Heavy Losses
A tale freshly told of the Gondorian
As Gondor advances eastward across the bridge in Osgiliath, a clever ambush by the forces of Mordor sets them back.
[Boromir(#31578)]
It is afternoon. The sun is still above, though slowly crawling down to the west. The shadows of Mordor are high in the eastern sky, writ dark with obsidian overcast, but in the west the setting sun shines unsullied as a shimmering seashell down by the seashore. Horns are heard in the west, where the strength of Gondor is mustered. In the east, the City of the Stars is quieter.
Over the bridge comes a new troop of men, pennants fluttering proudly above the glimmer of their shields and their helms and their mail. Their pennants are proud, yes, and their faces too, though one could see that most of them are young and untested, only new scarred by the fighting here in Osgiliath and made brighter by the victories thus far. The unfurled banners bearing the Daystar above mark them as the levvied soldiers of the Bright Sun Company, and at their fore are a handful of officers including Boromir, Captain-General of the Hosts.
\"Forward, men!\" he cries as they march down into the eastern streets of Osgiliath. There has been fighting around the eastern ends of the great bridge and the old sunward districts of the city, though this is so far the first major push on Gondor\'s part into the eastern city so long held by the servants of the Dark Lord.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
A few steps behind Boromir is the Sun\'s Captain, Tirandir Telpekhor. The barrel-chested officer squints away the afternoon light, peering fully ahead.
\"You heard the Captain-General! Onwards!\"
And strapped to this man\'s back is a prized family heirloom: a greatsword.
[Erindil(#24692)]
Black clad and tall, the seasoned Lieutenant of this fresh company, Erindil Nimothan strides ahead of the Sun hosts beside the Captain, slightly behind the son of Denethor.
His dark eyes look ahead, restlessly scanning - his expression stoic.
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Marching at the end of the formation, the Captain of the Silver Ship seems oddly in his element, despite being far from it amongst the younger Company. His mission seems clear, as he barks a few short orders at the men in front of him-- maintain discipline and structure in the back, and keep the would-be stragglers pressing onward. Taurmegil\'s steps are surprisingly light, as the march toward the East seems to trouble him not.
[Boromir(#31578)]
There are men of Ithilien about scouts and Rangers patrolling the shadows beyond the bridge, having already fought the first of their pitched battles with the servants of the Dark Lord who have, for so long, dwelt in this place and made it their home.
But the Company of the Bright Sun pushes on, the measured thumping of the greenhorns\' marching giving some hint of the hasty training they have received since being pushed into service for Gondor\'s sake. Boromir\'s eyes scan the shadows ahead, in search of the enemies that cannot be too far off.
The company heads down one of Osgiliath\'s wide main streets.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
As the noble host marches on, the ruins to the east await them shadows grown long and dark beneath the broken arches and toppled towers there. A chill breeze can be felt seeping through the masonry to greet the might of Gondor, and upon the stones about there is the stink of death and gore. No merry welcome is this for the Bright Sun Company.
Indeed, something altogether more fiendish seems to have been prepared for the men -- cruel eyes watch from dark corners and hidden crannies. The denizens of eastern Osgiliath appear unwilling to give up their home the grip of Sauron not yet lifted from the ruined city. So it is that a great number of orcs loiter unseen but not unseeing, and below the whisper of the wind they hiss amongst themselves.
One pair of eyes in particular narrow at sight of Erindil\'s bold stride, and a snarl of malice stirs in the throat of their owner. Lorbag, a captain of Dol Guldur and known by now to many of his counterparts from Ithilien moves in the dark, and with a chop of his hand he gives a signal.
And woe to the invaders as he does, for his signal prompts a cracking of stone and rubble from above the Company. From towers oft hewn and long marred there is a scrape and a groan, ere heavy chains are wrenched taut and the masonry begins to crumble altogether. The telltale noise of trolls unrevealed can be heard, crying out in effort as they tug for all they are worth, and as the old towers are torn asunder their rubble is sent crashing down upon the rear of the Gondorian march.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
Beside a pile of rubble is a small orc: a tracker who has oft sniffed out the Tarks she stands now watching, snug with a fur cap on her head. Bloody squirrel-fangs gnash in agony upon preserved heads upon the black hood, and Pishgob smiles, licking her own stained teeth. Her scimitar is sharp, but the blade is darkened, though with gore or with poison it is hard to say. She waits, her hands twitching.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
The Telpekhor Captain\'s greatsword sparkles in the mid-afternoon sun.
