Garrison Gone Wild

Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Old Merchant Quarter

Once the bustling center of trade in Osgiliath, here at the point that the Great Royal Road first entered the city, there is now naught but broken buildings and a large open trading plaza, covered with scant grass and broken stones. Some of the buildings have crumbled in on themselves, but others are standing and in relatively good condition. It looks as if there has been an effort to keep a clear path leading to the east, and also to the southeast. Perhaps these areas are still in use.

(Scene in progress.)

[Bor(#30834)]

Aside the camp is a simple wagon, where what remains of the scant resources of this band of men are currently housed. Inside are arrows, oil, and most importantly, the already-rationed food supplies. It is guarded by a handful of men, the rest still idling here and there about the area.

It is and has been pure chaos--garrison gone wild, if you will. At first it was bloodlust incited by the tempting closeness of a detachment of Gondor\'s rangers, but now, with the attention of the main Mordain army commanders turned elsewhere, it is pure havoc. Wild bands of orcs roam the streets, with little to no organization, except when those few of the more level headed commanders manage to literally whip the troops back into shape. There is pillaging of what little of the rubble there is left to pillage and always the bloodlust driving the orcs on, seeking fights, blood, and tark meat.

Morning and daylight are not the hour for orcs, but this morning has dawned cloudy. And so, goaded on by a large uruk with a whip at their backs, a contingent of orcs now comes from the direction of what used to be Gondor\'s garrison here.

\"Come on, ya bloodless fools!\" the helmeted commander snarls, cracking the whip above the troops heads. \"They\'ve gotta be somewhere. And when ya find that somewhere, there\'ll be food. And fresh meat! Move it!\"

[Eron(#24786)] One snarling Rakarg brings a whip overtop of his head only to bring it back down over several of the dogs infront of him. \"Move you lazy Snaga! we find em first we eats em first!\" He roars, pounding on his mail covered chest as he walks behind the fodder he commands.

Snarling and howling infront of them, the troop move away from their defendable position, all sniffing and snarling at the clean smelling air, as if disgusted by it as as one they stop, with a crack of the hulking brutes whip from behind,

\"Hold!\" Meetstikh the Rakarg snarls as he moves out from behind them, to look at the ground, licking his blackened lips before letting out an alerting yowl towards the other parties about.

\"West, Manflesh took their wagons west!\" He roars as he pulls the thick and jaggedly pointed speak from his back and breaks off into a trotting march, his warriors following suit as Meetstikh runs.

[Arashen(#24692)]

In addition to being smelly, ugly and cruel - orcs are noisy. Dead with fatigue and too many nights of battle with too little food - the remaining men of Gondor are tired but strung tight. Those who hear the sounds first are already reaching for weapons before they even know what they portend. These are not the times to wait for the command: Bows are strung, sleeping companions are woken.

The argument is instantly forgotten and Arashen\'s hand flies to his hilt. He turns his head to east, searching the rubble. \"Hsst! Commander!\" he whispers harshly, likely unnecessarily.

That cold Telpekhiri anger is focused now on a more suitable target.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor stands.

Shaking the weariness and fatigue from his frame and the soreness from his shoulder, he reaches first for his mail and then for his blade.

No commands come forth from the Knight yet, for the twang of bowstrings is already upon the air. Arrows rush forth to meet their targets. Bor looks aside to the Squire. \"Round a few more men to your sword.\"

\"They come for our supplies.\"

\"Oi!!\" No hero, Schmorc cringes under the crack of the whip, though his nostrils flare as he, too gets the scent of manflesh. \"West! West! Food!\" the snaga then snarls, his scimitar now drawn and in his hand. Off he sets at a run, following closely behind Meetstikh, spittle flying from his open mouth as he trots.

Arrows rain down about the orcs as they run, but this time, Schmorc has found himself a shield--a tark shield it is, with the markings of one of the fallen men of Gondor, only the orc has defaced it with unspeakable substances, one of which appears to be a black-haired man scalp. \"Forward!! to food!!\" he howls again, joining then in the wordless howling and screaming of the troop about him.

