Into the East

[Anorien ZMO(#23077)->Ceredir]

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Weather:            Clear

Time:               Early Night <22>

Season:             Autumn

Date:               Oraearon - October 21, 3045

Real Time:          Sun Dec 28 20:15:28 2008

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[Bor(#30834)]

The wind whistles -- or are these the mournful voices of the long-passed?

It is a dark night and the heavens have erupted with full fury upon the once-splendor of Osgiliath. Nestled within the gates of the City of the Stars are some thirty men, armored in the manner of their station. Though tired, worn and hungry, their backs remain straight and their grips strong. These are men who do not shake even here, with death’s voice ringing their ears, their resolve only steels itself further.

And at their head is a fur-clad figure with a sword in his hand he, the Knight-Commander, Bor Bragollach, peers out into the darkness with harrowed eyes.

There is no stealth in the approach of the Mordains. The steady tramp tramp of feet announces their arrival long before they can be seen by the pitiful force of tarks that has now massed in Osgiliath, and as the forces of the Dark Lord approach, the sound of their raucous voices can also be heard. The language of the orcs and trolls may be dark and foul, but tonight it carries a note of expectant victory, triumphant cold laughter and chanting. For tonight, this Mordain garrison expects to win, to sweep the enemy out of their way at last in this ruined city to clear the way to burn, pillage, rape, rob and kill all in the lands between here and Minas Tirith.

The full might of the Mordain garrison in Osgiliath has assembled and organized, commanded and orderly now. And they fully plan to defeat the starving, beaten men of Osgiliath.

[Arashen(#24692)]

In what may once have been the tunic of a squire, Arashen Telpekhor stands near the Knight-Commander. A scraggly beard hides his youthful features - now gaunt with hunger and deprivation.

The sound of the approaching Mordain is unmistakable - as is their intent. The young squire, perhaps needlessly, says: \"They come, at last.\"

His expression is determined, but there is no hope to be found in it.

[Faramir(#28937)]

Some of the men of Ithilien have remained amidst the city to harry the enemy, though they are without their Captain. Nevertheless the odd green cloak is seen amongst the Gondorian contingent - those of the garrison that have rallied themselves for a final roll of the dice along with the gathered force led by the Bragollach knight.

Hanomir is among the few men of Ithilien present, as hungry and tired as everyone else. Weariness is in his grey eyes, and there is little hope, if any, to be seen. He stares into the darkness as the Mordain army comes steadily closer, no expression at all present on his face. Seconds seem to take forever to pass, and Hanomir feels that they are just delaying his death by that extra little bit.

Also among the men of Ithilien stands Ceredir in what used to be a green cloak, now long stained with dirt and worse. One arm and one leg are bandaged, but the Scout is helmed and holds shield and dagger. He is near the contingent of men that came with the Ranger Gurtir.

[Spunk(#15492)]           The ologs of Mordor, for tonight there is more then one, come ready to fight. Eyes burning with embers of the deepest fires of Mordor as they begin their trek towards the host of Gondor men. The female olog(Vix) wielding her mace, \'The Destroyer\', menacingly in one hand as she charges with her kin Spunk. The one-eyed male Olog, larger then Vix, lets loose a sound more ferocious then any horn known to the realms of Middle Earth.

Tonight there is a rumble of death, and thunder. Tonight, the grounds will flood with blood. Tonight, the ologs have joined the orc ranks for one purpose, to obliterate the men of Gondor.

[Bor(#30834)]

They come,\" murmurs Bor at Arashen.

[Bor(#30834)]

\"Hear me, Gondor!\"

\"The Enemy draws nigh!\"

\"They come for your blood, and for mine! And they will crash upon us like a sea of hatred! What strength remains in the arms of men, I know not! But do not fear, for I know enough of their hearts!\"

\"I know that you have felt what I felt, starved as I starved, bled as I bled! And I know you have also realized what I have realized that though we stand here tired and worn, we shalln\'t falter.\"

\"Death recoils at the sight of such bravery, for it knows that here stand men who are not afraid of their fate! Here stand men who have found a cause more important than their lives! Here stand men whose hearts burst for their country, for their kinsmen, for their families! And I tell you now that death shivers in our wake!\"

\"Brothers, let us stake our places amongst our ancestors! Let us make them remember the name of Elendil as they stare into our eyes! Let us make them remember the name of Eldacar with every thrust of our sword! Let us make them remember the name of Cirion as orc upon orc falls beneath our feet!\"

\"And let us make them bleed the City of the Stars black.\"

\"To war, Gondor! To war!\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

In one movement, Arashen draws his sword and brandishes it to the night sky - his eyes now flashing with a cold, inner fire. \"Gondor!\" he cries, \"Gondor!\"

[Bor(#30834)]

And as his words dissipate into the sounds of heavy footfall, the Knight-Commander produces a torch and throws it into a long trench dug in front of the line of Gondorians. The remaining fuel ignites into a wall of flame.

