Attack on the Shepherding Village

East Road - Near the Trollshaws

The road here passes through rolling hills. There is hardly any difference between east and west, but the land seems to be rising to the west and dropping to the east. A small footpath leaves the road toward the south. The surrounding forest looms close to the road here and, though you can make your way, you can see no great distance in the darkness.

Contents:

Zordain

Ollie

Groth

Hephtur

Ivorin

Ninniach

Glubb

Logoz

Elamdir

Glorfindel

Morian Orc Camp

Angry Beijabar (used to simulate ballista attacks)

Obvious exits:

Shepherding Village, North, East, and West

================== Eldarin Calendar ===================

IC time is:    Early Afternoon < About  2:57 PM > (warped to NIGHT)

IC day is:     Ormenel

IC date is:    46 Rhiw

Moon phase:    Full 

Earendil:      Gil-Estel is not visible.

IC year is:    Loa 23 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor

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RL time: Sun Sep 27 19:59:08 2009

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Night has fallen, colorless and forbidding as the heavy snow that now falls upon the Trollshaws. Lanterns flicker to life and blink upon the swiftly-building drifts, their orange warmth alien and uninvited to the monochromatic world without ...

Not all is quiet. Indeed, the fresh-fallen snow is already trodden into muddy, harsh-cut footprints, and the trail of something being dragged along the road. Deep, shuddering thuds, like the sound of something being pounded against wood, break the village\'s peace, and alarums blare in a sudden awakening.

Causing the commotion would be a company of dark, twisted figures, their animated threats lighting up the glint of weapons by firelight, and their cries desecrating, raucously, the village\'s good night\'s sleep. They are outside the gate, and batter it with arrows and tree-trunks.

Glubb moves with his fellows having stalked through the darkness to the small village. The squat figure of this orc moves like a shadow approaching the gate, though scouting to watch the road behind the group the orc reaches to his back finding a curved black bow an bringing into hands, this done he remains silent and still watching.

Among their number, louder than most, lurks the leader of this vicious host.

Tall and broad, near to a Man, by the back of the lines he stands

red eyes glimmer, black tongue slips, over yellowing fangs that gnash and nip.

Logoz is he, well known to this horde, and styles himself some goblin lord.

With laughter cruel and orders barked, he guides the throng loosed from the dark,

and while his gaze watches the show, a crease is drawn across his brow.

Ears prick up, he turns to the East, sniffing the air like a fell beast.

A pace he takes, mace in grasp, and narrowing eyes he looses a rasp:

“I don\'t think we\'re alone, boys...\"

[Glorfindel(#30248)] And as the alarm rankles the villagers, a good many frightened faces come into hastily lit windows inside the walls. The men of the village scramble to take up what arms they possess, some climbing atop the narrow wooden parapets to crouch behind the very top of the village wall with shortbows while others still rally behind the great gate armed with steel. The gatekeeper, who is jarred away from his sight beyond the gate by a clamorous shaking, turns a hale yet troubled face to the others. \"Hold on, men,\" he grunts, eyes lifting warily aloft to the archers for some sign.

[Elamdir(#17629)] Among the archers is a grey-cloaked figure somewhat taller than the rest. His face protrudes from the hood pale and fair. The red torchlight dances across his hard features, and reflects fiercly in his deep grey eyes Eyes hard-set on the aproaching enemy. Elamdir stands firm, an arrow already nocked on his longbow, he awaits only the signal to fire.

[Ninniach(#20106)] There comes the light sound of horses\' hooves from the road, a small group riding hard and in so great a hurry that they come upon the enemy quickly. These few elves- members of the Tirith- aren\'t sneaking around in the dark tonight, so compelling is their need to get to their destination. When Ninniach, an elleth with long pale hair and a cloak hood that\'s fallen down, first spots the village, she slows her horse and looks briefly to the elleth on the dark horse riding beside her.

Glubb turns back towards the walls as the defenders seem to have awoken. His eyes gleam quickly and he gestures for the nearest of the orcs nodding in agreeance of company even as the elves upon horseback approach. He hisses fairly silently and reaches to his back finding an arrow and placing it to string. He still waits in the shadow for the moment.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     It\'s been a long ride and they\'ve ridden it well, evidence of this in the mud streaked in a single line down Ivorin\'s cheek. Finally, though... Finally the village is in their sights. Slowing when Ninniach does, she pushes her hood back from her face and gestures for the rest of their company to hold a moment. \"What do you hear?\" she asks quietly, the fluid Sindarin seeming a bit out of place in this dank and filthy place.