\"Move! Move!\" he yells.
His eyes fall to the rear of the formation as the rubble crashes down.
[Boromir(#31578)]
The crumbling towers of old Osgiliath, undone by the work of Sauron, descend upon the Bright Sun in a roar of stone and mortar, sowing ruin in their collapse. Amid an already-rising cloud of dust and dirt, there come blood and screams as Mordor\'s trap falls upon the rear half of the assembled Hostmen.
A hundred die instantly. A hundred more are trapped or half-buried admid the narrow waste created by the debris. And hundreds others are struck by hurtling chunks of stone.
[Boromir(#31578)]
From the very fore of the column, now broken at its middle, Boromir swings about-- his eyes wide with surprise and rage as lives and hopes are snatched away before them. A company wrought through his own endeavours and the wills of a thousand young hands and minds lost to a fell trap.
\"Form up!\" he cries, Angring sliding from his belt, though no foe has yet appeared. \"Form up and prepare! Pull your comrades from the rubble if you can!\"
[Lorbag(#28583)]
And in the chaos of the trap, eyes of Men might be forgiven missing the shapes in the dark ahead of them clinging to the shadows cast upon the streets as they scurry along them. It seems that this slide of rubble has not been alone in recent days, for fresh piles of stone and masonry are sought by the scampering orcs, though they are not silent as they go.
Shrill laughter trails behind them, crude taunts made in the Common Tongue to mock the plight of those murdered by the trap.
[Erindil(#24692)] Far ahead of the avalanche, the Nimothan Lieutenent stands his ground. His eyes fall on the tumble of stones but a moment and then flicker up to where once the towers stood.
He draws his longsword and hefts his shield securely.
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Bearing the ill-fate of one such man at the rear of the formation, Taurmegil is perhaos fortunate to have only been knocked to one knee, a stone not large enough to crush him being the culprit. Quickly he pushes himself back to his feet and looks sharply around, his gaze doing its best to pierce through the thick cloud of dust. As his fellow survivors begin to scramble around him, the voice of the Silver Ship\'s Captain can be heard calling out-- even above the screams of the slowly dying.
\"Hold fast!,\" he calls, moving quickly to physically position the shaken survivors, if necessary, \"Form the line, move!\"
And as the cloud of dust begins to settle, so does the image of a rather shakey line begin to appear, the Lord Seronauth at its middle. It is then that he pulls his greatsword from its resting place, as he braces for what may next come, his gaze continuing to search for the culprits.
The ground shudders and shakes, though this is no earthquake. From behind the rubble, one of the trolls now emerges. Two-eyed Trock--for he has two eyes--slowly puts one foot in front of another, crushing the rubble under his massive feet. His hands, misshapen, carry a massive stone as if it weighs nothing more than a pebble, and an axe is hooked onto what passes for a belt on this troll\'s \"clothing,\" which is actually nothing more than a scrap of torn rags. \"Our bridge...our bridge..\" With each thunderous step, Trock repeats the words, following the army of Gondor as it moves east.
[Gurtir(#30678)]
A Man at Arms of the first line, Hurlaer of the Rovacil, marches on as bidden uncertainty shows in his features, though the presence of his officers ahead keep his morale-- and that of his comrades.
Until the crumbling! The Man at Arms looks back in surprise, shock... then he looks forward again to the leaders unsheated swords, he sees? Unsheat his sword does he do then.
[Faramir(#28937)]
Though some Scouts and Rangers fall as prey to the ambush, a handful of stern veterans are searching amongst the ruins for the as-yet-unseen enemy. Swiftly they move, driven by the urgency of their comrades, for the men of Ithilien know these ruins better than most.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
Tirandir wastes little time in moving through waste and rubble, glancing here and there as he does to the fallen and the already dead. He pulls a single young soldier from beneath a rock that has pinned him down before...
...he finds himself standing in front of a massive troll.
He says nothing, grits his teeth and raises his sword.
[Erindil(#24692)]
\"Draw your sword or go help with the wounded,\" Erindil commands a knot of young, hesitant men. \"This trap has not yet fully sprung.\"
He herds them towards the rubble, his own eyes searching the shadows and ruins beside them...
