Sneakin\'! I\'m Not Sneakin\'!

*** Log Started in Middle of RP ***

*** Humans and Elves in Encampment, orcs approve and begin tossing Orc and Beorning heads into the encampment ***

** Characters:

Galharth

Cecilia

Mobeorn

Breasal (Temp by Mavwyn)

Gollum

Gothrotool

Oisin

\"Orc?\" Galharth says quickly as he reaches for his weapon, drawing it nervously. \"Lovely, perfect, wonderful timing for our guards to be in and around the area running a patrol.\" Shaking his head and looking to the elleth Tirilalaith, his frown is clearly etched upon his lips. \"It would be better for the Guard to alert us, but I suspect if an Orc has breeched their lines then they have their hands full enough.\"

Looking past the elleth to Cecilia, he offers a smile. \"Perhaps you might wish to raise your bow.....\" he says, letting his words slip into silence as he quickly turns to the strange voice in the mountain. \"It speaks as.... what is that.\" Pausing a moment, he calls out. \"Show yourself!\"

Galharth wields Longsword.

\" They\'re comin\'!!\" a voice rings out. The owner comes running down a hill, long youthful legs trailing beneath him. His dark green Woodman\'s cloak flies behind him like a shadow in the sun. \" Get t\'arms!\" he cries again. Breasal continues to run, heading for Mobeorn and then comes to a full stop, as the evidence of the enemy\'s presence has already been made known. \'AAAHHHG!\' he cries, face paling. What he had assumed were large rocks are from anything of the kind. The face of his good friend Alrind lays on the ground just before him, battered and beaten. And bodiless. The boy begins to rock back and forth, echoing the movement of his chest and lets out a loud battle cry, that seems to come from the ground beneath him.

Cecilia hears Galharth\'s suggestion and nods, standing. She reaches to pick up her bow just as one of the rotting, bloated heads splatters on the ground in front of her. She gives a small shriek in surprise and disgust, but holds onto the bow as she quickly backs up.

Cecilia wields Longbow.

Mobeorn is -still- peering up into the path above them when...severed orc heads begin to rain down on the group, a gruesome bloody attack. \"ORCS!\" he roars, so that the Beorning men in the camp spring into action, drawing their weapons.

Mobeorn\'s words end in a growl, though, and in the dark of the night, there is a shimmering of the air as the flesh of the man shifts and melds--and suddenly there is in the man\'s place a huge bear. But the attack is from above, and the bear, try as he may, can\'t scramble up the rock face.

Galharth\'s pointed query goes unanswered, as whatever was clambering from precipice to precipice above is now motionless and quiet below the horizon, lurking somewhere among the heights.

�������� One of the heads is particularly aimed as the bear changes. The head of slain chieftain Squee, eye sockets leaking the remains of the rotting orc brains is thrown towards the bear.

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�A sharp ring clears the mountain\'s heavy air as Gothrotool slams his blade between two rocks with a *CLANG*.

�������� \"SLAUGHTER THEM!\" Comes a the mutanious command from the orc in black, who pulls from his back a lithe orc hunter\'s bow. An arrow is called from the depths of the darkness and Gothrotool begins to ready his attack his most hated enemies.....elves.

Gothrotool puts down a Scimitar.

Cecilia +gives 10 Arrows to Longbow.

Ois�n has arrived.

Jumping as Cecilia shrieks, Galharth turns and catches sight of the head as yet another spats the ground to his right. \"Get to the camp interior Tirilalaith, alert the others and keep down...\" Looking to Mobeorn, the Tailor\'s voice goes low, and filled with concern. \"The camp is mostly Bards, Crafters, and Healers, few of which are able to .......\" His words fall suddenly silent as he looks at the instant a man becomes a bear. Surprise? Whatever he might have said is lost to never return, and only the sound of the hideous command to attack draws the Craftmaster from his startled state.

Bringing his weapon up the firstborn rolls his shoulders and steadies himself for attack, all the while looking into the shadows with clearly a hope to see the return of the elven guards.

�

Startled by the cries and thuds of rotting heads, Maglind is roused from his post. Longbow already strung, he darts over to the side of a standing stone, peeking over the side.

�Crawling out of one of the tents, the bearded hungover face of Oisin glances at those gathered. \"Can\'t a man get any sleep with this bloody noise going on?\" The woodsman sneers at the head of an orc sinking softly in the mud and growls as he straightens up and looks around.