[Eron(#24786)] Meetstikh has found a shield as well, though his squawk and protest as he lifts them from the ground as he runs, the dull thuds of arrows sinking into the diseased flesh. Snarling savagely as he tosses the dead snaga to the side he rushes towsrds the archers, too close to fire at him now as he twists the Obsidian spear sidewards, swinging a long, and wide arc with the serrated blade of the one side of the weapon before charging the weakest looking Bowmen intent to bowl him over completely

Chaos reigns supreme now, as the starved dogs and snaga erupt on the closest non green skinned foe they can find, their numbers favorable, so their moral is high as they slash, hack, and gnaw on anything they can reach.

[Arashen(#24692)] \"Yes sir!\" Arashen replies, drawing his sword. He strides on long legs through the camp, sure-footed as usual, among the rubble. \"You two,\" he commands, pointing his sword at a pair of squires. \"And you,\" he repeats pointing in turn to two other men - a Hostman and two scouts. \"Come with me.\"

He does not wait to see if they obey but continues his way to the wagon. He arranges his small command, who did follow, in a loose ring before the wagon - supplementing the guards already there.

\"Fire at will until they are upon us,\" he tells the scouts and hefts his shield, bracing himself for the onslaught.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor twirls his blade around in his hand before charting a path that intersects that of the charging orcs. Briefly he tilts his head back to spy the Squire and seeing him in place with the rest in front of the wagon, he throws his shoulder sidelong into the onrushing stream, knocking one of the orcs to the ground. But a second later, his sword is driven downwards into its chest.

The troop of orcs is focused on the supply wagon, but first they must get through the bowmen. Arrows sink into orc flesh, pierce mail and helmets, but still the orcs come. An arrow shoots through Schmorc\'s hair-clad shield, skinning the top of his arm and getting stuck in the shield, but he leaves it there, charging forward and trampling bowmen under his feet. And then Schmorc and the others break through, Schmorc once again charging to the position that Arashen holds. This must be a familiar sight to the Squire.

[Arashen(#24692)]

A familiar sight indeed Arashen\'s eyes narrow at the sight of an orc he fought not more than a few days earlier - an orc he failed to kill.

In greeting, he lunges forward with his sword, turning the blade at the last moment to present the flat horizontally, seeking to slide the point into the beast\'s black throat above the armor.

A shield, hair-clad, comes crashing forward to meet the Squire\'s blade, and Schmorc snarls his defiance. His scimitar swings around, coming under his own shield to try to sweep at Arashen\'s legs.

More orcs scramble over the fallen--orc and men--stabbing and swinging blades, some of which hack into the men guarding the wagon. Orcs fall, too, and the ground slowly slickens with blood, but the wagon guard is hard pressed.

[Bor(#30834)]

Bor ducks as another fell blade comes near to his throat, plunging his sword forth into the creature\'s knee. Now momentarily bent, it is not long before the Knight\'s strike comes swiftly across the orc\'s neck...

[Arashen(#24692)]

These survivors - young and seasoned alike - are the toughest and most skilled of the remaining soldiery of Gondor. They have been tempered in blood they fall, but not easily - save when numbers too great swarm and overwhelm then. One of the guards falls, two orcan bodies at his feet, three more upon him.

The young Telpekhor drops his shield on his opponent\'s scimitar but not quick enough to prevent a nick on his outer leg. He ignores the wound and brings his sword in again, from the side toward the orc\'s shield arm.

Once more, as it had the first night, Arashen\'s sword slices through the orc\'s arm. It does not sever it, but the wound is deep and the orc\'s shield arm is weakened. But this drives Schmorc to a frenzied rage. Heedless of the pain and the fading strength of his arm, the orc tries to smash his filth-covered shield into Arashen\'s face, throwing his body weight behind it and swinging his scimitar at the same time toward the Squire\'s middle. Fury and the smell of meat and blood this close turn his eyes a bloody red, and his rage gives him strength.

[Bor(#30834)]

The orc are many, and driven by both rage and lust yet here is an enemy whose steel is not only of blade but demeanor too. The wagon holds, for now.

