently runs across the bald scalp of the dark skinned man. His gaze steadily towards the north, lips pursed tightly, waiting in quiet anticipation.

Ra\'d glances at you.

Re\'kha grins back as her sister, her expression equally wolfish. She stand and gives the weapon a practice swing. The keen blade whistles though the air. \"Better to trust my life to this blade, rather than that pigsticker of yours. Of course, considering who we\'re gonna fight, yours is the more appropriate weapon!\" She throws back her head and laughs, the beads in her hair chiming against each other.

Taryn glances over towards Halanshil, watching him for a moment before she walks over to join him. \"Any word on how close they are?\" She follows his glance into the distance, then returns her attention to him, awaiting an answer.

Halanshil turns to Taryn and offers the woman a smile before saying, \"I am hoping the Chieftain will have word.\"

Tribals from several areas dot the encampment in clustered groups.... Duinbari from the south, and some of their few cousins, Narakshi and other northern tribesmen of atleast a half dozen dialecs with the Narakshi being the strongest represented. They errect no tents, sharing instead with others who have traveled further while their own pavilions even now treck and scatter into the grasslands and desert beyond in small groups with the live stock. They are, after all, a semi nomadic people.

Catching sight of the Desert Tower Officer\'s gesture, Leuthyn knees his coppery bay mare aside and trots her up towards Halanshil. She stops when he shift his weight but the fine little mare is ansty and side steps, nervous.

D\'oh\'s laugh echoes Re\'kha\'s, and she brings the spear up to inspect it, making a couple practice swings of her own.

D\'oh brings a finely crafted spear to a combat ready position.

Beneath the wavering heat rising from a distant can be seen some forty odd shapes moving towards this position. All upon foot and all geared for war. As they make their way towards this position it can be made out that here is the Lord of Black at the head of a small contingent, many in full warpaint they stalk forward, resembling more hunters then warriors but as they near one can make out the almost insane tension amongst them, many faces seem distorted.

Ra\'d removes the hand from his balding head, adjusting the wrap and lifting his Scimitar again, approaching the small group from the south he arrived with, speaking quietly to them, his gaze never drifting long from the north.

Halanshil studies the tribal leader as he makes his way towards him and he offers the man a bow before walking up beside the man\'s horse. He offers a sign of greeting before he says, \"[haradaic] Greetings Leuthyn. I am glad to see you, although I wish the timing and cause were of different nature.\" He looks to the north once more before saying, \"[haradaic] Any sign of them?\"

Re\'kha leaves her weapon unsheathed, but assumes a relaxed posture as her eyes travel over the assembled warriors. She nods to a few others of her tribe, and often whispers something to her sister while pointing at this or that warrior.

You look at Halanshil:

The man that lies before you is of medium build, but you can see that his body is well defined. His face has the leathery, sun tanned look of one that has spent most of his days in the sun. His eyes are brown, yet this is hard to determine because the man is almost always squinting, as if he is staring into the sun. His brown hair falls to his shoulders, but it is normally tied back and away from his face. It is almost at second glance, that you notice that this man is over six feet tall.

He is dressed in brown leggings and and a brown leather jerkin, yet on closer examination you can spy the silver links of a chainmail vest underneath this man\'s plain clothing. A cloak is draped over his shoulder\'s and what looks to be a longsword and the curved sheathed blade of a scimitar are strapped to his back, along with a large sack that you would presume hold his personal belongings.

On his left cheek are the markings of one of the nomad tribes from the Harandor, but his other cheek is mysteriously empty of design. A choker necklace hangs from his neck and a small, white rock hangs from it.

D\'oh snickers, nodding appreciatively at the man her sister has just pointed out. \"But which of us gets him first?\" she asks, slightly too loudly, her spear attracting her attention once more as she ducks her head in slight embarassment.

Like an unspoken wave, the Narakshi Outriders that have ridden across the river with Leuthyn now scatter through the camp, passing word by Varadja to their brethern. The northern tribals begin to strike their tents and gather their things to move.

Listening to Halanshil, the Narakshi Chieftain inclines his head respectfully to the Desert Tower Captain, his haradaic accented with his Varadja lilt, \"[haradaic] Aye... \" he wheels his nervous mare about, finally calming her with a firm patting of her neck, \"[haradaic] They are just north... not far from the old Mound. Do you know where of I speak?\"

Shethu-kal stops some distance away to lean upon his spear, planting the butte into the soft earth of the bank. He is silent, and reserved. His eyes dull and staring but upon closer inspection appears to be grinding his teeth. The hands which grip the short shafted hunting spear he has taken to wielding keep wrapping and then rewrapping around the shaft. The steel disk afixed to his forearm glistens darkly with blood smeared upon it. All across the expanse of his face, fine white lines drawn in patterns to resemble the face of the trolls of the deep south.

Re\'kha roars with laughter at her sister\'s embarassment. \"Well, since you seem to favor him so, you can have him!\"

You look at Shethu-kal:

The Jiakhu wears a simple black robe of spun cotton bound at both shoulders with large golden plates. Draped from these plates are several pounds of steel chain, forming a kind of armor around his midsection. The chains are tucked into his belt. His feet are clad in simple canvas boots with a thick leather base. His face is cut with three scars running horizontally across his forehead.

His eyes are a deep, rich brown and stare out at the world beneath two thin eyebrows and seperated by a long, almost regal nose. His lips are thick and pierced twice, a single gold chain runs from the loops to a golden plate which covers most of his right cheek. Around his neck is a golden torque shaped with the heads of two male Mumaks, the tusks forming a closed circle around the front of his neck.