[Logoz(#19187)]

The sound of hooves is hardly to be missed, and Logoz slips to the ground for a moment to place his ear to the earth. A sneer wrinkles his lip as he nods to himself, ere he springs back up to his feet. \"Horses, lads!\" he cries out in alarm. \"Coming fast! Get yer filthy hides over here!\"

Snatching up his mace anew he turns a seething glare back towards the town, even as a fair number of orcs turn to gaze eastward. \"Glubb!\" roars out Logoz. \"Where are yer?\"

A skinny orc stumbles over the planks laid over the ditch of thorns, cursing as he stubs his toenails on someone else\'s dropped helmet. A rusty pike rattles behind him. \"I\'s here, boss,\" he stammers to Logoz excitedly, eyes roving over the path -- one is yellow, the other milky and blind. \"I kin help?\"

[Glorfindel(#30248)] Then, as if all of a sudden, Glorfindel arrives in the midst of those who brace behind the gate, his features chill steel against the threat beyond as his eyes burn upon the wall as if he could see well beyond it. \"Archers! At the ready!\" he calls in Sindarin akin to the call of a gilded trumpet above the abhorrent voices without. Though many of the villagers appear to take comfort at the leadership, others seem to look upon the Elf lord with wan and uncertain faces.

\"Have our kinsmen come? Can you see them? You must cover their approach!\" Glorfindel shouts then to Elamdir atop the parapets.

[Ninniach(#20106)] Ninniach\'s sharp blue eyes, not challenged by the darkness, watch as Logoz calls out for one of his orcs. She frowns faintly, but sits up tall on her mount. \"Nothing but filth,\" Ninniach answers softly. \"They\'ll be waiting to help us get inside- be ready,\" the Tirith\'s field engineer tells the others over her shoulder.

[Elamdir(#17629)] \"Aye, They have arrived!\" shouts the Cunir in reply.

Elamdir draws his bow and aims to give covering fire to the approaching cavalry. \"Men! We must support the horses!\" he shouts to the archers along side him. \"Take aim, but do not fire until the order is given!\" There are a few grunts of protest, but mostly swift obedience as the villagers set their bows and take aim.

Within the walls, far back from the men bracing against the shuddering gate, Elathrad stands in the snow. He neither gives nor follows the various orders shouted in the fair tongue, though his one hand is locked around his sword-hilt, and his grey eyes are cold and wide in anticipation.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Ready is something Ivorin can be. Settling deeper into her saddle, she leans forward and whispers fluid words of an ancient language into Orthadinu\'s ears. When the word comes, this pair will be ready to fly.

Glubb grumbles at being called at when he\'d been hiding but he looks over towards the other orc and makes his presence known with a glint. The men at the wall make this a short lived thing as he moves back looking at the newly arrived. \"Open the gate, to help this lot.\" a sharp toothed evil grin as his bow is raised.

[Logoz(#19187)]

WLogoz snarls anew and whirls upon the skinny orc at his side. \"You kin help, kin yer Guzl?\" he answers, mocking the smaller goblin. \"Well then help! Keep those stinkin\' archers behind those walls busy, while we take care of these fools on their horses..\"

Though as Glubb reappears he nods, and squeezes the haft of his mace. \"Go help Glubb do just that,\" he orders, ere he turns back to the swiftly advancing Tirith.

\"Um, yeah,\" the scrawny creature cringes, sticking the pike into the thorny, snowy ground and ripping a bow and arrow from his back. \"Can\'t really see \'em, though.\" Maybe if he tries very hard ... Guzl bends the rickety bow, which threatens to splinter.

He sends a timid arrow, which flies over the parapet and then disappears from his view -- good enough. It is followed, then, by bolder and swifter shafts from below the wall.

[Ninniach(#20106)] Ninniach\'s eyes have stayed with the biggest of the lot, Logoz, who now comes toward them. She murmurs something to her mare that\'s intended to be calming. She\'s a slight elleth, this pale-haired one, but fiercely courageous. She pats the mare\'s neck, now, before urging her to take a step forward. If she can stay on her mount, at least speed could be her advantage. \"Steady..\" she calls quietly to the others, eyes narrowing as she searches to see what her kin have planned.