\"For Gondor! For Gondor!\" comes the cry--only it is harsh and mocking, picked up by the orcish army that is now within sight, spread across the grounds here as they advance shield to shield, spear-points gleaming in the night, scimitars, axes and weapons drawn. \"Men of Gondor! Men of Gondor!\" they sneer. \"Come to your death. Yes, come taste it!\"

Hanomir swallows back his fear and his expression changes to determined as he too draws his longsword, but he makes no exclamation. He makes no movement as the fire suddenly erupts in front of him, despite the surprise of it.

As the men of Gondor lift their voices and weapons in the air, Ceredir, too, takes up the cry, the voices of these 30 men doing little to drown out the mocking sneers of the advancing enemy. But the Scout\'s eyes widen with fear in his helm--the army that advances on them is fearsome.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] A fat orc at the edge of the battle lines wields a wicked-looking battle axe. He stomps his feet and growls menacingly at the Gondorians, showing his fierce yellow teeth.

Hanomir glances at the longsword in his hands, before sheating it again and now pulls out his longbow, and prepares to fire an arrow into the enemy, desperately hoping it won\'t hit any of his allies like the last time he used it.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] The line of fire forces the Mordain forces to divide, but on either side of the line a small party of orcs goes towards the Gondorians. The wing closest to Ceredir contains Braainz, his axe held out at an angle.

[Spunk(#15492)]           The reponse comes in the form of shrieks and howls from the Mordain lines. As the trolls lead the assult Vix and Spunk hoist a pair of uruks into the air and into the fire before stomping through the blazing wall. The squelch of orc blood, as their heads pop like little zits and the sizzle of orc flesh begins. A wicked howl comes from the trolls, before they continue onwards, to the men of Gondor.

Braaiinz\'s axe clashes onto Ceredir\'s shield as the Scout raises it up in defense. And then a dagger slips under the bottom of the shield as the Scout seeks to gut the orc, pushing forward against Braaiinz at the same time. Other of the men of Ithilien who are gathered in the flank here spring forward to challenge the orcs attacking.

[Bor(#30834)]

As the forces of Mordor pass through the wall of flame, they are set upon by the men of Gondor. The Knight-Commander lashes out at Spunk with his blade.

Bor attacks Spunk with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Hanomir glances around at the sound of fighting, and spots a few scouts charging into a group of orcs. When he looks back, his eyes widen as he sees not one, but two trolls charging towards them. He quickly notches an arrow and aims at one of the trolls, before releasing it, hoping to see it either hit a troll, an orc, or miss. Anything but hit an ally.

Hanomir launches an arrow...

Hanomir\'s arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] The axe wielding orc begins to make his way towards Hanomir, grimacing widely. \"Come, man-flesh, come and let me eat you...slowly..\"

[Spunk(#15492)]           \"You again?! Now I\'ll get some \'venge for my bunny!\" Spunk roars as his right hip is slashed a bit. The shallow cut forces the troll into a small spout of rage as the swelling battle begin to pump through his veins. \"BUNNY!\"

Spunk attacks Bor with his Axe, but he misses by a hair.

[Arashen(#24692)] Favoring his left leg - a souvenir from his last encounter with the massive troll - Arashen is close behind the Knight-Commander hefting his shield with a shaking hand the Squire enters the fray, slashing at Spunk\'s knee.

Arashen attacks Spunk with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

[Hanomir(#22346)] As Hanomir prepares to notch another arrow, he hears the voice of an orc nearby and glances in the direction, seeing some axe-wielding orc making his way towards him. Looking back at the trolls, and then back at the orc, he changes his target and instead releases a second arrow towards the orc.

Seeing Braaiinz turn toward another target--Hanomir--Ceredir hurries to follow, though he stays out of bowshot of Hanomir as he shoots hiw bow. Instead, he watches and waits.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] The axe-wielding orc moves closer as the arrow hits him in the shoulder. He grunts, but continues to advance, axe held close to him, towards Hanomir.

[Bor(#30834)]

\"Idiot,\" murmurs Bor.