Pishgob licks her lips again, scuttling about the rocks. Her steps take her circuitously, over shale and marble-dust, over bone and flesh-pulp. She reaches down, trails clawed fingers in Tark-blood seeping from something that was recently human. She brings her fingers to her lips, licking slowly, savoring the taste, smelling the last moment of fear still in the blood. Then she moves forwards, seeking prey of a warmer sort.
\"Our bridge..our bridge...\" Grumpily, Trock the troll mutters, swinging his arm back and readying to release the boulder he holds, bowling-ball style, into the tark troops before him. But there, right in front of him, is the relatively pea-sized tark, Tirandir, brandishing that matchstick of a sword. Trock wavers, and his \'bowling\' arm sways somewhat so that the boulder bounces down the \"alley\" toward the troops, the rock likely missing Tirandir. Unfortunately, Trock also has a good follow-through, and his right arm now comes forward, right in the direction of Tirandir, with all the momentum of the troll\'s swing.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
As the troll lumbers into view at the rear of the march, Erindil at the front is rewarded with a sorry sight indeed. The shadowed ruins are still a moment longer, ere from their depths comes a sudden rush of bodies. Cackles and rasps fill the air abruptly, echoing back from the tortured stone more terrible than before and it seems the trap has been fully sprung.
With dead, wounded and an olog to deal with behind them, the Company must now contend with the black tide of Mordor -- several hundred wicked blades slashing and slicing in search of blood. Lorbag is among them, bearing no sword but a spiked sledge instead, and the Nimothan Lieutenant fills his hateful gaze. Toward Erindil he charges, and high does his weapon fly before hurtling down toward the noble man\'s helm.
The Rangers sniffing nosily about the ruins are met with a hail of stones and rubble thrown their way, followed by more cackles and the sound of steel being drawn.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
The massive arm of the troll smashes into the armored chest of the Telpekhor Captain, lifting him off of his feet and knocking him away.
\"Oomph!\"
As Tirandir rises slowly to his feet, his dizzied eyes survey the battlefield. He yells, \"Tighten the formations! Stay close!\"
And then he rushes the great beast of Mordor, his two hands bringing the greatsword to bear upon the troll\'s legs. \"Foul infestation!\" he cries.
\"Foul? foul! No!\" Trock roars, outraged, possibly because Tirandir\'s blade pricks at the tough skin of his leg, drawing a bit of blood that runs down in a thin rivulet. \"No! No chicken! No chicken!\" The great bloodied leg kicks out at Tirandir.
[Erindil(#24692)]
No surprise is evident on the Nimothan\'s features. \"To me!\" he calls to the nearest, \"Close the line!\"
And several men fall into place beside the lieutenant even as the black horde breaks upon their spears and swords with a mighty crash of steel and flesh that rises high above the city.
Erindil slides to his left, bringing his shield up to deflect the spiked sledge He follows up with a low thrust towards Lorbag\'s groin and belly.
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Watching as others in the Company are drawn into battle, Taurmegil remains with his line, allowing his eyes to wander only briefly enough to stay aware of the worsening situation. The men around him, while still quite green, hold the line as best as their barely passable training allows, though few have stable stances, and most grip their weapons too tightly to be of much use.
It is then that the first wave from the East emerges from beyond the rubble and descends upon them like the blackest of nights, easily crashing through the weaken flanks, leaving only the middle of the line in anything resembling formation. At the middle is where the Lord Seronauth stands, himself yet to be confronted by the enemy, his voice ringing through the noises of war to encourage those around him.
\"Remember your training, hold your ground!\"
His words, perhaps, fall on deaf ears, as most of them men are far too inexperienced for an ambush such as this.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
It is the smithies of Dol Guldur Lorbag has to thank for his continued existence Erindil strikes true but is denied by the rings covering his foe\'s flesh. Nevertheless the force of the blow throws Lorbag back a pace or two -- pain and rage vying for mastery in his crimson eyes. No retaliation does the orc captain make, though he does not let go of his weapon, and he staggers back another pace as his wits gather together anew.
Meanwhile the battled is joined around the two slashes of dark iron contending with glimmering steel as the fighting grows fiercer.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
And again, the Telpekhor finds himself hurtling through the air. He lands harshly upon a rock, and his rise this time hardly comes at all.
Yet it does, a trail of blood spewing from his mouth.
He raises his sword midway up his body, for it no longer can be brought above his head. He spares no word for his men or for the troll. The Captain stands simply, proudly, as his garments are stained a bright shade of crimson.