He now wears his hair loose, long black strands of hair falling down around his shoulders. Surmounting his head is a helm of steel and leather made to resemble in many ways an Iron Crown. Where his left hand would be is a fist worked out of steel, flecks of black paint can be seen peeling from the dark metal. He walks with confidence and his entire demeanor seems to be of passive restraint.

Halanshil nods and looks again towards the north, as if straining to see that far. He then shrugs and turns to a runner who stands next to him and he says, \"[haradaic] Can you tell the Jaiku that the enemy is upon us.\" As the boy runs away, he then turns back to the Narakshi leader and says, \"[haradaic] I know the place well, and I am sorry that you have been up seated from your home. Will you join us?\"

Taryn places a hand on Halanshil\'s arm and excuses herself as she too walks towards the Jihaku. As she reaches him, she waits for the runner to finish speaking before she greets him. \"G\'day father. Are you prepared?\"

Leuthyn\'s dark eyes drift to the east for a moment, following the already faint line of retreat his people have taken, scattering into small groups... old men, women and children. His wives and children among them, keeping the tribe\'s possessions and live stock save, on the move. He returns his attention to the Captain before him, \"[haradaic] My home is anywhere my people are. And for now, we are here, some of us.\" He turns his scarred face to look over the camps, \"[haradaic] We join you.\"

You look at Gardan:

This dark-skinned man stands a little over six feet in height, and is powerfully built. Dark eyes are set close together above a squahsed nose that looks to have been broken multiple times. His scalp and jaw are clean shaven, revealing a few thin scars that cross his head. He moves with the unconscious and deadly grace of a veteran swordsman, always vigilant and alert.

He wears the uniform of the army of the Desert. Tower, a badge on his chest denoting his rank of Sergeant.

You look at Leuthyn:

Standing perhaps five foot ten inches in height, this slim but sinuey muscled man is dark of skin from long years of exposure to the sun. He is a man of middle years, youth having begun to flee him to some other place to leave lines writ upon his face, around his eyes and deeply on either side of his mouth. Deep scars etch the face, now fading slightly with age. A malevolent and lurid Eye is cut deeply to the very bone in his forhead, the skin around it scarred from terrible burns. Covering part of this grizzly tailismin is a crimson headcloth bound with a golden cord. The crimson cloth falls down his back to his waist with the knotted cords laying down the center. The front corners are often left loose to hang but also can be looped over the lower face and secured into the cord for a veil against windblown sand. Long thin braids of black hair might be glimpsed laying beneath. On each cheek are cut three down pointing small triangles so that this man\'s face is no less than ruined no matter how handsome he may have been in his youth. Deep set black eyes warily watch his desert world

He is garbed in a loose off white robe and loose pants of faded yellow that is belted at the waist. The wide belt is of typical famous Narakshi make of brightly dyed horsehair woven into pattern and falling free to hang over his left leg. Tucked into this in front is a large Narakshi long knife with a bone hilt. His feet are bare and hard callused.

Shethu-kal for the longest time does not move, though his face does register Taryn for the briefest moment. He suddenly leans forward and hisses in her ear \"We ... ... enough, ... ... ... ... .... This ... ... not ... well, ... position is ... ....\"

Finishing the short discussion with his kin, Ra\'d turns his attention more fully towards the north, Scimitar held towards the ground, shield on his arm, gaze towards the obvious avenue of attack, the Ford.

You look at Ra\'d:

Ra\'d is a dark skinned desert-man, head shaven clean of any hair, and decorated with a variety of tribal tattooing along the sides, and top of his head, as well as a small variety of glyphs upon his face, a stylized Eye rests in the center of this man\'s forehead. His face is grim, marred by a scar from the left side of his lip, to his ear. His eyes a dark shade, and quite gloomy in appearance.

Loose flowing robes the colour of sand flow about his form, beneath these robes one might catch the faint sight, or sound of metal armor jingling about lightly The robe is tied closed about the waist, though the worn armor shirt is visible beneath it, as well as a knee-length skirt of leather and metal. About his waist is strapped a wind worn scabbard which holds a polished scimitar. His clothing is embroidered and decotrated to a slight degree with jewelry and finery, his head covered by a wrap of cloth.

Taryn glances up at her father and shrugs. \"What can we do?\" She places a hand on his arm and smiles up at him before running off to re-join her men.

With the word, the northern tribesmen mount and begin to spread out from the camp, their tents colasped and backed. They form groups of varying sizes, based upon tribe or caste. Leuthyn himself shifts to stand up upon his mare\'s saddle and looks to the north, even as several of his Outriders do. A piercing whistle begins to break the air, a call of sorts to arms. The enemy comes.

Dropping back into his saddle, the Chieftain unslings his bow and checks his knife, then wheels his horse around with a loud whooop! Others already riding out pick up the call as the horsemen make a line of watchers, waiting for the city folk to gather themselves.

Faint and distant, thunder seems to rumble, and yet, the sky is well nigh cloudless -- and it does not fade, but ever grows. Nearer it draws, and yet nearer, and now there can be seen a cloud of dust rising in the distance. Vast and heavy, it moves forth -- and chill and fierce the wind blows of a sudden from the North, and it is rent asuder.

They stand revealed, those who come, and the very earth seems to tremble beneath them. Thickets of spears glinting in the sun, bright mail and tall helms, men upon mighty steeds riding at each flank -- the hosts of Gondor have come, and it is a sight terrible and wondrous to behold. And before them flies a banner fair and high, a silver swan upon a field of blue. And the sun glints golden upon the helm of the man who rides beside it -- a helm upon which a dragon seems to writhe and twist. The Helm of Dor-Lomin. The helm borne by the Prince of Dol Amroth.