And though his evasion is by no means deft, the Knight manages to move aside the troll\'s blow. He stabs out again, this time at the beast\'s knees.

[Bor(#30834)]

\"Idiot,\" murmurs Bor.

And though his evasion is by no means deft, the Knight manages to move aside the troll\'s blow. He stabs out again, this time at the beast\'s knees.

Hanomir grits his teeth as his arrow fails to halt the advancing orc. In the corner of his eye, he sees Ceredir following, out of Hanomir\'s way, luckily. He slowly backs away, making sure there\'s enough room to fire another arrow. He notches another and releases it, before sheathing his longbow, now meaning to wield his longsword before the orc reaches him and attacks.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] And the second arrow hits the advancing, axe-wielding orc, this time lodging itself in its chain armor. The axe-wielding orc is now close enough for it to be worthwhile to swing, this time at Hanomir\'s thigh.

[Spunk(#15492)]           Stabs, and slashes, and blood, Oh my! Spunk, olog of Mordor looks down as Bor moves from within the beast\'s grasp. \"I\'ll get\'cha!\" Spunk growls as he looks about and notices several of the men of Gondor on his trollish-jewel, Vix. Her face covered with arrows and several slashes and she stumbles down.

\"VIX!\" The olog howls, filled with rage as he looks down at Bor, and then to Arashen. His deadly axe sweeps down upon the rangers before it deflects to the side and down at Bor again.

Spunk attacks Bor with his Axe, but he misses by a mile.

[Hanomir(#22346)] Hanomir holds back a curse as he fails to draw his sword in time, and makes a move for the left, however he wasn\'t fast enough. The axe cuts open his right thigh slightly, but he pays no attention to it as he swings at the orc\'s neck with his longsword, meanwhile attempting to prepare his shield in his left.

[Arashen(#24692)]

As Spunk attacks first the men besetting his trollish love and then the Knight, Arashen takes advantage of his distraction and lunges forward, seeking to stab the beast\'s thigh.

But one eye he casts towards Sir Bor, watching him carefully.

Arashen attacks Spunk with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

[Braaiinz(#28944)] The orc pulls the axe out of the man\'s thigh just as Hanomir\'s longsword slashes at his neck. Braiinz ducks, but he\'s not quite fast enough and the longsword manages to give him a hair...and scalp cut, causing a cascade of blood.

[Natanz(#30687)] \"Fie, fi, fo, fum,\" comes the grunting words from the thick lips of an orc--who looks rather like a creature from the porcine family--and comes pushing into the forefront from behind the Mordor lines. \"I smell the blood of tark scum!\" he growls, his snout-like nose sniffing the air hungrily while large drops of sticky drool pour down his face. \"Be he \'live, or be he dead, I\'ll grind his bones and make my bread,\" the thing creature proclaims loudly and triumphantly, as he eyes one of the war-weary and frazzled men amongst the enemy. With his bulging and misshapen arms waving in the air, Frothy shoves aside a small snaga and enters the fray with a battle axe in hand.

Where Braaiinz and the other orcs have come around the wall of fire to attack, things are not going well at all. The orcs flood into this gap, and soon each man is fighting three to four enemy at once. Ceredir, intending originally to help Hanomir, is now hard pressed to hold his own as two orcs come at him with scimitars cutting through the fire-lit night. The Scout has switched to a sword instead of the shorter dagger, hoping to keep the orcs at a further distance by doing so. His shield is knocked through with sword and axe cuts in several places, and his sword arm is bleeding from a blow.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor rolls aside the axe\'s fell path, grunting as he does. His eyes survey the field warily, and there is little hope left in his gaze.

\"Form up!\" he yells, but it is of little use.

The positions of the Gondorians are splintered, dissolved into small pockets of resistance. And these small pockets have little hope of resisting the assault much further, as the outpouring of orcs continues on and on.

Hanomir grimaces in pain as the orc pulls his axe out of his thigh before looking past the wounded orc at Ceredir, who seems to be in a bit of trouble. He then looks back to the orc he is fighting, and sends a stab at its head, hoping to finish it off so he can go to Ceredir\'s aid.

[Faramir(#28937)]

HROOOOOOOOOOOOM.

A horn blasts, heralding the arrival of a company of Rangers and scouts who have mustered under the leadership of their Captain! And at their head is he, Faramir, a tall man clad in green, and beside him arrayed are the men of Ithilien. Some have swords drawn, while others wield bows, aiming for the large trolls that stand out amongst the fray. They join the fray with a great cry.