[Elamdir(#17629)] A small volley of arrows soar over the wall. Though most miss any real target one black shaft strikes home in the leg of one of the villagers. A boy at that, no older that sixteen years of age from the looks of him. His cry is wild and his eyes are wide in pain as he collapses.

\"Hold! Do not fire until the command!\" Elamdir shouts trying to hold control of the situation, but it is a wasted effort. The archers, panicking, let loose their bows in a clumsy volley in the general direction of the attackers.

Hephtur comes along the long, winding road from the west.

Hephtur has arrived.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] A black arrow whistles in a fell arc over the walls to sink into the snow-muddied earth behind the wall, followed by more.

Glorfindel\'s focus snaps away as the boy falls, and it is in this moment that the archers break their rank. \"Cover the field between here and the road! Clear the ground before the gate!\" he calls to the Cunir, his voice far-carrying and fierce upon the enemy\'s ears, should they chance to hear it.\"

Stepping forward among the men armed at his side, it is to the gatekeeper that the Elf Lord next speaks, his voice coming in baritone Westron once more. \"They\'ll not make the gate without our blades. Prepare to drop the walkway across as the gates open. If they have laid anything over the pit, we must break over it.\" The gatekeeper\'s nod is hasty, and fumbling hands hoist the walkway into place before the gate is even opened.

[Logoz(#19187)]

As the arrows fly towards one flank of the orc band, Logoz remains unconcerned his livid red gaze locked upon the new arrivals and he licks his fangs anew with relish. Seeming to spot the attentions of Niiniach he holds aloft his mace and points her way -- a crude challenge spit out in the common tongue.

\"You there, dainty one! Yer looking pretty hard my way, so why not see what you can do? That usless, unkless yer used to letting the men-Elves do all the hard work for yer...\"

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Eyes like quicksilver flash between Ivorin\'s enemy and her commander. Orthadinu is shifted sideways so as to be closer to Ninniach\'s white mare and it\'s hard to tell if the elleth\'s soothing melody of words is meant for her mount or her friend. The mare shifts uneasily, muscles tense and flight-or-fight ready. Her rider isn\'t much better, slowly drawing her sword from it\'s saddle-sheath and leaning slightly forward in anticipation of the charge to come.

[Ninniach(#20106)] There must be something in the wind tonight, because Ninniach is normally a very calm, level-headed elleth. She has proved herself before, but...something about this massive orc\'s goading sends her into a bright-eyed fury. Tight-lipped, she calls back to him in Westron, \"Fine. I\'ll show you what I can do.\" But before she draws her sword or moves forward to meet her challenger, Ninniach looks quickly to Ivorin. \"Make for the gate, all of you!\" She\'s offering herself as a distraction.

The orc-band was never as organized as the men upon the wall: yelps and curses rise from the thorns as the man-arrows pierce feet, arms, armor. But they are swift to retaliate: \"Again!\" shrieks Guzl, hopping animatedly, his eye roving for the tastiest of them all. It falls upon the elven-fair features of Elamdir, and licking his lips, he sends an arrow that way. Towards the shouting elf. Who knows if it\'ll arrive there at all.

The makeshift rams continue: those armed not with bow and arrow put their efforts into either beating at the gate, or bracing themselves for the cavalry charge.

Glubb looks on readied for his attack as the pieces on both sides move. The orc-scout spots his target and now takes aim for one of the horse-riders. He pulls the bowstring back carefully before letting it go flashing into the night.

[Logoz(#19187)]

As Ninniach takes her time, Logoz cackles and croons, mockery lacing every word from his foul lips as he calls out: \"What\'s this? Need yer menfolk to do it after all? What\'s the delay, unless you\'re too scared?\"