D\'oh nods briefly, \"We\'ll see!\"

Behind the lines of fighting men are a cluster of healers. They are out of arrow range and appear to be there only as healers, not as fighters. A fireyhaired woman leads them. Maeghan holds up her hand and the healers stop and wait.

Imrahil wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Imrahil has arrived.

Rorgan wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Rorgan has arrived.

Phelan wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Phelan has arrived.

Maeghan wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Maeghan has arrived.

Upon the arrival of the enemy force from the north side of the Poros, the small force of Desert Tower elite form ranks behind thier Captain, while small packs of mercanary bands form up behind them. Halanshil looks at the men at his back and then towards the force arrayed on the other side of the field and he nods to himself, as if coming to grips with something before he bangs his scimitar on his shield suddenly and then he lets out a great WOOP, that is taken up by those near him.

Most of the riders in the first line are Narakshi, though some are garbed and geared differantly. The Narakshi, like their Chieftain, carry only knives and bows, some with slim lances instead of bows, more suited to hunting than for war. Few if any of them wear any kind of armour, just light desert robes. They are mounted on slender, thin but agile horses, well suited to the arid conditions and the heat of long summers. Here and there are better geared tribals from other places who bear painted boiled leather and scimitars. But they are fewer.

Leuthyn edges his flightly copper bay mare to his line of Riders and makes a clear hand gesture, saying nothing. The line begins to break into four sections, two each slipping aside to east and west... the Chieftain himself takes one last look behind him at the Tower Captains and Lords, then heels his mare to ride east as well. They -appear- to be getting out of the way of the coming battle!

With a glance at the that her men will have to face, the smile fades from Taryn\'s face. Upon hearing the cries from the Desert forces, she takes a deep breath before calling for her men to assemble behind her. The young Captain of the Black Tower forces appears nervous, indeed. But her father\'s determination has most definately rubbed off on her over the years, judging from the look in her eyes.

Shethu-kal having distanced himsefl from the main force of his tower present the Lord of Black remains still upon the slight rise watching the thickening clouds rolling behind the marching Gondorians. He squints his eyes slightly in an attempt to make out numbers. The warriors in attendance behind him remain still as statues with only the black robes and penants flashing in any movement of air.

The Silver Guard, now thirty strong, and only a drop in the bucket of the great Gondorian Army assembled and thundering forward, now break away from the van of the army and take their appointed place to the left of the mighty Prince Imrahil, each man tall and black clad, as befits the Guard of the man at their mid, a tall man of greying blond hair riding a horse of speed and grace unequalled by any other in all the ranks of even the Prince and his Thanes. This tall man, Rorgan by name, waves his sword high in a salute to the Prince of Dol Amroth and grins, pointing out his first sight of the enemy to the small troupe of men gathered about him.

Keleir wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Keleir has arrived.

You look at Rorgan:

Impressively tall and lean almost to the point of gauntness, this bright blue eyed man wears his gray-streaked blond beard covering his throat, and his still mostly blond hair is tied back with a fine blue ribbon. His face looks a bit worn and rough around the edges, but possibly, as a younger man, he may have even been considered handsome by some. However, the most distinguishing characteristic of this man are his feet -- they\'re just about the biggest feet you\'ve probably ever seen on a human.

This man\'s clothing, while well made, is positively utilitarian. His tunic, cloak, and leggings all echo the dull tones of the outdoors. His soft boots and wide belt are intentionally dulled to prevent the unwanted reflection, and his metal helm is covered in a layer of dull leather. Although it is hard to miss that this man is wearing armor under his clothes, the type may be hard to discern, as it has been silenced with a careful application of cloth strips and additional padding.

This man wears a longsword in the scabbard at his waist and carries a longbow.

Harthad wades across the River Poros and arrives from the north bank. Harthad has arrived.

You look at Imrahil:

Tall and lordly is this man, a figure of stern command, strong of limb and fair of face. Hair of the purest raven falls till his shoulders, and upon his brow is bound a silver fillet, and in it is set a white gem, bright and star-like. Keen grey eyes, sharp and probing, and yet with a kindly light in them he has. As a tried warrior in the fulness of his strength he seems, and one in whom pride is tempered well with wisdom. Noble is his bearing, and clearly can it be seen that the blood of Numenor runs true in him, not unmingled with elven blood.

Rich and worked with cunning details is his raiment. A fine-spun surcoat of royal blue bearing a silver swan and ship he wears over glittering, finely wrought mail which leads to bright-burnished vambraces upon his arms. A great cloak of the same hue, trimmed with the purest alabaster, falls from his shoulders, clasped at the throat by a silver brooch in the likeness of a swan. Golden and fair is the belt girt at his waist, and at his left hip he bears a mithril-hilted sword in a jewelled scabbard, and fell indeed it seems.

Slowly, the bit over two hundred mounted tribesmen that have split off from the main Umbarian forces, rerank themselves to the sides of the coming army of the north. They remain a fair distance back, watching the oncoming host of Gondor, far more heavily burdened and slower. The Riders wait, now having formed a great \'Horse Shoe\' with the Towers\' forces in the center, to the south.

A blade flashes in the light, a horn\'s cry sounds, wild and defiant, and slowly, akin to a river in spate halted by a wall of rocks, the army stops. Another horn cry, and from the mounted men who ride at the flanks, half come forth. Thither they stand, arrayed behind the one who leads them -- and the Prince of Dol Amroth looks once to Rorgan, a grim smile upon his visage, ere he turns to the Southrons.