With them also march a company of the Hosts of Gondor wielding spear, sword and shield, the armoured men of the Hosts march relentlessly to engage the enemy, fresh levies brought from Minas Tirith to strike a decisive blow in this battle.

\"Let us repay them for their evil! Osgiliath shall be ours once more!\" Faramir cries, his own bow seeking out one of the great trolls.

Faramir launches an arrow...

Faramir\'s bowshot hits Spunk, mildly wounding him.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] This blow of Hanomir\'s runs more true, hacking into the orc\'s neck and..getting stuck in the large muscles there. Poor Braiinz gasps for breath.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Amidst the Men of Ithilien, is Gurtir.

The Ranger does not waste the spear he has left in ranged attacks, instead holding it in a lower stance, parrying, thrusting slashing, attempting to keep his enemies at a certain distance even as they appear to be coming from everywhere.

Still, he bears wounds, fresh blood flowing, a sum from the acquired on today and on the past days. It is but stubborness that holds the man on his feet and pushes him further.

Then blasting horn. Beyond hope, Faramir has come at least. Beyond the humanly possible, this Ranger and how many more of his are filled with a new strength.

Hanomir fights the temptation to look back to check if what he heard was not a figmant of his imagination. He knew that horn well, and a smile appears on his face, for the first time in days. He looks back at the orc in disgust, \"Time to put you out of your misery.\" And he sends a ferocious swing, meaning to behead the orc.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] And Braiinz\'s head parts from his shoulders, making his ignoble end as wise as his ignoble beginning. Alas, poor Braiinz, we knew him well, other orcs might think as his head bounces down the line, only to be kicked by a soldier further down.

[Spunk(#15492)]           As the men of Gondor ball up into small groups, the olog\'s yellow bricks appear, as does a long strand of saliva connecting Spunk\'s upper and lower jaws. The look in his eyes, is naught compared to the frustration building as he misses Bor again. This time the blade sweeps in an arc between the men of Gondor, hoping to hit Bor as well as another men or so. As the troll\'s blade falls an arrow plucks him in the shoulder slightly hindering his swing.

Spunk attacks Bor with his Axe, but he misses by a mile.

A great cry goes up from the Mordain host at the sound of this horn, as if they welcome it, too. And, indeed, many of the orcs laugh cruelly. \"Come to the rescue, are they? More meat for us!\" In the chaos, some of the orcs nearest the approaching tark army go rushing forward, weapons out to meet these men. Most of the blades they hold drip with blood.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Determination but no hope.

Such can be seen in the squire of the blue\'s eyes as he battles the mammoth troll. Until

The horn blast from the West - the direction where lies the heart of the Gondor people - rings out.

Arashen renews his attack with a certain vigor, stabbing once more at the troll.

Arashen attacks Spunk with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

[Thaladel(#7905)] Thaladel has joined the fray, led by Faramir. The young Telpekhor lad looks terrified tonight, paling even more when he understands the orcs\' shouted words. He doesn\'t tremble when he holds up his sword, however he grips it tightly. Grim and determined, the lad charges toward the orcs to engage in combat, leaving the trolls to someone more experienced!

[Hanomir(#22346)] As soon as Hanomir sees the orc\'s head being seperated from its body, he looks back to Ceredir and the rest of the soldiers around him. However, he also looks at the troll again. He backs away towards a safer area and redraws his longbow, preparing to shoot at Spunk again.

[Natanz(#30687)]

Our poet on hand, Froth, decides to chime in with another couplet upon seeing Faramir and his minions--err--men enter the battlefield. And while kicking aside the head of a fallen fellow, he recites the lines: \"Hark, hark! The dogs do bark. The beggars have come to town.\" And as his red and deranged eyes glance upon the humans before him, he says with a devilish glee lacing his gutteral tone: \"Some in rags,\" he spits, \"And some in tags,\" His back tongue pushes out of his mouth as he licks his lips, with delight. \"And one in a velvet gown!\" And saying thus, he charges blindly into the Gondor horde.

[Boromir(#31578)]

BHROOOOOOOM! BHROOOOOOOM!

And there it comes, another horncall -- nay, two horncalls! -- to match in counterpoint the calls of the Company of Ithilien. But this one is of a different tone, a different harmonic depth, and there is a certain weight to it a weight that in the Land of Stone can come only from the Horn of Gondor itself, born aloft in the hands of Boromir, Captain of the White Tower, who marches at the fore of the Hostmen as they follow in the Rangers\' wake.