[Ninniach(#20106)] Fire in her eyes is the best way to describe the look that Ninniach wears as she leaps down off her mare in a neat little jump. \"Go with them, Wilwarin,\" Ninniach murmurs softly to the horse. She\'s going to face him on foot the elleth smoothly draws the long sword that hangs sheathed at her side. \"When we\'re through, you won\'t care if I\'m a man or woman,\" Ninniach breathes heatedly, like a promise. She advances, knuckles white around the hilt of her blade.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     \"It\'s called organization, orc. You might try it sometime,\" Ivorin mutters under her breath. Really, their true saving grace is that their adversaries //are// so poor at the planning stage. Ninniach\'s words earn her a sharp look, but Ivorin grips her blade tighter all the same. \"If you don\'t come back from this, mellyn, I won\'t ever let you live it down.\" A friendly threat in a poor attempt to cover concern, but it\'s all she has time for. Lifting Arlaer, she whips it forward in a signal to her riders and turns her black mare loose. Here is where this pair excel. A thousand years of breeding have managed to produce a horse that suits her rider so that they seem at times like one being. Through the mud and the filth, they race for the gate at the head of an inverted \'V\' line of Rochon, ready to strike at anything in their way.

[Elamdir(#17629)] As Elamdir struggles to get control of the villagers an orc arrow plants itself between his feet. He pauses mid-shout suprised at the near miss of the sudden stray arrow. He pulls the black, poison tiped shaft from the wall beneath him, and nocks it into his elven bow.

\"These will be in all of us if we cannot protect those riders!\" The cunir shouts in a piercing tone that rises clear above the din of battle while he draws back his bow his fingers between the crude feathers of the fiendish black arrow. \"Ready your weapons, and let fly on my command!\"

The archers obey without hesitation and wait for the word. \"Fire!\" cries the elf and cloud of arrows lead by a black vile shaft soar toward the attackers between the riders and the gate.

Groth has arrived.

[Logoz(#19187)]

Logoz spits upon the ground eagerly to greet Ninniach\'s approach, and with relish in his eyes he circles warily with the ellth. Short and stunted he may be to the Eldarin warrior, but his shoulders are broader than hers, and an unexpected grace in his movements suggest he is no mean foe.

Indeed, it is with deft feet that he sprints suddenly forth to close with her, and his mace swats out low towards her foremost knee.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] There is a click of the rigging as the walkway is finally hoisted into place, and a groan of wood as the lines are loosed, leaving the broad wooden bridge propped up against the gate alone. In the following moments between the snarling clatter beyond the wall, the gates are swept open with a rush of chill air into the faces of the armed men of the village, leaving the walkway to come crashing down across the ditches and anything in its path.

Thus is the way cleared for Ivorin and her mounted company, thus leaving the entry bare but for the blades that would seek to ward off any who dare try to take advantage of the moment. At the fore is Glorfindel, gleaming blade deftly unsheathed as he flies out onto the narrow field.

[Ninniach(#20106)] Ninniach has only just started grimacing at Logoz\'s callous greeting of spit on the ground when his mace swings down toward her leg. She takes a jump to the left, trying to get out of range, though perhaps she should have stepped back instead the mace rips open the breeches she wears, and though it\'s only a scrape, really, it\'s a deep and painful one. \"Ai!\" Ninniach cries out angrily. She doesn\'t even see that the way has been cleared for Ivorin and the others to enter, so focused she is now. She lashes out with her blade, aiming high since height is her advantage here, seeking to pierce the armor near the orc\'s neck.

[Logoz(#19187)]

To Ninniach\'s likely dismay, the same shortness that offsets her and her foe lends ease to he evasion, and the stunted creature ducks urgently to allow the steel of Imladris to slice by overhead. A snarl rumbles then in Logoz\' throat, and taking a step forward he rises anew to punch up the head of his mace toward the elleth\'s midriff.

[Ninniach(#20106)] Ninniach leaps backward this time, what she should have done before, to dodge this attack. But was the mace\'s cut to her leg deeper than she first realized? She suddenly stumbles a little on her right knee, and barely manages to avoid toppling over. Instead of being frightened, she only shows Logoz that she\'s incensed, and she lashes out again, this time aiming lower, but less carefully, lashing out blindly and with her full strength behind the swing.

A rain of death hurtles from the wall. Cries arise from the orcs under the renewed assault, and Guzl is among them: his own arrow plants itself securely into his blind eye, and he shrieks horribly, falling to twitch upon the thorns of the road ere the swift poison takes effect.

The orcish archers roar and shout, and another volley rises upwards against the snowfall, though it is less than before.

As the gates are flung open, the attackers start with surprise: some fall from their makeshift planks, others are squashed flat between ditch and bridge, and a few dodge and survive, only to meet a bloody end to their career upon the sword of the Elf-lord.