[Hurlaer(#30678)]
Unfortunatedly, Erindil\'s words were correct at least they were are warning to Hurlaer: the tension, the anxiety, in a sense brace the man for the new surprise held revealed.
The Man at Arms obeys the Lieutenant\'s call, falling into the line, shield positioned ahead of him, holding blow after blow from the dark hordes even as his sword performs the attacks he was taught in training.
Full of fury, Trock stamps forward, the ground shuddering beneath his angry feet. Orcs scatter out of the way the dead--men and orc--would simply be crushed. A hand snatches through the air, trying to grab Tirandir by the waist--the troll has not even bothered to unhook its massive axe from its belt. Those fingers seem to be itching to squeeze the life out of the tark.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
The Wearer of the squirrel-hat laughs softly, a growling chuckle, throaty, hungry. Her eyes glitter, and she rolls a rock towards a greenling Tark, setting his footing awry, sending him falling upon his own sword. Then Pishgob springs to the rocks, and tilts her head at the leader of the whelps. \"So, do you want to die now or later?\" she asks, her Westron gutteral, and gutter-filthy.
[Boromir(#31578)]
The Captain-General\'s voice is among those lifted in an effort to rally the shattering formations Angring swings wildly in one hand, holding back the darkness, and his shield swings in the others, seeking to bash at any of the Orcs coming within range.
\"Stay with me, men! Raise spears!\" The regiments about Boromir are holding, though menaced by the marauding shadow of the troll. \"Stay back! Defensive positions!\" he cries as he takes a route of his own, attempting to slip to one side of Trock and stab the full length of Angring\'s rune-writ hilt at the troll.
[Erindil(#24692)]
The lines hold where the officers stand no less so for Lieutenant Erindil. The orc\'s pause gives him time to briefly survey his immediate surroundings. \"Good men, hold them. Stand.\"
He glances to Hurlaer then presses another attack against Lorbag, bringing his sword up high and slashing down...
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
A look to each side, and the worsening condition of the flanks becomes evident to Taurmegil, who then returns his attention to the beast which confronts him. He offers no verbal reply, as he steps forward, his greatsword held high.
His mighty blade is brought down with force, a slicing motion directed at the creatures torso, and his voice is heard once more.
\"For Gondor!\"
Taurmegil attacks Pishgob with his Greatsword and lightly wounds her!
[Tirandir(#30834)]
Tirandir swats lamely at the open hand as it bears upon him. Though the momentary deflection avoids him the troll\'s grasp, it yet strikes upon his chest.
He is driven again to the ground, and blood rushes openly from his mouth and his nose. The Captain blinks, but he does not rise. His breath is short.
One word issues from his mouth: \"Gondor.\"
\"Good tark, dead tark,\" Trock grunts, at last unhooking his axe from his belt. He raises the weapon high above his head, and then with a mighty swing, brings it crashing down right toward the midline of Tirandir\'s body. He then pauses for a moment to examine the effects of his work.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
Though Erindil\'s arm is strong, his foe is no sluggard and this second time Lorbag evades the strike of the Lieutenant. The Tek\'rak, as the uruk-hai name their captain snarls as he slips aside the keen blade of Erindil, and spits as quick as he may at the noble man\'s eyes. Wasting little time he presses forward then, sweeping low his sledgehammer in a bid to sunder his adversary\'s footing.
And the men of Gondor stand as best they may, though the lines of Mordor harry them viciously. Here and there a dark, twisted body slumps to the ground, but just as often a \'tark\' cries out his last and joins them. The fighting is thick and brutal at the front lines the orcs thrashing in frenzy as they flit between shadow and daylight.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
Pishgob grunts, the blade cutting through leather and hide. Her hide, which is not so very good, and her blood blackens it, though it is not a terrible cut. She laughs again, and leaps forwards to engage the Tark drool comes to coat her lips. \"For dinner,\" she mutters, and slices her scimitar at Taurmegil\'s gut.
Pishgob attacks Taurmegil with her Scimitar and moderately wounds him!
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Unable to twist aside, the Captain of the Silver Ship absorbs the blow from his opponent-- the blade ringing off his armor, though not before it drives it deep enough to draw blood. A grimace might be seen beneath the mask of his helm, but it is not an easy sight to view, and even as he himself is engaged in battle is his voice heard above the clatter.