\"For Gondor and the City of the Stars!\" rises the call from the three companies at the Captain-General\'s back the Silver Ship and the White Tree, whose ranks are veterans of many a battle, and behind them the fresh-faced levies of the newly-formed Bright Sun company, pushed into hasty service by Gondor\'s need, yet no less brave.

As the arrows of Faramir\'s van darken the sky another great BHROOOOOM! rises from the Horn of Gondor, and the steady rhythmic thump of the Hostsmen\'s feet and the clashing of their spears on shield escaltes as their banners are raised aloft, those bearing the Daystar more numerous than the White Tree or the Silver Ship. But together they are still not so numerous as the dark shadows of Mordor.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] Spunk\'s companion, Vix, growls at the Gondorian men. \"I\'s a gonna stomp, I\'s a gonna chomp, I\'s a gonna have me a tark loaf tonight.\" Her back is to Spunk and she looks at the men with joy in her big eyes.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor is to his feet but seconds when another strike rains down upon his position. Favoring his stronger leg, he feints to the side and avoids it.

And then he is upon the other troll, Vix, carving at her knees.

Ceredir and the men in the small group where he fights are all still surrounded and outnumbered by orcs--yet the horn blasts seems to have renewed the men\'s strength and at least temporarily distracted the orcs. The bloody work continues, even as the blast of Boromir\'s horn now sends orcs chasing off in that direction, looking for a fight with these arriving forces.

Among those racing toward the arriving forces of Gondor is the orc Schmorc, who holds a shield of Gondor in one hand--the shield having been decorated with a human scalp and other unspeakable substances. Spittle and drool fly from this orc\'s face, and filthy bloodied bandages are tied about his arms. Yet he turns off from the attacking main group of orcs and flies toward Thaladel, perhaps spotting the man\'s fear. A scimitar slashes sideways toward the hostman as Schmorc tries to slice him in half.

[Boromir(#31578)]

\"Be wary, Ranger Gurtir!\" cries one of the newcome men of Ithilien.

And indeed, among the multitudes of the East is an orc and a most handsome orc, if any bard ever cared to record the beauties of his likeness in song. And perhaps they will! But not today, for this orc -- who, let us say, is called Bbartokh -- charges into the fray, axe swinging wildly as he slashes for the Gurtir\'s head.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] Vix laughs uproariously. \"Come bug-man, you no hurt Vix likes this, you tickles Vix like this.\" She reaches down towards Bor with a large hand, the scratches on her knee making no real difference.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] Vix laughs uproariously. \"Come bug-man, you no hurt Vix likes this, you tickles Vix like this.\" She reaches down towards Bor with a large hand, the scratches on her knee making no real difference.

Hanomir aims carefully at Spunk and lets the arrow fly, again willing it to hit its target.

Hanomir launches an arrow...

Hanomir\'s bowshot hits Spunk, mildly wounding him.

[Spunk(#15492)]           As Arashen strikes at Spunk\'s knees, the troll lashes back, striking with his deadly axe.

Spunk attacks Arashen with his Axe and badly wounds him!

[Thaladel(#7905)] Thaladel was raised to be strong and composed, but he has never before seen battle, and he really can\'t help what he does next: spotting the orc who now hurries toward him, scimitar slashing, the lad screams. It\'s very undignified, the way fear shows in his eyes as he tries to get away from the orc. However, he bumps into someone just behind him, and the sharp weapon slices his upper arm. Angry now, Thaladel aims for the best prize straight away, swinging his longsword at the orc\'s neck.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

This newcome man of Ithilien may just as well have saved Gurtir\'s life: after the cry, the Ranger turns, his spear tip following suit -or even leading the way-, even as he bends his body backwards. Death whistles past his face.

\"You disgusting beast!\", he cries at Bbatorkh-- obviously beauty concepts differ.

[Bor(#30834)]

\"Shut up,\" says Bor to Vix. \"Shut up, shut up, shut up.\"

The Knight slashes at the hand as it descends down upon him, but the force nonetheless knocks him backwards to the ground, his blood mingling with the mud.

[Boromir(#31578)]

\"Meee? Disgustiiing?\" bubbles the handsome orc. \"I\'ve eaten dogs that are more appetising than you, fleshbag!\"

And then he howls in anger, and not wasting any of the initiative he appears to have gained, he leaps forward straight at Gurtir, axe raised overhead and slashing down for the Ranger\'s midriff.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] The female troll giggles some more. \"Spunk, silly tark is tickling me\'s!\" She reaches down and picks up the fallen Gondorian bringing it slowly closer and closer to her eyes and nose.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Arashen\'s weakened left arm cannot deflect the axe blow arm, shield and axe are driven backwards into his chest with a crushing blow.