A vast silence falls upon the Men of Gondor, and Imrahil rides forth a pace -- and another, and then yet another. And behind him, the mounted company does likewise. Cantering they start forth, and behind them, the footmen pace steadily. And then, the steeds stretch to a gallop, and the footmen step ever more swiftly. And in the end, with a great cry of \"GONDOR!\", the Knights of Amroth charge, and behind them at a steady pace come the footmen in serried ranks.

As the Gondorians, led by their fair Prince Imrahil, charge forth, the mounted tribesman remain calm and watchful, their ranks unmoving. They wait and watch as the army begins to slide into the Horse Shoe they have made. Most of the two hundred or so Riders begin to knock arrows to bows, waiting even as their horses become aggitated.

Shethu-kal\'s face remains impassive as the Knights charge towards the river. Though he does lift the short heavy hunting spear from the ground, holding it loosely in his right hand and keeps his left hand, with the shining steel plate afixed and jutting out from that the steel fist emplaced there. Behind him come muffled sounds as the personal guard of the Lord of Black ready themselves, standing to the right of the main attack they prepare to strike at any who go wide in their attempts to cross the river.

Eartnan has arrived.

As the enemy forces near, Re\'kha falls into a battle formation with her own tribe, though she maintains a position near her sister. As one, her people raise their battle cry to join Halanshil\'s.

Halanshil\'s eyes grow wide as the Knights charge across the field. The man to his left takes a step backwards then, and Halanshil reaches over to steady the man before turning his attention back to the charging knights. Again he lifts his scimitar over his head and lets out a great yell, that is immediatly taken up by those around him and the insanity of the moment seems to drive the adrenelin in their blood to bursting.

Halanshil suddenly steps back from the man assault, as does the rest of his men on the front line and a group of spear wielding Haradrim step forwards. The Captain of the guard starts to yell encouragement to the guards in front of him, yet what hope can hand held spears have against a calvary charge?

Maeghan and the healers remain near the back, awaiting when there will be need of them.

Halanshil wades into the river, which comes up to about his waist, and crosses to the north bank. Halanshil has left.

Crossing of Poros, N. Bank The cool and dry South Road cuts into the tall grass of South Ithilien to the north, and leads to a ford across the River Poros to the south. Another small dirt lane heads off to the northwest towards distant Gondor. The Poros is wide and looks shallow enough for easy passage--though in midstream you see the remains of several wagons which disrupt the flow of the river. The ruins of what was once a great bridge lays tumbled on the banks and in the riverbed, and the remains of the bridge\'s foundation still sits intact on both the north and south banks. A large stone monolith stands to your west. Pale yellow flowers grow upon the mound, and you see there is an inscription carved upon the monolith.

The day sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The early evening winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is new.

Contents: Halanshil Keleir Phelan Harthad Monument on a mound Obvious exits: Narakshi Camp, South, North, and NorthWest

Gardan wades to this side from the southern side of the River Poros. Gardan has arrived.

Many of the desert people here, clearly of various tribes, raise their voices against the approach of the enemy. A number of them also bang the hilts or handles of their weapons upon shields and the earth, and the noise is thunderous.

From afar, D\'oh steps up, dropping her spear to the ground and quickly turning her back to the approaching Gondorian Knights. She looks over at Re\'kha, winking briefly as she tugs at her belt. Her intent becomes obvious - as does her backside, and she waves it in the direction of the enemy.

Through the shallows of the cold Poros treads Harthad, at the front of a large group of men clad in likeness to his forest raiment. With sword and shield raised high over the surface whilst the ranger\'s green breeches are stained dark with water cloak dragging at the hind. His waist heaves back and forth as he goes, eyes vexed against the massing forces that lie fathoms ahead. At length he reaches the southern bank, expressionlessly eyeing the footmen that ebb from the river. Soon Harthad\'s resilient body swiftly hurtles through the tall grasses, carried by his toned, doughty legs shouting all the while, \"Gondor!\"

D\'oh and Re\'kha step up in front of the tribal line, dropping their weapons to the ground and quickly turning their backs to the approaching Gondorian Knights. Each looks over at the other, sharing a laugh briefly as they tug at their belts. Their intent becomes obvious - as does their backsides, and they wave them in the direction of the enemy.

Gathering their weapons, the sisters scamper back into formation as laughter echoes around them. Once they\'re safely within ranks, the front lines drop to their knees behind their shields as the archers behind them let loose a rain of arrows upon the hapless Gondorians.

Screams being to mingle with the laughter as many of the arrows hit home amongst the wading Gondorians. The water downstream rapidly changes color as the blood begins to flow.

You look at Phelan:

Phelan is about average height for a human, and fairly muscular. He has light brown hair and dusty grey eyes, and a deep tan from many hours in the sun. He looks to be in his late teens, and you can see some stubble appearing on his chin.

Phelan is wearing studded leather armor, over which he has on a long sleeved shirt, a pair of long pants with a broad belt, and a pair of tall boots, all of which are black. Over all this he has a Guards tabbard on, with the Guards insignia, the tabbard has no distinuighing marks besides this. Around his shoulders is his cloak, the cloack is pitch black outside and a beautiful shade of crimson. The hood hangs off his back. In the center of his chest is a broach with an engraving of a large sword (pommel down,) at the tip of the sword there is a starburst. This broach is holding his cloak closed. Over his right shoulder the mighty blade Isilnare is slung, in a magnificant crimson scabbard. The pommel is in the form of a deep blue stone and below it there is a grip of worn leather, just above the sleek blade. On the scabbard there are two medium diamond shaped stones about six inches apart, the stones are a clear dark blue.