The boy, Breasal, finally comes to his somewhat lacking sense and reaches for his bow. Which, of course, he still doesn\'t have. He curses himself, aloud, for the incident with elves before (still blaming Lady Arwen for \" stealing his weaponry\") and looks to the Bear. \" I need me bow!\" In the meantime, the boy grabs a handful of dirt and rocks and starts carelessly tossing the handful towards the offending mass before him. \'Someone, give me a bow!\' he calls, figuring the elves may at least be THAT considerate. The rocks don\'t make it more than a few yards in front of him, but the effort seems to be somehow gratifying, and he smiles defiantly with pride.

SPLOOSH. The head of Squee comes squashing down, missing the brown bear only because it dodges at the very last second, the bloody rotten thing glancing off the bear\'s shoulder. The bear pauses for an instant, eyes full of rage, narrowed, before it bellows, a noise that thunders through the mountains. \" It\'s *** same scum as before! **** reinforcements!!\" With that the bear takes off, rushing toward what seem to be orc attackers in the night, trying to reach their leader.

Cecilia pulls an arrow from her cloth quiver, obviously nervous but not too afraid to fight. She nocks it to her bowstring and looks around now, trying to suppress her revulsion at the severed heads. The young beorning woman searches for a clear target, lifting the bow and picking out a target. She\'s never shot in combat before and it\'s exhilerating! Really! All her brother\'s talk makes sense finally.

Cecilia launches an arrow...

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

�Grasping the hilt of his axe, Oisin brings the feared daisy-cutter from behind his back and takes a very fetching stance with it held defty in both hands. \"Right then, who wants orc-nuggets?\" he grins looking around and nothing in particular.

Oisin wields Axe.

�������� As a small flood of orcs scrambles down the hill(falling with style). The first group lands and death meets them as they pad the way for their kin to land. Several orcs come face to face with the Morghash slayer Mobeorn, but do not sway from their path as if something else scared them more.

�������� At the top, Grothrotool watches the female, Cecilia, launch an arrow at him. No words merit the rage that comes from the malicious how of

Gothrotool before he releases the orc arrow with a *PANG*.

Gothrotool launches an arrow...

Gothrotool\'s bowshot hits Cecilia, lightly wounding her.

As arrows fly to and fro, another raspy squeal emerges from the darkness. A silhouetted fist pokes up in the starlight as the coughing, rasping voice barks once more: \"Leave us alone! We\'ll not fight you!\"

Cecilia frowns as the arrow flies wide. The healer looks around, nervous as she lowers the bow to her side. Perhaps it will be better if her kin do the fighting. That\'s when the arrow hits her, cutting across her arm and leaving a line of searing pain and blood. She gives a cry of pain, or maybe startlement, then quickly backs up away from the direction that the orc fired from.

\" The ****** ** up *****!\" the bear roars, a word-like cadence to its growl, jerking its head to the top of the rock face where the orc leader might be found. \" And another in **** *********!\" This time the bear jerks its head toward the beast squeaking words at the group, silhouetted in the starlight. Then wiht a snarl of rage, the bear plunges into the orcs tumbling down the rock face, tearing through goblin after goblin, crushing them. Still, there are plenty left for the Beornings to fight, for the orcs keep coming. The bear disappears into the mass of the enemy, and it\'s not clear who will be teh victor in this battle.

Looking over his shoulder as a demand for a bow sounds through the camp, the Tailor looks for one of his own to bring aid to the unarmed youth. His gaze does not linger on the youth, for starlight flickering over the surface of an axe brings attention back to defense. Ducking as arrows fly overhead. \"Begone!\" he calls out in reply as the strange voice in the mountains claim what amounts to innocence. Galharths voice rings out only a moment before Cecilia calls out in pain. \"Lies!\" he calls out on the tail of the womans cry, though what sound he makes is likely lost in the snarl of rage from the bear who charges forth seeking to silence the stange voice high above.

�As the woodsman lowers his head and begins to slowly tramp his way forward towards the cascade of Orcies, a flashback of summer days and dandelion petals floating in the wind caress through his mind. \"Ahh \" he muses, \"I must remember to plant strawberrys this spring.\" With a shake of his head, he continues forward towards the melee.

Breasal watches Mobeorn\'s figure dissapear into the darkness, his dark fur mirroring the night, and acting as a healthy camoflauge. He begins looking around for something else to throw and notices a figure, blocking out the stars. His fear, combined with the facts that he has no weapon and the figure seems pretty small, makes the target seem perfect. The boy drops what\'s in his hands and begins making his way through the trees and towards the rocks. \"Ye\'ll no\' leave alive!\" he cries to the small figure, whose cries are naught but screeches to his ears.

�������� \"Hold!\" Comes a vivacious chide in common as the cloaked figure commands the onslaught of orcs to cease. One or two of the uruks look on very confused as the uruk stops the attack.