His wounded left leg buckles and he falls to one knee, the wind knocked from him. Ineffectively, he raises his sword defensively, the blade wavering - but the squire is unable to launch an attack.

But Schmorc easily blocks Thaladel\'s sword, pushing it aside with a shove of his filth-covered shield. And then the orc follows through, trying to punch Thaladel in the face with that same shield and knock him over if he might. All the while, he laughs. \"Scream, yes!! Scream like one of your women!! That\'s it boy!\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

\"Eaten dogs?\", Gurtir says, \"That explains this delicious breath of yourrrrrs\"-- his speech trails off into a growl as, even he stepping backwards, the Bbatorkh\'s axes bites him.

\"You stink worse than our garbage.\", he snaps, thrusting his spear at a spot of his enemy that might be uncovered by armor.

[Spunk(#15492)]           As the troll of Mordor looks round, a small orc catches his eye. Something strange about the creature comes over Spunk as he squeels \"Bunny!\" And rushes off to the aid of the orc besieged by Gondor men.

[Thaladel(#7905)] Thaladel only has a second to be dismayed as his swipe with the sword is blocked by Schmorc\'s filthy shield. The lad hears something crack unpleasantly as he\'s hit in the face with the orc\'s shield- likely his nose, judging by the stream of blood now running down his face. Still, his grey eyes narrow as he remains on his feet, staring Schmorc down through his pain. \"Stupid, horrible creature!\" Thal hisses as he lunges out again, this time feinting to the left before swinging his sword down and to the right, aiming to knock the orc to the ground.

[Boromir(#31578)]

\"Garrrrbage? That\'s not a niiice thing to callll your mooothers!\" chortles the handsome orc, who becomes just slightly less handsome as the Ranger\'s spear scratches across the left of his chin. The Mordor-beast hisses and recoils, waving his axe defensively and slamming a foot towards Gurtir\'s knees to try and force the Ranger back.

Hanomir grins weakly as he sees his arrow hit the troll, which has suddenly charged off out of his range. He sheaths his longbow and redraws his longsword and limps towards a group of three or four scouts. He recognizes them from the many days trapped in Osgiliath. \"Come..\" He says to them and the group head towards the group of trapped Gondorians, Ceredir among them. They charge into the orcs surrounding them, meaning to create a gap where the trapped can escape their dangerous situation.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor\'s breath leaves him instantly, his midsection crushed between the Olog\'s digits. Yet his hands still remain free and as he nears Vix\'s face...

He stabs his sword deeply upwards into the cavity of her nose.

Schmorc is so busy cackling over his own wit that he doesn\'t block Thaladel\'s hit in time. Crashing to the ground he goes, but the orc is far from done. He kicks out with his feet, trying to trip the hostman now, and his scimitar slashly wildly should Thaladel be so foolish as to try to get close.

[Natanz(#30687)] Froth, still growling and spitting upon everything and everyone in his path, finally comes to stop in front of Faramir. Looking down upon the man from his lofty sight, he cracks a half-smile. \"Oooo, little tark man!\" And feeling like he\'s caught the biggest fish in the pond, he snarls. \"Come blow your horn. Your friends I ate and them you will mourn. Where was the boy who looks after the sheep? He is hiding in his fortress, fast asleep.\" And upon hearing his eloquent recital, one of the snivelly snagas besides him adds his two cents: \"And will you wake him?\" To this, Froth gurgles, babishly, \"No I, not I. For if I do, he\'d surely cry.\" And axe held aloft over his head, he brings it down upon one of the Sons of Gondor.

[Braaiinz(#28944)] Large gobs of green boogers rain down the sword over the Gondorian man, Vix\'s chest, Vix\'s hand and...everyone. She sneezes, more green boogers and greenish-reddish blood being expelled forcefully along with the sword. \"Bad pet!\" \"Vix just wanted to smell! Vix no can smell no more!\"

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Quickly Gurtir pulls his spear back after his strike. His shin is hitten by Bbatorkh\'s foot, making him wince and take a step back-- two, in fact. All the while trying to slash again the creature\'s face with his speartip.