A few more manage to veer clear of Glorfindel\'s sortie, though they are not at peace for long: Elathrad follows soon after, a shadow of the Caun, his sword flashing cold farewells to the former gate-rammers.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     And so the way is cleared. A glance over her shoulder tells Ivorin that her company is ready, and so she leans forward, lying almost flat against Orthadinu\'s neck, urging further speed from her swift mare. A battle-cry, fierce and terrifying in it\'s terrible beauty flies from her lips, her right arm swinging in a deadly arc to send her blade towards the orc-flesh that impedes her charge. Never let it be said that Ivorin has a timid heart!

[Ollie(#15066)] There is a ruckus in the night. A rumpus. In short - a noise. Oliver, coursing along the road, notices this confusion, and cocks his head in interest. Might it be, could it be a dinnerish sort of sound? The troll pauses and then decides. It quite possibly might. And so it is that he turns southwards, adding to the chaos his own inimitable footsteps.

THUD.

THUD.

THUD.

[Logoz(#19187)]

The sword of Ninniach does it\'s work well this time, and it is Logoz\' turn to grunt in pain as the blade clatters against his armour. Thrown to one side by the strength behind that swing he seems winded, though no dark blood seeps to stain the land beneath his feet as yet. His eyes blaze in wrath, though he takes a pace or two backward, hoping it seems to steady himself before striking anew.

Glubb has disconnected.

[Hephtur(#1434)]      The monolithic approach of the troll helps to mask the arrival of another figure from the north. Here is a solitary figure, with a torch in one hand and a battle-axe in the other. Those close enough can see his bizarre features illuminated by his torch\'s dancing flames. He surveys the chaos before him.

[Elamdir(#17629)] The return volley, though smaller, has the unfortunate trait of being more accurate. Shrill cries of pain rise above the shouts of battle as men drop from their position on the wall. The archer closest to Elamdir falls, an arrow in his throat and two in his chest. In mere moments the ranks of defending archers are thinned by a quarter.

The remaining villagers, relatively untrained, are caught up in the confusion. Many are in shock and mourn their fallen friends while a few begin firing random shots into the battle, heedless even to friendly forces. Elamdir struggles once more to rally the men, but the newly approaching troll does little to ease is efforts.

[Ninniach(#20106)] While Logoz is steadying himself, Ninniach attempts to spring forward and bring her blade down upon him, trying to use her height as an advantage once again. However, her leg is too unsteady, and so although her blade does swing down at Logoz, she also starts to fall, landing hard on the ground after her blade has struck- or missed!

[Glorfindel(#30248)] A beacon of gold, Glorfindel cuts easily through the field, the snow beneath his feet long since black and bloodied. Where most of the villagers linger back to guard the bridge in every attempt to keep the way clear for the Tirith sortie, he presses on once another volley of arrows has fallen with his blade swung before him in a perilous arc, seeking to pin any that do not fall swiftly before him between himself and Ninniach. The troll\'s thundering arrival is surely not missed, though the one who passes in his wake does not yet appear to draw the Elf\'s gaze, eerily calm and even as it burns into the night.

[Logoz(#19187)]

Woe betide the lack-footed elleth, for even as she swings Logoz brings his mace to bear and there is a ring of steel against iron as he swats aside the strike. Watching Ninniach fall he licks his fangs greedily, and a bark of triumph leaves his throat as he kicks out an iron-shod foot toward her face.

[Ollie(#15066)] Oliver pauses another minute, to savor the sight before him. Always before when he has come here, there have been high walls and things hurled through the night at him. His small, deep-set eyes move across the swirling knots of fighters, and he licks his lips. This one? Or that...? At last, he moves forward again, wading indiscriminately into the fray, heading - though not on purpose - towards the golden-haired elf.

[Groth(#30358)] Forming up somewhat behind the solitary figure of Hephtur is, woe to the tidings of the villagers, a contingent of fighting uruk-hai. Led by the warrior Groth, the orcs finger their blades, grinning broadly as they survey the scene. Groth himself steps forward, glancing at Hephtur, \"Quite a battle.\" he muses in a guttural tone, \"Shall we advance and lay waste to this puny little village?\"

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Glorfindel\'s golden hair is indeed a beacon in the night, one that calls to Ivorin as she sees Ninniach\'s white mare running with their phalanx. \"Keep going!\" she calls to the other riders, then sits deep and urges her mare into a hard right turn. Blade, teeth and hooves flash in quick, practiced strikes, the pair of fighters moves towards the advancing Glorfindel. Two swords are better than one, ne?