The sons of Ithilien, green-clad warriors of the South, stretch their force out along the length of the Poros, stealing across the river singly and in groups to fall in behind the rest of Gondor\'s host. All hooded and masked, they fade in and out of sight by the benefit of their garb and begin to make their way up onto the southern banks. Among them is Keleir, tall and stern of face as he strides out of the black waters to meet the men of the South. Suddenly he raises his shield with the others around him, blocking the thicket of arrows that drop from the skies and slip water or sink into the soft mud at their feet.

The Desert Tower elite stand behind their commander and they let out a cheer when the rain of arrows fall downwards towards the charging Gondorians. Halanshil takes a step forward and the group behind him follow suit. He then yells out for his men to follow him as he wades down to the south bank to contest the Rangers as they try to force their way in. As the two forces crash together and great roar can be heard.

A flash of heat lightening can be seen in the distance and the spillage of blood pours into the Poros. Halanshil spears a man with his scimitar and then gets nocked from his feat as a Gondorian crashes into his back. He goes down in a splash of water, while the fighting goes on around him.

The archers let loose another deadly rain of arrows. More Gondorians sink into the Poros before ever reaching the southern shore.

Racing towards the Haradrim soldiers with the rest of his company, Phelan drops back a little so as not to get unusual piercings from many enemy spears. Seeing a fellow soldier fall dead into the river, he doesn\'t have time to stop, before running into the man. Falling face first into the water of the Polos, he slowly gets back up. After shoving aside a large lump, presumbly a dead body, he wades the rest of the way out of the water...

D\'oh swings her spear in front of her in a wide arc, then brings it in close to her body to use it to jab with, making her way towards the advancing wet knights, shoulder-to-shoulder with Re\'kha.

Re\'kha matches her sister step-for-step, also advancing into the front ranks of the Gondorians who\'ve survived the crossing.

As the southern forces clash with the enemy, the archers pull back and move to higher positions, their arrows useless now that the enemy has been engaged.

Harthad, his leather shield like a bastion, sends any arrows from the storm wide of its wielder as he races ever closer toward the Southron forces. Although the soaked cloak that weighs at his legs perplexes the dash, his spirit sends him at full strength-bounding over bodies of the fallen, both Gondorian and Haradrim alike. At certain intervals the leather-crowned head of the man turns over his shoulder, eyes flashing over the many scouts and rangers that speed from the banks. Just as quickly as the man does so, his head is once more set forth, eyes aflame beneath the shadowy mask that graces his weathered face.

His lucid, grey eyes reflect the Ranger\'s proud Numenorean lineage peering out from beneath a dark visage mounted by raven hair. A green mask, with only slits for the eyes, oft hides his grim features. Clad in a raiment of assorted greens and browns, a lengthy cloak arrays his body which whirls about him as he moves.

Gauntlets of thick, black leather are worn upon his hands, and boots of the same repair shoe his feet. One may only catch a glimpse of a scabbard and hilt though a bow and quiver assemble his back. Surely this man is one of the few who serve Faramir in the woodland region of Ithilien.

Within the swirling melee, Gardan pulls his scimitar from a fallen opponent\'s stomach and brings it back up to its guard position. Glancing side-to-side quickly, he parries a blow from the side and turns to face his agressor.

With a wildcat\'s scream, Re\'kha buries her scimitar in the chest of a Gondorian, quickly pulling it free.

D\'oh swings her spear once more, and finds herself face-to-face with Harthad. Grinning, she backs up a pace, setting her spear for a hard lunge at the man.

The blackness of night creeps over the sky as the red sun sinks below the horizon. You shiver as night claims the Harondor.

Up from the shore Keleir strides, feet sinking heavy into the soft earth of the bank and clothing his clings damply to his person. Ahead of him races the figure of Harthad, and the Ranger stays close with the man as they ready themselves to meet with the enemy, \"Curse you Southrons!\", goes up many the cry from Gondor\'s men as shield and sword class. His own held high and ready, Keleir makes his way into the fray.

D\'oh lights her torch.

D\'oh attacks Harthad with her Spear and mildly wounds him!

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

Phelan lights his lantern.

You strike a piece of flint, and your lantern comes to life.

The Captain of the Desert Tower suddenly emerges from the river Poros right behind the Rangers. His face is bloody and scraped, yet a glint of anger is in his eye. He lets out a roar, which is echoed from his force of elite guards from the Desert Tower who are at the moment meeting the Rangers head on. They scream out to their captain as he comes racing up alone behind the rangers, trapped on the other side of the line. Yet the man is lost in the frenzy of battle and he lets out another foolish yell before charging towards Keleir.

Suddenly a light prodding halts the route of the Ranger. It seems as though a twig of a spear had pricked the man upon his hauberk with not even enough force to break the skin. \"Ugh! Cursed Southron wench!\" cries Harthad as his eyes spy the Southern woman. Though no strike does he issue in return for the enemy\'s favour. But instead he cries, \"Forth Gondor!\" and leaps further into the din of clashing men.

Phelan charges into the fray, seeing an enemy soldier with no opponent he charges at them to insure that they don\'t attack one of his allies. Drawing close to the soldiers he lets out a cry of \"Die Scum!!!!\" and slashes at the man\'s chest

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

Phelan furiously attacks Gardan with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

D\'oh blinks in surprise as the man passes her by in favor of one of her tribesmen. Shrugging it off, she turns to the next that comes behind him, giving him the same treatment.

Seeing one of her compatriots apparently trapped on the wrong side of the lines, Re\'kha yells for her sister and begins to hack her way through the Gondorians, trying to reach Halanshil.

D\'oh sets her jaw at a stubborn angle and makes to follow after Re\'kha, but her way is quickly cut off. Howling in frustration, she looses her emotions on the nearest target.

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

Your lantern burns out in your hands.