\"I do understand that for you pile of dirty, useless stuff to be discarded means \'Mother\'.\", he takes a deep breath, the impact of the previous blow working against him, \"Not so to us. By garbage, I mean but garbage, you lackwit.\"

[Thaladel(#7905)] Blood is still dripping down Thaladel\'s face, making him quite the sight to behold. He spits blood down onto Schmorc, trying to get close enough to get a clean blow in at the orc\'s neck. The scimitar cuts deeply into one of Thal\'s ankles, causing him to cry out and stumble..but he stays on his feet, now favoring his left leg. He raises his blade up, trying to dance around the scimitar, looking foolish...but he brings his blade down hard at Schmorc\'s neck, ready to silence the orc\'s horrible laughter at his expense.

[Faramir(#28937)]

The armoured weight of the Hostmen is beginning to tell, as their phalanx of spears and shields inexorably moves forward, the Gondorian soldiers maintaining a disciplined frontline. Amongst them, the Rangers of Ithilien move to harass the foe with sword and bow, led by their Captain, whose blade can be seen flashing in the torchlight.

These fresh reinforcements, though not without casualty themselves, are bearing down upon the enemy with renewed vigour. Pockets of men who once were beleagured against a seemingly overwhelming foe are now being joined by their hale comrades, the night ringing out with sword-work.

[Bor(#30834)]

The wave of nasal fluids covers the Bragollach Knight, whose face assumes an aspect of horror not at impending death or grevious injury, but mucus.

Deprived of his sword, Bor has but one further weapon. He takes the helm from his head and begins to smash it downwards onto the troll\'s bulbous fingers.

Once more the scimitar slashes at Thaladel\'s legs as, from his fallen position, Schmorc tries to literally take the hostman\'s legs out from under him. The bloodied blade cuts through the air, slicing, just as Thaladel\'s blade sinks deep into the orc\'s neck. There\'s a gurgling sound and choking, blood everywhere as the orc dies. Does the orc\'s blade still strike home despite the foul creature\'s death?

[Braaiinz(#28944)] \"Oww owww,\" the female troll begins to dance around, like some sick parody of a jig, \"You are NOT nice pet. You NOT nice Bunny. Vix no like!\" As she jugs, she sneezes again, more blood and green mucus. Her grip on the man loosens as she dances.

[Boromir(#31578)]

BHROOOOM! BHROOOM-DE-DOOOM!

Again the horncall, though this one blown in a different manner. And this seems intentional a signal for the Hostmen of the three companies, who now begin to spread out. The veterans of the White Tree and the Silver Ship go north and south respectively, while the levies of the Bright Sun remain at the core, led by Boromir himself and his small unit of Citadel Guardsmen. As the veteran soldiers seek to flank the Mordain, the Captain-General and the levie multitudes surge forward, shields raised and spears lowered. \"For the Steward and the White City!\" calls the son of Denethor, and hundreds of voices rise in answer.

Many of the Hostmen are now about their foes. The cluster of foes where Spunk retreated is pushed back, away from the battle. Spear-wielding soldiers seek to contain the dancing of Vix even as the Swan-knight in her grasp is covered in more mucus from the second sneeze.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Through pain-filled eyes, Arashen watches the female troll pick up the Knight of Dol Amroth. His breath is harsh now and he is having trouble holding his shield properly, but he attempts to rise - grunting with the effort.

Around him, spear-wielding hostmen gather.

[Thaladel(#7905)] Schmorc\'s blade bites into Thaladel\'s right leg for a second time even as the orc lays dying. He lets out a very loud curse, now that the orc\'s dead eyes can no longer mock him. He limps on to engage another opponent, his face no less bloody than his blade. \"For the White City!\" Thal shouts roughly, echoing his Captain\'s call even as he takes a swing at another of the snarling enemies.

[Boromir(#31578)]

\"I shall feast upon your entrai--\" seeks to riposte the handsome orc, but that is that the Ranger\'s blow takes him in the stomach and spills his vital organs onto the ground at his feet, even as those organs are trampled by the surging iron-shod ranks of the Hostmen.

\"Aaarghhhhhag!\" Bbartokh cries, and not much else.

In one of those pockets of beleaguered men of Gondor fights Ceredir, blood running down his face beneath his helm, blood spattered on his armor, blood on his hands, even. But help has come--first the men that Hanomir fought with break through, and then the men led by Faramir are with them, offering help. The Scout fights on, though he staggers repeatedly now, weakened and falling back into the main body of the men there to relieve them.

[Bor(#30834)]

With the slackening of the grip, Bor is at last able to wriggle free. He lands upon the ground with a crunch and his mucus-soaked rise is labored.