\"Do not yield, press on!\"
Again stepping forward, he this time sweeps his blade from side to side, again reaching for the beast\'s torso.
Taurmegil attacks Pishgob with his Greatsword, but he misses by a mile.
[Tirandir(#30834)]
The axe eviscerates ring, skin, and bone with one fell swing. It drives deep into his flesh, flaying organ and vessel open. Blood spurts from his wounds, consecrating the ground with crimson and various other pieces.
And so ends Tirandir Telpekhor, a man who once living and whole, who now dies in twain horribly split by the foul blade of a troll.
[Erindil(#24692)]
Gooey globules of spittle obscure Erindil\'s vision gamely, he tries to skip over the weapon and fails. The heavy weapon knocks his left foot out from under him, the spikes piercing through the leather of his heavy boots. The lieutenant loses his balance and tumbles to the ground in a controlled fall - right knee first and then to his side. As he falls, he slashes out wildly with his sword.
[Hurlaer(#30678)]
By now, Hurlaer is stained by blood: his own, springing of slashes and cuts dealt by nameless foes of the Man at Arms just left of him whose head is cracked open by a battle axe, bringing a gasp of horror from Hurlaer of the orc who killed this man and was right after pierced by the blade of the soldier who took the deadman\'s place in line.
In the spinning madness of the battle, the Rovacil youth tries to prove his lineage, if not by bravery or astonishing ability, by obeying: hold, don\'t yield, stay, defensive positions.
[Boromir(#31578)]
Boromir\'s eyes shift to Tirandor, the Captain of the Bright Sun and now a corpse upon the ground. Gritting his teeth, the Captain-General bellows: \"Come at me, wretched giant!\" And he pressed the attack, seeking to dance around the troll and once more stab at its flank with Angring\'s heavy blade.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
Erindil is rewarded by a yelp of pain from Lorbag, caught in the leg by the blade as he stands cackling down at his foe. So it is that the Lieutenant is given a moment of reprieve from the Teguk\'s assault, for while the orc is far from vanquished he is given pause anew from the wound. A slight limp carries him forward then, and he hefts high his sledge ere bringing it crashing down with murderous speed at the warrior of Gondor.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
Tark swings, Tark misses, and Pishgob makes a chittering sound, almost squirrel-like, that is, if the squirrel were rabid and possessed by wraiths. She dodges the clumsy blow, her bare feet giving her agile purchase on blood-slickened rock. She twists in a maddened whirl, grunti8ng as she thrusts her blade in a twisting stab at Taurmegil\'s bloodied gut once more.
Pishgob attacks Taurmegil with her Scimitar and mildly wounds him!
For a moment or more, Trock stands in the ooze of Tirmandir\'s once whole body, the troll surveying the battle scene with a rather blank look on his face. Then he lumbers forward, cutting through the battle, axe in hand, until, looking down, someone or soemthing is biting at his leg. \"Chicken....\" Trock now snarls as Boromir\'s blade bites rather deeper than Tirmandir\'s flimsy blows. \"You taste like chicken...\" The axe swings, its blade trying to come down on the dancing tark below.
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Again the Captain is unable to avoid the creature\'s blade, and again it strikes his gut-- a grunt is offered, but it is barely audible over the noise of battle around them. Blood running from his stomach, staining his tabard and adding an odd gleam to the armor beneath, Taurmegil finally offers his enemy a word.
\"Troublesome, are you?\"
His blade is once again raised high, and this lowered to strike the beast at the collar.
Taurmegil attacks Pishgob with his Greatsword and badly wounds her!
[Erindil(#24692)]
The lietuenent\'s lucky strike does not buy him enough time to rise fully to his feet it does allow him to achieve a half crouch. Erindil swings his shield around and catches the full brunt of the sledge\'s furious blow. Bones snap audibly and the Nimothan is pushed backwards onto the ground once more. From this prone position, he weakly brings his sword up in a defensive guard - his stoic features now twisted in agony.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
Troublesome is a good word, describing well the blow of the Tark. Pishgob dodges slightly, that the blade misses her neck, but her shoulder is cut, and the flesh is sliced down to her collarbone. She squeals, twisting again, whirling her bade more desperatly now, aiming to lop off Taurmegil\'s left leg.
Pishgob attacks Taurmegil with her Scimitar and lightly wounds him!