The Captain of the Desert Tower growls upon recognizing the Ranger who has risen before him and a fierce smile comes to his lips when Keleir\'s blade swings out at him. He dodges to his left suddenly but slips on the muddy earth at his feet and narrowly misses gettting hit by the rangers strike. He stumbles for a few feet before turning around to take a back handed swing at Keleir extended sword arm.

Halanshil attacks Keleir with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!

Feeling the bite of the sword into his good leg, Phelan roars in frustration \"Die!!!\" and takes a swing at the man\'s chest again.

That target of D\'oh\'s turns out to be Phelan, already unfortunately being engaged by another of her kin. Her yells not ceasing, she charges at him, spear held as though she herself were one of the Knights jousting in a mere tourney.

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

D\'oh attacks Phelan with her Spear and lightly wounds him!

Phelan attacks Gardan with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

While Halanshil has been occupied with Keleir, another Gondorian has moved up behind him. Re\'kha calls out, \"Half-breed! Watch your back!\" Lunging forward, she drives off the tribal\'s would-be assassin.

Krisorn wades to this side from the southern side of the River Poros. Krisorn has arrived.

Krisorn comes waltzing in, a merry tune on his lips at the sight of the crowds of people and his woodsmans axe in his hands as he looks for a foe to slay. His eyes are slitted in anger.

Entrag wades to this side from the southern side of the River Poros. Entrag has arrived.

The Southron evades Keleir\'s strike with a swift move and the sword slices through the air till the tip of it sinks shallow into the mud at his feet. Bent forward, he draws back with a grunt of effort, but not in time to leave the path of Halanshil\'s own blade which cuts a wide gash high upon his left arm. Around them the sounds of battle fill the air, the clashing of metal on metal ringing hard with the cries of Men against Men on the shores of the Poros. Keleir\'s feet slide slightly in the mud as he regains his posture, and he sweeps his sword out before him defensively to keep the man at bay.

Krisorn sees several of the Haradrim foes on the shores of the water. He yells an inarticulate cry and charges at them his axe raised high to fell his foes like lumber.

Keleir attacks Halanshil with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.

Gardan\'s eyes grow wide as his opponent\'s weapon again cuts through the protection of his armor. Stumbling, his knees buckle and he slips down several inches before regaining control of his legs. Glancing quickly at the newly arrived tribal, he nods to her before once again sending his blade toward his enemy\'s thigh.

Gardan attacks Phelan with his Scimitar, but he misses by a handspan.

Re\'kha reaches Halanshil\'s side as the Gondorian swings. Before waiting for Halanshil\'s response, she launches her own attack, sweeping a sideways cut towards the unprotected under arm area.

D\'oh turns from the one she struck at, seeking a new target for her building rage. A yell distracts her, and she pivots to see the man emerging from the water, axe raised. Laughing quietly, she moves in to halt his charge, lunging low.

You attack Keleir with your Scimitar...

Keleir parries your attack with his Longsword!

D\'oh attacks Krisorn with her Spear and moderately wounds him!

From South, Leuthyn twists about again in his saddle and drops his bow into his lap, cupping his hands to his mouth to yell at the very top of his lungs, \"[varadja] SANDSTORM! PULL BACK SOUTH!\" He yells this over and over, finally kneeing his mare to face south as the word begins to travel through the scattered Variags in the deepening darkness.

Phelan feels the sting of a point in his back, reacting to the attack involuntarilly he move aside and dodges the oncoming attack. Moving forward towards his original enemy he tries to move away from the backstabber behind him, swinging at the man in frint of him he tries to hit the man\'s sword arm.

Phelan attacks Gardan with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

Halanshil follows through with his back handed slash that connects with Keleir\'s arm and he turns his body slightly so that his shield is before him to deflect any counter attack by the ranger. His boots make a sucking sound when he pivots in the muddy ground, and a silent curse escapes from his lips as Keleir swings back at him. He ducks under the rangers attack and he pushes his shield forward trying to fend off a return attack as he cuts across his body towards the exposed chest of the ranger.

In the distant south a great whirling noice can be heard, and the wind starts to pick up around the combatants near the river. Even the carrion birds that are flying in circles above are starting to fly to the north.

Krisorn scowls in anger as the spear pierces his leg, his foolish charge halted by the sharp point in his leg. He brings his axe down aiming as much for for his foes arm as for her body. \"Spit me like a fowl will you woman!\" His right hand clutches his bleeding leg trying to keep the blood flow down.

Krisorn attacks D\'oh with his Axe, but D\'oh parries the attack with her Spear!

Halanshil attacks Keleir with his Scimitar, but Keleir parries the attack with his shield!

A tide of soldiers washes out of the river, stumbling across the ground they are Men of Gondor, drenched from hair to heel, clutching swords in slippery hands. They crawl from the edge of the river, these new combatants, struggling through the initial mud like suffocating fish.

In the midst of the group, one wild-eyed Entrag pulls himself along the Poros has infected his limbs - they are watery, dangling with arms held loosely in liquid resistance. He is not so much directed by his fellows as he is pushed, carried on a wave of their growing enthusiasm away from the bank where clouds of flesh dust begin to plaster his dripping garments.

Frowning in deep concentration, D\'oh raises her spear just in time to halt the descent of the axe. She grunts under its weight, leaning in to the man to hiss at him from between her teeth. \"More like the pig you are...\" She spins away, and brings her spear back around in an arc, aiming for the man\'s knees.

D\'oh attacks Krisorn with her Spear, but Krisorn parries the attack with his Axe!

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

Re\'kha looks twards the south and her brow furrows as she tries to decipher the shouted words being echoed by many mouths. Her eyes widen, and she screams to her sister, \"[haradaic] SANDSTORM!! We\'ve got to get out of here!\"

Lossaran wades to this side from the southern side of the River Poros. Lossaran has arrived.