With sneers the orcs return more arrows in a disconcerted volley, the momentum lost as the men above break from formation.

There are still a few, perhaps, who have withstood the sortie: one of these gives a high, screechy cackle and holds out his spear towards the charging, fearless Ivorin, bracing himself and his weapon deep into the snowy ground.

Elathrad has been swept to a side of the fray, his blade dripping with black blood: he happens to glance into the forest, and there are more figures. He frowns deeply, though makes no move against them yet...

[Hephtur(#1434)] The seemingly human captain of this new brigand nods at Groth and motions his torch forward, beaconing his small band of maybe eight or nine great-orcs to follow. He walks brazenly toward the chaos.

Groth glances back at his compatriots, grinning, \"Let\'s go.\" he says, rather uncerimoniously as he moves to follow Hephtur towards the melee, keeping an eye on the flanks in case he spots movement.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Even a trained and seasoned warrior cannot see everything at once, nor can she prepare for everything. So when Ivorin is confronted with a braced spear - seemingly out of nowhere - she has time for nothing beyond a split-second reaction. Swerving again to the right, she hopes to evade the deadly tip, and does so - but at a price. A scream of pain no elf nor orc nor human could make rends the night air, a bloody gash striped across Orthadinu\'s shoulder. Enraged by the injury to her mount, Ivorin twists her upper body and makes several strikes at the orc in a fluid motion resembling an ouroborous. No one messes with Ivorin\'s horses, and especially not a mangy orcling.

[Elamdir(#17629)] Amidst the confusion on the wall Elamdir frantically tries to regain control of the remaining archers. Stray orc arrows whistle through the air and the elf pauses to do what he\'s best at. In a clear bright tenor The Cunir sings an old verse in the silvan tongue. Though they have no understanding of the words, a calm sweeps across the men as the melody rings through the tumultous noise of battle. It is short, but get\'s the attention of the panicking men far better than shouts and commands.

\"Hear me!\" the singer cried out after he had finished. \"We have not lost the day, nay even most of our force. Do not lose heart, but continue to defend the village!\" Turning to a few of the more valient villagers he continues \"You, you....and you. Come with me\"

Swiftly the elf leads the way down from the wall to the large weapon in the town square. The ballista is heavy and unwieldy, and it takes all their strength to position it to fire. After several minutes cranking the bow back in place and setting the giant bolt the small team takes aim. The large shaft upon the giant machine is less than accurate, but it makes up in punch for what it lacks in finesse. Elamdir releases the pin sending the missile flying over the gated wall and toward the band of orcs. It\'s tragectory carries it more specifically on a path headed toward Logoz.

Angry Beijabar attacks Logoz with its fearsome claws!

Angry Beijabar\'s attack misses Logoz.

[Ninniach(#20106)] Ninniach throws an arm up and turns her head, covering her face as she curls up defensively on the ground. That means, however, that the iron-shod foot makes contact with her arm and, as she isn\'t quick enough, the side of her face. She isn\'t sure if something cracked when that boot made contact, but after a shudder of pain runs through her body, she gets to her feet. Luckily for the pale-haired elleth, Logoz is distracted, and she takes advantage of the moment to haul herself and her sword to the gate, to safety...where once inside, she\'ll promptly slump to the ground, exhausted.

Ninniach has disconnected.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] Tremors beneath the very ground are not to be missed, and if light were cast upon Glorfindel\'s face as he stares down the troll\'s approach, the furrow of his ancient brow would cast a shadow cold and intense upon his ageless features. Though he spares a wild glance aside to Ivorin as she nears, the Caun does not waver from his slow and purposeful path now turned towards Ollie, the grace of his sword akin to a dance of deadly steel as it bears down upon the stone of the mountainous troll\'s knee with an effortless grace.

Glorfindel attacks Ollie with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

[Logoz(#19187)]

As the great bolt comes whistling in from the ballista, Logoz jerks up his head in alarm, some sense beyond the norm perhaps granted to him, and he rasps in panic. Caring naught for Ninniach\'s escape he rolls urgently to one side -- the bolt burying itself in the earth where once lay the elleth.