The Knight reaches for his sword, imbedded into the earth, but does not pull it free. Instead he merely leans on it as the Hostsmen encircle his position.

[Thaladel(#7905)] Thaladel is fighting alongside many men, trying his best to avoid the huge, nightmarish trolls. He hardly pays his comrades any attention he\'s in pain, and busy trying to stay alive. However, he recognizes one bloodied face beneath its helm. \"Ceredir,\" he says as he moves past the staggering scout. \"Told you I\'d make it here.\" He gives a pained, bloody grin and moves on, sword raised.

[Gurtir(#30678)]

Thus ends Bbartokh, the handsome orc. And the last creature of Middle Earth to see him alive spares him not a second glance. Gurtir moves on as he sees his blow become -thankfully- more than he had intented. A light limp marking his walk, probably due to the orc\'s kick, the Ranger moves through the new levies of Gondorian fighters.

[Ulaire_Cantea(#28944)] The female orc roars miserably and starts to stomp back towards Spunk, retreating herself. \"Bad tarks. No food for Vix.\"

[Boromir(#31578)]

The spearmen surge forward towards Vix as she retreats, seeking to make the most of the ground that they have gained.

And beside the Swan-knight of Dol Amroth appears their high commander Boromir, who is most wonderful and glorious and manly and beautiful (though not quite so beautiful as Bbartokh) as Bor of the Bragollach would surely describe him in the throes of passion. \"What goes, sir Knight?\" asks the Captain-General of Bor, eyes cast east towards the retreating Mordain.

[Natanz(#30687)] As more and more brave orcs and ologs of Mordor sacrifice their lives for their Lord and Master, it dawns upon the demented Froth that this battle was not in their hands anymore. Upon seeing the blood of his \'brothers\' spills like water to the ground, it is clear to him that victory is now out of their grasp. And finally finding himself attacked by half a dozen tarks who jump in to defend their champion and lay down their lives for his, the large beast tries to shake them off while reciting: \"This little orcsy went to battle.\" And throwing ONE man to the ground, he continues, \"This little orcsy stayed at home. This little orcsy had rotting snaga meat. This little orcsy had none.\" Bellowing loudly, now, he calls out to the other dead and dying orc around him: \"And this little orcsy went \'Wee wee wee!\' All the way home!\" Succeeding in the end to jerk all the men off him, he finally breaks into a fast but lumbering sprint, his \'tail--or loincloth--between his legs, to safety away from the bridge.

There is no call of retreat sounded, but the Mordain orcs seem to sniff defeat snatched from the hands of victory now, and where there was once an all-out downright gleeful attack upon the forces of Gondor, suddenly there seems to be a general scramble to flee east. Running over the dead and the fallen and indeed each other, the orcs follow the fleeing trolls, heading back across the ruined city, back across the bridge. A small force forms a rearguard of sorts to prevent an all-out slaughter, but they are few in number. Those orcs unlucky enough not to have the presence of mind to sense this sudden retreat now find themselves trapped and outnumbered by tarks. They die a glorious death. The Dark Lord would be proud.

Among the fray, Ceredir falls to his knees and then to the ground. With luck, someone will find the Scout and not count him among the dead.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Not far from the manly and beautiful Boromir, the squire Arashen looks too weary to admire much of anything. Now entirely surrounded by his own countrymen, the young Telpekhor watches the Mordain retreat - seemingly disinclined to give chase.

[Faramir(#28937)]

Faramir is amongst his men, giving instructions and orders. Some of the men of Ithilien disperse amongst the city no doubt to regain strongpoints that earlier were lost. The captain himself remains to direct the retrieval of casualties, as he wipes the sweat from his brow.

[Boromir(#31578)]

\"As much as I can see now, Sir knight,\" answers Boromir, but he seems the merrier for this news the more filled with a fell joy at the sight and sound of the enemy\'s retreat. Thus, snatching up Angring in his hand, he raises his ancient blade above his head and cries: \"Men of the Daystar to hold back, the White Tree and the Silver Ship let us follow the dark-spawn of Mordor to their dooms!\"

And then the Captain of the White Tower charges, and the two companies of Minas Tirith go with him, driving the hosts of Mordor eastwards over the bridge.

[Arashen(#24692)]

Long weeks has Arashen fought in Osgiliath - since the western city first fell. He is filthy, tired, wounded many times over and gaunt with hunger.

But he walks off the battlefield, albeit with difficulty, sheathing his sword as he goes to join what wounded Lord Faramir has gathered.