Krisorn moves with a grace that is deceptive for one so coarse. His axe moves down with a minimal of shifting, and takes the spear on the haft of his weapon. \"Pig am I? A wild boar with tusks to gore you I fear.\" His axe head strikes out now, more a stab than a swing from the bulky woodsmans axe, it\'s head dangerously blunt.

Krisorn attacks D\'oh with his Axe and moderately wounds her!

Gardan cries out in pain as the Gondorian\'s sword bites deeply into his forearm. His scimitar falls to the ground as he stumbles away, his good hand clutching at his newest wound. His bloodied chest heaving, he takes a moment to shut out the pain before rushing to regain his weapon with his uninjured arm. He lifts the blade somewhat awkwardly, his head whipping around briefly in reaction to the shouted words.

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

From South, Leuthyn turns his mare sharply and slips from the saddle in the inky darkness, the wind already whipping and beginning to become gritty with the approaching storm. He bends and picks up a wounded man, helping the other to his horse. Mounting up behind the Outrider he has stopped to save, the Chieftain shouts again, \"[varadja] Seek the wounded! Hurry! Hurry!\" his shouts are almost lost in the rising wind and sounds of battle.

The flat side of Keleir\'s sword meets Halanshil\'s shield, the hard smack of it shivering the iron blade and the arm that wields it. Another joins Halanshil against Keleir and the Ranger swings out his own shield to take the brunt of the force the woman sends at him. The southern blade cracks against his shield and he pushes against it the foe. Renewed pain to the deep cut that bleeds through his garb throbs with the racing beat of his heart and Keleir sets his face in grim determination, fighting to hold against the second strike from the Tower captain. Swiftly he draws back the shield before him, sweeping it outward to brush aside the man\'s weapon while he swings round his sword in another defensive move to distance the man from him.

Keleir attacks Halanshil with his Longsword, but he misses by a long shot.

D\'oh turns her head at Re\'kha\'s cry, taking the axe\'s head in her ribs with a startled cry. Gritting her teeth, she tries to maneuver her spear around for a jab despite the close quarters. She makes no reply to his quip, focusing instead on regaining her breath and concentration.

D\'oh attacks Krisorn with her Spear and moderately wounds him!

Re\'kha yells at Halanshil, even as she strikes again at Keleir, \"[haradaic] Come, half-breed! We\'ve got to get back with the others!\" Her swing aims at the Gondorian\'s shoulder.

Phelan see\'s his enemies momentary lose of concentration and feeling his own wounds a little more now that he has half a moment to think, he limps towards his opponent and once again attacks him, this time going for his legs.

Phelan attacks Gardan with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

The damp stragglers float Entrag along in their midst - of all this newest wave, he looks the most reluctant to be here, the most unsure of his place. By sheer luck rather than any providence he moves - or, rather, is moved - closer to Keleir and the unintelligable Southron. The rest of his group, split and disorganized by their recent dampening and the growing motes of irritating dust, funnel out in other directions.

Krisorn pays dearly for his lack of concentration as the Haradrim woman\'s spear slides along his ribs, drawing a line of blood and deep gash that pulls a grunt from him. He steps back slightly and winces at the pain from his wounded thigh as well and his lips move in silent words as he struggles to bring the axe around to grind his foe\'s arms into kindling.

Krisorn attacks D\'oh with his Axe, but he misses by a handspan.

The Captain of the Desert Tower catches Keleir\'s attack on his shield. And he shrugs it aside before surging forward suddenly as if trying to overwhelm the Ranger, pushing the man towards Re\'kha. His right boot splashes into the water and he gets knocked off balance slightly, but still his blade comes on. The wind forces his free hair in front of his face as his overhand attack comes down aimed at Keleir\'s shoulder, so his eyes do are blinded from the truth of his actions.

Halanshil attacks Keleir with his Scimitar and badly wounds him!

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

The large sand storm is close now as the wind continues to pick up. Many a haradrim warrior, more familiar with the insanity of these storms have already retreated from the Poros in an effort to seek shelter from the storm, but there might be no hope for the gathered armies. A great shout goes up now as more and more people come out of their battle lust to see the danger that is now close by.

D\'oh\'s knees flex, and she hops backwards from her foe. She backpedals - paying dearly for the attempt with the loss of her balance. She pauses, then laughs. \"Another time, swine...\" She wipes at her eyes, batting away grit carried in the rising winds, and looks around for a hole to slip through to get away to safety - safety from the storm.

Cordan travells through the unending grasses, and comes your way. Cordan has arrived.

Blood flows freely from Gardan\'s right leg as the Gondorian again hits home. The man of the Desert tower collapses as the injured limb folds beneath his weight. Panting heavily, he manages to bring himself to his feet once again. All but ignoring his opponent with the threat of the sandstorm present, he turns and begins to hobble away, his injured leg dragging behind.

Krisorn smiles and says, \"I will await your return patridge dear. Your boar is not finished yet though I may bleed terribly. More from pride than anything else.\"

D\'oh dodges aside Krisorn, and manages to escape!

D\'oh heads south, wading into the River Poros, and arrives on the south bank. D\'oh has left.

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

Gardan tries to flee from Phelan, but he fails!

Cordan rides in, keeping his distance unsure of the situation.

Watching his enemy start to hobble away Phelan shouts \"Yea, you leave, I\'ll kill you later!!!!\" Deciding to leave his enemy in pain he starts to hobble away from the endangered battle. Thinking the better of it he sinks to his knees, and tries to hides his head under his shield and out of the wind and flying sand.