\"Skai!\" he curses, shaking his fist as he rights himself. \"So that\'s their game, eh?\" He spits once more and turns his gaze back to the walls of the village, ere loping off in search of a fresh adversary.

[Ollie(#15066)] There is a squawk of indignation and outrage - and ok, pain - and such a squawk as it is! Surely the very crows are shaken from their perches, so fierce if the outcry. Oliver peers down at his leg. It is /bleeding/! The horror. And good-natured hunger gives way to righteous fury, as the troll hauls his vast club from his shoulder and glares about to see who has perpetrated this disgrace.

[Hephtur(#1434)] The odd-looking human captain and his small brigand of great-orcs march into the fray of the battle. The captain orders them to a halt just behind him and the form a tight line, clenching their weapons shoulder to shoulder, awaiting their next order. The discipline of these orcs is almost frightening. Hephtur spears his torch in the ground and clutches his battle axe with both hands. He shouts out, \"Who wants to die tonight?\" He casts a glance back at his lieutenant Grosh and laughs wickedly, almost inhumanly.

Elathrad wanders along the edge of the commotion, making his way steadily towards the group of tall orcs and their humanlike leader. But there is an enemy he recognizes in the middle of the fray -- Logoz -- and he hovers a moment, sword poised uncertainly.

Groth dosen\'t laugh, merely sneers as he regards the chaos before him. A single fang is sucked on as he watches the ballista bolt fly from the town, shaking his head somewhat as he glances to his humanish captain, seeing if anyone will take him up on the offer.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] Though the golden-haired Elf Lord\'s blade finds its mark, he does not still his stride even so, ducking around behind the troll to steal a moment\'s survey of the field. The men of the village hold the gate at a cost of lives, and the pit beneath the walkway is piling higher with bodies. The walls are defended by harried archers who now stand fewer than before, though Elamdir\'s efforts have bolstered them.

And in this moment, Glorfindel spies the approach of this new party of which Hephtur and Groth are at the fore, their strange and wicked faces lit by torchlight.

[Hephtur(#1434)] The captain stares at Elathrad through the chaos. He raises his axe up and begins to charge toward the elf. \"Forward! Tonight we\'ll fight the pointy-ear devils!\" The great-orcs break ranks, and run off in different directions. One is killed immediately by a stray arrow to the neck.

The orc pays dearly for its crime against the white mount: the mangy orcling cries out, its arm flapping loosely at its side, then its leg, and then finally its head. A spurt of black blood comes from his neatly sliced body, threatening to stain Orthadinu\'s coat: still, it will soon be trampled under the horse\'s hooves, if Ivorin should choose to ride on.

[Elamdir(#17629)] Without taking the time to see if their attack hit home, Elamdir and the three men with him quickly go to work reloading the deadly machine. Whilst they work the Linnor renews his song which carries clear and bright to the walls and beyond.

Atop the walls the men, newly envigorated by the brief elven song, continue to send a hail of arrows. Even the young boy who was wounded at the outset has propped himself up through the pain and lends his bow to the attack like a man.

[Ollie(#15066)] Who can tell? There are so many of the blasted little creatures down there. Oliver turns in a circle, and then clearly decides it is just as well to punish the many as the one - for he lifts his club over his head and brings it smashing down with both hands. Pity those beneath who cannot dive out of the way in time.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     The orcling doesn\'t last long. Few who arouse such anger in the Eldar survive very long. The black blood stains only a black coat, but it sprays across rider as well. With a grim sort of satisfaction, Ivorin wheels her mount and once again charges towards Glorfindel, only to have the way blocked by a pile of stinking, rotting bodies. With an injury she doesn\'t know the depth or breadth of hindering Orthadinu, Ivorin refuses to ask her to jump it, turning instead for another foe. And who should come into her sights but Logoz himself. She\'s lost track of Ninniach in the fray, and seeing her attackor here provokes a cold fury for how else could he be here but that he slew her friend? Rather than waste her voice on insults he no doubt deserves, the elleth charges towards him, curved longblade raised to strike should the opportunity arise.

[Logoz(#19187)]

Logoz slows his lope towards the village, taking in the shape of the battle before him, and so it is that deft feet of the elleth catch him up easily. Though once again do his ears prick. for while long sundered the yrch are of the same ilk as Elves, and this brute appears to have retained some of their senses\' keen-ness.