[Boromir(#31578)]
Boromir ducks, and the troll blow buffets his shield as lightly as any man might dare to let it though the Captain-General is no light-footed Ranger, and rage burns in his eyes and makes his battle-movements sharp and unsubtle, there is a doubtless elegance to his grand mastery of the blade, and a fell courage to his mettle in combat against foes that he has fought a hundred times and more.
\"To the pits with you!\" he cries again, seeking to hew at the outstretched arm of the troll with all his strength.
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Still to slow to do anything remarkably evasive, Taurmegil\'s leg is struck by Pishgob\'s blade. Fortunately, it is not damaged badly enough to cause more than a quick second step for the Lord to remain upon his feet, though the pain is obvious as his stance is undoubtedly less firm than before. Suppressing the pain of his wounds, even as blood oozes freely from the each of them, the Captain again nears his opponent.
This time his weapon is thrust forward, instead of swung, aimed straight for the creature\'s abdomen.
Taurmegil attacks Pishgob with his Greatsword, but he misses by a mile.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
A roar of triumph rends the afternoon air as Lorbag sees his foe so anguished, and with eyes blazing upon Erindil he advances slowly for the kill. But his cry was perhaps ill timed, or ill advised, for several noble gazes are turned his way and the ranks of Men are not about to let their Lieutenant go down without a fight.
Two sons of Gondor spring forth to assail the orc captain, even as he makes ready to put and end to Erindil, and with their swords crashing against his armour they beat him back a few feet. Small harm have they wrought upon the brutish uruk, but great service they may well have rendered their injured leader.
All the same, one of them pays the price almost immediately the spiked head of Lorbag\'s sledge crashing up and beneath his helm. As the brave soldier falls, his companion faces Lorbag anew, and prepares to avenge him.
[Hurlaer(#30678)]
At Erindil\'s commands and encouragement cease, the Master at Arms by Hurlear\'s line takes charge: \"Onwards, to the Captain General!\"
And thus the remains of this line march cutting through and being cut by orcs the great prize presents itself in front of the Rovacil Youth, though, and his eyes widen in fear at the huge olog... a brief glance around: the soldiers fight Boromir strikes at the troll.
Soon his own blade flies forward, at the troll\'s leg.
[Pishgob(#24654)]
The little orc snarls, her wounds still stinging, or, more than stinging, and she swears in the Black Speech. \"Garn.... tark... blagojevich,\" she snarls, but the last curse is writhed into a laugh as Taurmegil misses her. She turns, then slices with her scimitar towards the manling\'s groin.
Pishgob attacks Taurmegil with her Scimitar, but Taurmegil parries the attack with his Greatsword!
Too late does Trock draw his arm back and out of the way, so that Boromir\'s sword bites deep into that tough appendage. With a howl of pain, the troll swings out wildly toward the Captain General, axe blade aimed right at the tark\'s stomach and swung with fury.
Then does Trock stagger back a pace or two, only now realizing that another is feebly hacking at his leg. \"Away!! aways!\" The troll kicks a mighty foot toward Hurlaer.
[Boromir(#31578)]
Boromir\'s battle instincts most likely save his life. He shifts to the side, and while it is enough to avoid being torn in half by the troll-axe, the weapon\'s flat strikes him in the midriff and lifts him from his feet, flying two dozen feet or more away from Trok.
[Erindil(#24692)]
His countryman\'s death grants Erindil the time to climb to his feet. His left arm now hanging uselessly at his side, the Nimothan grits his teeth and raises his sword. He rushes towards his foul foe, point first - his face now contorted in rage.
\"For Gondor!\"
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
This time, slow is not the word to describe the actions of the Captain, as even with his wounded leg his movements are swift. His mighty blade is brought quickly forward and used to knock away the incoming strike from the foul creature, the sound of metal on metal ringing true. Quickly thereafter Taurmegil lunges forward, desiring not to waste a moment.
Just as before, he swings his weapon down, this time aimed at the beast\'s other collar.
[Hurlaer(#30678)]
Hurlaer is sent backwards by the troll\'s mighty kick yet behind him there are men, there are orcs, and on something or someone his back lands, preventing him from going to the ground. A pained look covers his face, yet he stubbornly charges again: there is not retreat, there is nothing else ahead.
Trying to circle the troll, Hurlaer slashes at the beast\'s knee, hopefully the back of it.