As the forces of the enemy sweep by Bor, heedless of his station or rank, and enroute to the wagon, he manages to snare one or two in closer quarters. They are dealt with accordingly, but the rush of beasts continues past him...

[Arashen(#24692)]

Laughing cruelly, the squire of the blue throws his weight to the side to avoid the collision he succeeds only partially. The blow clips the edge of Arashen\'s body. The Telpekhor uses the momentum to spin until he comes to the side and slightly behind the orc. Then swinging widely, he brings the blade in sideways towards the foul beast\'s neck.

Off balance from putting so much rage and all of his weight into the attack, Schmorc staggers forward, nearly tripping on a fallen orc body. It saves him: instead of slicing his neck, Arashen\'s blade skitters across the armor on the orc\'s back, slicing a wide cut at the end of its path. But orcs are rushing by the snaga, greedy eyes on the target of the wagon, and Schmorc, too, now staggers forward, unwilling to stay and fight this foe when there is the larger prize to be gained.

[Bor(#30834)]

Where there was once two orcs per Gondorian, there are now five sometimes six. The gallant men of Gondor fall rather than capitulate and fall they do.

The Knight\'s attempt to draw attackers away to himself are a failure and he now plows through a line of the beasts to take a position at the wagon. His spot just so happens to be occupied by a Gondorian, though only a corpse.

\"Squire, let them at the wagon,\" he says.

[Arashen(#24692)]

For the enemy, no mercy. And there is no honor between a man of Gondor and foe that is beast. Arashen does not hesitate to strike the filthy orc from behind. Two quick paces bring him to the fleeing Schmorc. He raises his blade, a snarl of hatred on his lips...

\"...let them at the wagon\" somehow penetrates the squire\'s battle fatigued mind. He resists striking with visible effort. \"Sir?\" he asks, confusion clear in his voice, his sword still raised.

Schmorc neither sees nor hears what is going on behind him, the sword literally hanging over him. The orc rushes forward with single-minded purpose as he and his fellow filth converage on the wagon, greedily swarming over it. In their haste, discipline is lost, some orcs not watching to fight off the enemy, but their commander is there, and a crack of the whip sounds through the air. \"Hurry up about it! And guard your backs you filthy dogs!\" the commander snarls. The orcs hurry to obey, some trying to make off with the wagon, and some turning to keep the enemy at bay.

[Bor(#30834)]

The whisper of Bor is carried amongst those guarding the wagon, and the streaming lines of orcs are let through. The wagon is lost...

Yet, when the orcs turn with their bounty or to defend the position they are greeted with a new sight. Tall, remorseless men of Gondor, now surrounding them. Joining those at the wagon are more, those fighting elsewhere. And their swords are high and heavy, and waiting.

[Arashen(#24692)]

The gray eyes of Arashen flicker to the men behind his commander, his comrades-in-arms, now circling the wagon. He lowers his sword and backs away, coming to stand beside the crimson-clad Knight. He wipes sweat from his brow but says nothing more, slightly winded from his fight.

[Bor(#30834)]

And the orcs crash into the men of Gondor...

But this time it is not rage that drives them, but the urge to live onwards their position of strength has been lost to the tenacity of men both dead and alive and the circle that now binds them to the treasure they so sought.

And when they rush forth, many are met with cold steel though some still break through to fresh air and the triumph of their conquest. It is a fell day.

As the fighting settles, Bor glances aside to Arashen. \"You have lived, Squire.\"

\"But now we must move, and swiftly. They will send news.\"

[Arashen(#24692)]

He is tired but he is fueled now by instinct, anger and survival. A few of those orcs fall by Arashen\'s sword - his ire at the one who eludes him taken out upon the beasts\' brethren. And then the fighting is done.

At the knight\'s words, the squire turns to him. \"Yes. But we are the hunted. We should be the hunters.\"

He says naught more and crosses to the wagon with the other men. What can be salvaged is carried away. The wounded are aided by those less wounded the dead are left where they are. There is no time to bury them.

Weary, nearly beyond endurance, the men of Gondor slip away further into the ruins - leaving this time, no wagon tracks to betray them.