Keleir sends a quick and angry glance at Re\'kha as once again the Ranger\'s shield takes the a hard strike, saying harshly into the storming winds, \"[haradaic] Half-***** you are, wicked ******** of the South. Get you back now to your stolen lands!\" Stepping toward the woman, Keleir feels the push from aside, Halanshil\'s movement sending him unbalanced torward to Re\'kha who the Ranger sweeps his sword around at. A wide arc it takes, cutting through the air in an seemingly unpracticed motion. Even as his weapon is sent forward, Keleir does not see the downward blade that Halanshil sends him until it hits hard and deep into his shoulder to send down onto his knees with a cry issuing from his lips.

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

Cordan flips off of his horse, being his usual lone self, he tries to hold his horse steady amidst the storm. Glowering at everything happenning, he finds a place to tie the horse down and the unsheaths his longsword in case he is needed.

A light bobs and weaves off to the south.

From the south runs, weaving and dodging soldiers and horses, a lone scout, his cloak flying behind him, looking about desperately. Off in the distance he spies others in similiar garb and stops, eyeing the situation. Longbow poised in one hand he draws forth a white arrow and looks for a target. The most accessible stands near his companion Keleir and he closes his one eye, ignore all else around him. Letting his arrow fly it flies wide of Re\'kha with the wind and sand blowing about. Cursing and slinging his longbow over his shoulder he draws his shield and longsword, avoiding a charging horse as he fumbles with each.

Krisorn steps back a bit to stay with the rest of the Gondorians, and after a moment of annoyance at his foes flight he lets out a blood curdling bellow from lungs long used to yelling over the sounds of falling trees, \"Hhhhhhhaaaarrruuuuuuuumm\" Afterwards Krisorn looks a great deal more pleased and smiles, holding his hand against his side.

Gardan continues his awkward flight to the south, ignoring the fools who still fight with the far more immediate threat posed by the storm. He leaves a dripping trail of blood as he limps for safety.

Gardan heads south, wading into the River Poros, and arrives on the south bank. Gardan has left.

The sandstorm is in full force now and the dust and sand is almost blinding to the eyes. Halanshil struggles to keep his footing after his strike hits home upon Keleir, but as the mans attention is pushed aside to Re\'kha, the Captain of the Desert Tower looks towards his men and he calls out to them, \"To me, Red Hand, to me.\" He then steps back and calls out to Re\'kha, \"Come on.\" He then stands over the Ranger warding him from retaliating, while he waits for Re\'kha to pass him. A few of his elite guard come to his side, but most have been lost in the Sandstorm.

Partially blinded by the stinging sand, Re\'kha has brought a tailing end of her headscarf and used it to cover most of her face, but the flapping of the fabric is nearly as hazardous. As Keleir stumbles into her, she is also thrown off-balance by the sucking mud, and is unable to see or dodge the heavy longsword. The blow catches her across the back, slicing through her light armor and clothes, and into the soft flesh beyond. She falls with a cry, sprawling into the mud.

Re\'kha struggles to rise, her hands and toes sinking into the sludgy ground, even as blood pours from her back.

It takes the young scout Lossaran several moments and one close call from a fleeing Haradrim\'s strike at his back while he transfers weapons. Finally he is set and covers his eyes to scan where his companions are. Stepping careful forward, his cloak blasted backwards as he fights the wind, the scout calls out to Keleir and Krisorn, his words lost in the chaos.

D\'oh wades to this side from the southern side of the River Poros. D\'oh has arrived.

Krisorn watches for a while before the sands become to be too much for him and his blood, flowing freely from his leg and side become clotted with the junk. He mutters to himself in annoyance at the winds strength and falls back from whence he came with a last cry, lost mostly in the wind, \"I\'ll find you Patridge of Harad. You and I arn\'t done yet woman.\"

Halanshil watches the ranger walk away and he lets the man be before sheathing his blade and struggling over to the struggling form of Re\'kha. He bends down against the wind and grunts with the effort when he lifts the lady up in his arms, craddling her before him before making his way up the bank towards the south shore of the Poros. A few of his guardsmen, those who have not become lost in the dust storm struggle along side there captain as he carries his burden away from the field.

D\'oh jogs back from the south, pushing her way against the flow of those who seek to avoid the storm. She stops, cupping her mouth to yell futilely in the howling winds, \"[haradaic] Re\'kha! Sister! Where are you?!\"

Lossaran falls twice onto the ground as he struggles to make his way to Keleir, sheathing his sword and throwing his shield onto his back once again, forgetting about fighting now. It takes all his effort to reach the Ranger calling out continually until he is within a mere few feet of the even slower moving man. Grabbing him under one arm, noticing the limp state of the one shoulder he yells out over the wind, \"Come on!\" He begins to carry him toward the water.

Re\'kha struggles to her feet, supported mostly by Halanshil. Despite her wound, she still clutches her scimitar in a weak grasp.

Halanshil heads south, wading into the River Poros, and arrives on the south bank. Halanshil has left.

Phelan hides under his shield as best he can under the circumstances. Standing up he tries to move towards the river but can\'t move much in the wind at all. Going to his knees he covers his head again this time with his shirt and shield.

You head south for several hours. Harad Road The light of Shethu-kal\'s lantern illuminates a small circle around you. The outlines of the cool and dry grassy savannah stretch off endlessly to the horizon. To the south it appears the grass thins, giving way to scrub brush and patches of bare earth.

A fierce dust storm rages, throwing up choking clouds of dust that are impenetrable to the eye. The midnight winter air is cool and dry around you. The moon is not visible.

Contents: Halanshil Gardan Taryn Shethu-kal Obvious exits: North and South