������ �

�\"Who in the name of the fire and flame are you?\" One of the orcs asks before he succumbs to an arrow through the throat. \"Do not contest the will of the Balrog\'s choosen Master Shaman.\" Gothrotool sneers and looks back at the dumb-struck uruks.

�Below, the contingent of orcs continues to plague the mountains however slowly their numbers thin.

Ducking heads, although mud and gore already stain the Elf\'s boots and trousers, Maglind splashes towards the exchange of arrows. Coming towards the angry man Breasal, he calls out, \"Wait!\" ere the youth is gone.

Looking around, the cloaked Elf searches vainly ere an orc gets too close -- and then he puts an arrow through it.

Cecilia continues to draw back from the battle, too absorbed in the blood on her arm now to fight back unless directly threatened. Her kin and traveling companions are doing a splending job, so the girl tucks the bow under her arm and reaches down in her pack that\'s still on the ground, digging for a bandage to bind the wound, pain still on her face.

Perched in the high rocky cliffs above the pass like a nesting bird, the creature moans a loud and inhuman moan in response to the continued goading he receives from all sides. \"Nassty orcsess, nassty elvsess, nassty treemenss...leave uss alone! A bony fist is raised again before the starlight, shaking in the air helplessly at the antagonists below.

�������� As the slaughtered orc falls to the ground the newly announced Master Shaman turns his hide on the orcs leaving them to their death. \"Come we return to the camp, we have much to discuss before the next attack.\" The orcs listen, half frightened at the idea of a new Master Shaman, half fearing the wrath of this new orc.

�Picking up speed, Oisin breaks into a run. Swinging the Daisy-cutter above his head and with a fearsome war-cry of \"My Pines ! \", he breaches into the nearest orc tumbling from the rock face.

Thunder adds a darkening ambience to the battle at the foot of the Pass. Breasal jumps as another roaring CRASH echoes above and around him, but he continues on. Each step gets slower and slower as he battles with the trecherous ground beneath, the grade of the mountside almost to the point that he can reach the ground by reaching forward. However, closer and closer he comes towards the rocks upon which sits the small figure he has pinpointed. \"Ye kinna lose me, foul beast!\" he cries, fist in the air. He loses his footing and hits the ground, dirt and rock embedding itself in his teeth, skin, and hair. The boy coughs and spits out the foul-tasting ground, wiping dirt from his face with an even dirtier hand, making a bad situation worse. Yet, on he continues, his fare coming closer and closer in range.

Gothrotool decides to take the high altitude split in the pass.

Gothrotool has left.

Arrows come forth, downing shadows in the night, though unseen from the circle of defesnse within the camp. Either the elven Guard in their stealth are ever watchful and protecting, or the trees themselves bring protection, though from the sounds in night hint of firstborn arrows. \"Stay down!\" Galharth calls out protectively. Finding no just cause to rush forth as the bear, the Crafter stays within the camp, holding as a last line of defense. \"Leave, and the battle ends.... \"

From his vantage, the Tailor only sees shadows moving in the night, and for the moment it seems they withdraw. A moment of silence fills the air, and he calls out, \"Are they leaving? Did we scare them off?\"

\"No,\" another elven voice calls back, searching in the stormy dark. \"They ... left.\"

Coming below the faint starlight and stark lightning, Maglind looks pale as he glances to Galharth. \"Are there any left? Any injured?\"

Although one of the travelers continued a dogged pursuit of the perched creature, the quarry sees an opportunity to escape in the withdrawal of the orcs. Leaping like a cat in the direction of the ground abandoned by the foul patrol, the little mysterious wretch scampers through crannies and across spires of stone to keep its distance from the pursuer. Snarling as it flits into the darkness, the creature offers a last word: \"Leaves us alone, precious! We didn\'t hurts it!\"

�No matter how he tries, the woodsman can\'t get a clear hit at the vanishing orcs. Rather annoyed that they scampered so soon before he could get a good swipe at them he turns to head back tp the camp mumbling something about \" In my day.....\"

Reaching up, the Craftmaster runs his fingers through his silver hair as the surrounding area grows quiet. Certainly Galharth appears frazzled by the heads and the sounds of fighting and threat in the night. Movement continues high above but it seems to be growing distant as if moving away. \"I think for the moment it is done.....\" he replies outloud in the common tongue, \"Though a few haven\'t returned back to the camp from their charge into the night.\"

Turning he looks into the camp, and catching sight of Cecelia, he releases a frustrates sigh. \"A few injuries have been taken.\" he says moving to the woman\'s side.