Taurmegil attacks Pishgob with his Greatsword and severely wounds her!
[Pishgob(#24654)]
The Tark strikes her again, and Pishgob squeals as flesh is torn. Weakened, she gibbers a moment, then whimpers and tries to slink away in the chaos.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
From the North, a small host of Rangers belatedly arrive on the scene, answering the sounds of combat from across the ruined city. They are lead by Endaerion, and they appear breathlessly tired. With haste, they come to the aid of their brethren.
Endaerion scans his vicinity for a target...
Hurlaer\'s attack do little more than annoy the troll, which now turns the full force of its anger toward that tark. The axe comes down in a wide, sweeping arc, seeking to slice the man in half. \"Back!! Back!!\"
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
Watching the creature turn to slink away, Taurmegil nods with modest satisfaction, turning to quickly survey the battle and find where his aid is needed. All around him the young men of the Bright Sun are falling victim to the foul beasts from the East, and there is little to be done save engage those swarming in his immediate vicinity.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
\"For Gondor!\"
Erindil\'s cry is echoed by the host he vans, and with the clouds parting far above they are answered by a gift from Anar. Glorious rays pierce even the gloom of the shadows for a brief moment -- long enough to blind the ranks of Mordor and set them squealing in pain.
Lorbag endures better than most, but even he snarls and spits his discomfort as he backpedals, and under assault from the remaining fighter he is unable to silence the Lieutenant\'s rally. All the same he is not without wile, and feinging injury to his leg he dupes his foe into leaving his left side exposed. Out lashes the orc\'s mailed fist a soft whimper escaping the man\'s lips as he is winded. The Teguk wastes little time then, ramming his spiked maul into the poor man\'s throat and hissing with relish as he falls.
As the sun beats down all the more, the forces of Mordor are pushed back precious inches, and seem to tire in the light.
[Boromir(#31578)]
Boromir rises to his feet, Angring still in-hand. He prepares to charge back into the troll-fray, but at that moment the sunlight pierces the sky and there comes a dread howling from the Mordain ambushers. For all the rage burning in his mien and his gaze, one can see the tactician within the Captain-General making a quick assessment of the situation, of whether more ruin and lost lives lie down the final offense against Mordor, or the retreat from battle.
And for all that retreat might pain Boromir, son of Denethor, to even think of, he lifts the Horn of Gondor to his lips even as he charges forth. \"Retreat, men of the Bright Sun! Back down the street to the bridge!\" And so the cry is taken up by those around him as the more ordered units around the prince begin their tattered withdrawal over rubble and stone, while Boromir dives forward to slash at Tork and stall the troll while Gondor\'s men save themselves.
[Erindil(#24692)]
Unable to protect his own left side, the Nimothan lieutenant brings his sword swinging in towards the orc Captain\'s neck.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The first opponent to enter Endaerions sights is the Uruk-hai Lorbag. Rushing headlong into the foray of battle, the Ranger brings to bear Gondorian steel, and makes to sink it into the Uruk\'s neck.
Endaerion attacks Lorbag with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!
[Taurmegil(#31287)]
As difficult as it may be for the inexperienced to keep their bearings in the midst of the fray, the sound of the Horn is a sound that even the greenest of men can understand, and the few men who are left and able, begin their retreat over the rubble, and as such the crushed corpses of their past comrades, and ultimately down the street from where they came. Taurmegil does not yet follow, instead staying entangled in what battle remains, assisting in providing as much of a distraction as possible so that others might flee first. As he fights, his orders are issues in reinforcement to those of the Captain-General.
\"You heard the Captain-General, retreat! Everyone back! Now!\"
Unfortunately, what might be a steady stream of many in any other lost battle, is but a tiny trickle in the aftermath of this.
[Lorbag(#28583)]
Beset by three foes, Lorbag whines and snarls for all he is worth, but one of them at least fades a little. The clouds regather to mask the sun somewhat, and while the damage has been done to the morale of the Mordain horde, their captain is not so frail. His spider-like helm accounts for Erindil\'s strike, ducking to save his neck from the slice, and while he is unable to block Endaerion\'s blow his armour once more spares the foul brute\'s life. Some dark charm seems to be at work on the Teguk\'s behalf, and he bares his fangs at his two remaining enemies.
Quick as a snake his right hand hefts the handle of his sledge, firing it out at Erindil\'s jaw, before thrusting the wpiked head of his weapon at Endaerion\'s own. Wary as ever he slips back a pace then, and watches the pair cautiously.