\"I will watch for them,\" Maglind replies in the like tongue, and fades into the craggy stone, bow held ready, eyes gleaming.

Cecilia is perfectly capable of tending to her own injury. It\'s a deep cut, but certainly nothing she can\'t handle. But then Galharth is approaching her and the young woman gives him a brave smile, completely forgetting the wound. \"Is someone hurt? I can tend to them.\" She says, trying to pull her eyes from his face to look around and failing miserably.

�Shaking his head, Oisin meanders towards his tend, shouldering his axe. Glancing at a couple of flirting elves he whispers to himself with a grin. \"All back to normal\"

\"I\'ll be hurtin\' you, ye rat!\" Breasal calls to the monkey-like creature scampering away. \"Slow down, blast ye!\" he mutters loudly as a tree branch smacks him in the face. There is so little illumination outside, that the poor boy is having to feel his way up the side of the pass. Trees grab his clothing with pincer-grip, and blood soon oozes out of slices in his left cheek and forehead, gifts from the woods. He finally reaches close to the top of the pass, panting and wheezing. \"Ye be bloody fast, ye varmint!\" he growls out to the night sky, as he has lost sight of his prey, who has smartly chosen to use its surroundings and darkness for natural invisibility. \"Speak! Speak, ye foul child o\' darkness! I\'ll send ye back t\' the dark womb from whence ye came!\" He hollers. His strong chin is jutted forward and he stands firmly still, cloaking billowing about him, as he reaches the rock-ridden tip of the pass.

\"Come out, I say!\" he cries and begins up a cranny, then turns and starts back, attempting to draw the figure out from his hiding place.

\"Tend yourself, or should I call forth our healers to see to your needs.\" Galharth says as he nears the woman and kneels at her side. \"You did well for one among the second born.\" he says with a smile. \"You make your people proud.\"

Falling silent as someone calls out from the riges above, the Tailor shakes his head. \"The moment is done.\"

Although the little enigmatic monster had offered retorts before, he offers none now as he continues to leap and scrabble atop the foreboding high ground above the pass. Only coughing breaths are offered while the creature\'s hands and feet alike find precarious purchase among the jagged stones as its retreat continues in earnest.

As Oisin nears the two flirting, he realises that one is a Beorning, \"Beh, get a tent you two ! \" he growls.

\'I wrapped it, but I can look at it.. if none are in more immediate need of help.\' Cecilia gives a quick glance around, to make sure. Oison draws her gaze and she flushes in embarrasment, \" Quiet! Mind your own business!\" Then dismisses him entirely and looks back to the elf. \'Your people fight so differently from mine.\' She says, reaching to carefully unwrap the quick bandage that she wound about her arm early.

Peering into the shadows at the odd words called out, Galharth shakes his head and turns his attention back to the wounded woman as she sees to her wounds. \"Do not take my own participation as example. I am but a crafter who might rush forth to defend, but when the tally is given I have little skill in the way of war.\"

�Oisin puts on a female Beorning voice as he passes the two love birds \"Oh, you fight sooo differently. Gosh we\'re really impressed down here in the excrement of civilisation, I can tell you. Please, whoosh me away to your 100 foot tree. \" The Woodsman lifts up his left armpit, \"Get a wiff of a real man and stop yer yaking ! \"

Cecilia groans softly as the Beornings tease her, shaking her head as she tries to ignore it. Her face is red, \"Well, thank you for the help..\" She murmurs, focusing on tending to the cut on her arm as she resists rushing off to throttle the men.

Peering at Oisin as he speaks, Galharth is clearly riddled with confusion. \"Do the humans not know they smell bad....\" he mutters as he turns to Cecilia, only to find her running off. Shaking his head, the Tailor rises to his full height and heads back to the elven tents. As he moves away, he can be heard muttering words to match his confusion. \"Long though life might be, I can not say I\'ll ever understand the oddities.....\"

Bending over as he enters his tent, Oisin lets out a loud fart in reply. \"Oddity that you, son of a ......\"

Crashing and tumpling stones send echoes through the pass where the little creature last darted. From teh sound of it, the beast miht have gotten away, and it might have fallen to its death. For now, none can be sure, but one day all will know the name of the monster who roamed Middle-Earth in search of a precious posession...

\"AHA! Cries Beasal, announcing his win. Even if it may not have happened and he had nothing to do with it. The tale of the defeat of the evil creature- which he defeated himself- would win him a few mugs of mead, and maybe a lass or two when he returned. The boy triumphantly raises his right fist and offers another battle cry to the night sky before dissapearing back into the mist below returning to camp.