Meanwhile Boromir\'s horn gives the orcs something else at which to quake, and while the signal is for retreat, there is no crazed chase to be found from the evil throng. Relief and cruel joy can be heard in their crude voices as they holler back at the might of Gondor, and it could be that the General\'s wish to save his own men is what spares the majority of theirs.
Lorbag attacks Endaerion with his Maul Hammer, but he misses by a long shot.
[Hurlaer(#30678)]
Though eagerly Hurlaer glanced back, even as he attacked the troll and hit, he did not flee. And now that the retreat he must have been so longing for is sounded, he cannot comply: an axe, powered by the outrageous strength of a troll, slices through him-- just as it had done to his Captain!
In the first seconds of the blow, the Gondorian\'s armor presents a barrier to the weapon, and the Rovacil Youth retches blood and meal. Over his own bowels, for the second phase of the troll\'s slash is when the armor represents nothing at all and is swifly cut, like the flesh underneath.
Blood splinters, a grisly rain the Man at Arm\'s body hits the floor several feet away from the troll.
[Boromir(#31578)]
If a frown crosses Boromir\'s face at the young man-at-arms\' fate -- the fate of one he himself had trained -- it is overcome too swiftly by rage. \"Back, monster!\" even though it is Boromir who moves back in the half-ordered, half-chaotic retreat of the Bright Sun from the street-field of battle.
The sun! Boromir\'s blade slices at Tork\'s leg, but the troll does not stop to engage the enemy further, nor to gloat over the bloodied corpse of Hurlaer. Instead, Trock turns, beating a hasty retreat toward the ruins and the safety of darkness, and woe to any man or beast that gets in its way. No more is the troll seen on this battlefield today he is gone.
[Erindil(#24692)]
\"Retreat, man\" Erindil says to the Ranger beside him.
Penned in between two of his own men, the Nimothan cannot avoid the blow to his jaw. His head snaps back and he staggers backwards a pace.
Then rallying, he brings his sword in for another low cut aimed at the orc\'s leg.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
The Uruk-hai\'s blow hits wide of the mark. The Ranger emerges from his evasion and looks west to see those who he his brethren would rescue flee. Suddenly the small relief force appears beleaguered. Endaerion calls to his men. \"To me! To me!\" he cries, and begins to form the semblance of a rearguard for the retreating Gondorians. He slashes at the Uruk-hai again, backtracking as he does so.
Endaerion attacks Lorbag with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!
[Lorbag(#28583)]
And with the slash to his leg distracting him, Lorbag\'s already ugly face is caught by the tip of the Ranger\'s sword. A nasty cut opens up in the Teguk\'s cheek, spilling dark ichor down his flesh to stain his armour and perhaps leave a stink upon the keen steel of Endaerion.
But it is to Erindil that Lorbag pays the greatest heed, even despite this wound, and with a bellow of wrath he lifts high his maul to deliver a thunderous strike. Down the sledges crashes, in a blow that looks as though it could stave in the gates of Minas Tirith themselves.
[Boromir(#31578)]
The Gondorian retreat hastens as many of the Mordain fall back, the troll Tork among them. Back over the rubble and ruin, leaving fully half their numbers behind, and others... More than two hundred of the men of Gondor, crushed by the stones of Osgiliath or slain by orc-blades and arrows.
\"Retreat!\" Boromir insists, and the Horn of Gondor reminds.
[Erindil(#24692)]
With no shield arm at his service, there is naught but his blade to protect the Nimothan from this mighty blow. Erindil brings it up in a vain attempt to parry the sledge:
It snaps from the hilt and stays not the thunderous passage of the killing blow.
Metal and flesh crumple like paper as the lieutenant\'s head is stove in. Blood and grisly brain seep out from under his helm and the man, dead as he stands, falls to the ground in a lifeless heap.
[Endaerion(#30487)]
Endaerion strays backwards, westward, an eerie silence growing over what moments before was a chaotic battlefield. Both hands clench the hilt of his sword, which he shifts from face to face as he suddenly becomes the last Gondorian remaining. Seeing no further pursuit, he looks down to the body of the fallen Captain of the Bright Sun Company before him and sheathing his sword, he struggles to drag the man of Gondor away from assured butchery. Where there was war, now there is peace. And death.