He whirls about, snarling, and once more does he spit as he awaits Ivorin\'s advance. \"Another dainty, eh? This one wont get away so easy...\"

[Groth(#30358)] The Great-Orc Lieutenant grins wickedly as he sees his Captain call out a target finally. Groth fingers his blade a moment, drawing his lips bang to snarl at the elves. He lurches into motion, followed by one or two of his fellows, letting out a howl of rage.

Glorfindel dodges nimbly away from sickening thud of Ollie\'s fell swing, the ground upon which he stood now a muddy crater. The Caun\'s keen sight precedes the flash of silver to follow as he ducks beneath, seeking to carve a treacherous path across the troll\'s underbelly.

Glorfindel attacks Ollie with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!

Tinnugwath has been busy collecting spent arrows, employing a young lad, one too young to handle even the lightest of bows, to wrapping oakum around their heads and setting them in a small flask of lamp oil to soak. But these shafts are not to be sent off aflame -- not just yet. Climbing quickly to the battlements, he nocks an arrow, dripping with oil, and aims it at one of the torches, where it hisses through, catching fire and just skimming over the shoulder of the torchbearer, landing in the snow-sodden duff and muck, there to flare flickeringly. A second arrow, a normal elf-arrow, follows, hitting the unfortunate in the eye. Now, as for teeth....

Elathrad slips past butchered bodies and writhing ones, the end of his dark cloak soaked in darker blood. Slowly he raises his sword, a hint of steel flickering to life under its unclean coat.

\"You are not one of the Orcs,\" he says to Hephtur, voice even and cold. \"But you have led them here. What are you?\"

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Despite her wound, Ivorin\'s black mare is still a great asset and the elleth is not ready to give her up just yet. Astide the powerful beast, she bears down on Logoz, sweeping her right arm in a slice aimed to cut from shoulder across to the opposite hip, should it strike true.

[Ollie(#15066)] If the first howl was bad, it was nothing as compared to this second. A roar, a veritable stone-shattering bellow. Oliver is bleeding now from two places, and hunger has been entirely replaced by fury. Swinging his club like a bat, he sweeps it low across the ground - it would be nice to loft whoever is hurting him out of Middle Earth entirely!

Ollie attacks Glorfindel with his Club, but he misses by a mile.

[Logoz(#19187)]

And the charge of Ivorin is mighty indeed, for Logoz is forced to raise his shield urgently -- a crash of metal as the blade clatters down against it -- and the orc is dropped to one knee by the momentum. Snarling, slowly rising again as the mare passes by, he shakes a stinging wrist and awaits the next run.

[Hephtur(#1434)] The captain of the great-orcs rushes toward Elathrad with his battle axe raised high in the air but comes to a stop just a few feet away and cautiously lowers his weapon, though he remains defensive. A look of mischief comes across his face. \"I am a man who knows your people\'s time must end. It is time for a new Power.\" He stands there, staring at the elf, as if to challenge him.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     It was a mighty strike, for even Ivorin\'s arm still sings with the impact of blade upon shield. Because of this, she turns Orthadinu back for a second charge perhaps a beat or two later than she would otherwise. When she comes by again, it is from the other side, blade held in her left hand now and slicing upwards as she passes Logoz. Watch the chin!

[Glorfindel(#30248)] And again the golden-haired Elf narrowly skirts away from harm, leaping back from Ollie\'s mace to muster against the ear-splitting shout that seems to shake the mountains themselves. Glorfindel does not wait for it to cease ringing in his ears before darting forward in a flash of silver and gold, blade leveled in another threat, this time across the stony knuckles of the troll\'s low-swinging weapon hand.

Glorfindel attacks Ollie with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

[Logoz(#19187)]

But this time Logoz has had time to prepare, and no mere brigand is he the broad goblin spinning aside to escape the wrath of Ivornin. But even he does he raises his mace anew, the spikes gleaming in the moonlight as they seek to open up the belly of the elleth\'s mount.

Zordain emerges from the pack of -hai led by Hephtur, the uruk more than ready for a fight for this orc, it\'s been far too long since the smell of blood filled his nostrils, and he quickly surveys his surroundings. He keeps close to the back of the horde, not wanting to stick out too much just yet, and his fingers move to pull the longbow from his back, the weapon familiar in his experienced, clawed hands. Zordain turns at a sound, spotting the quendi attacking the troll, and smiles to himself, as he reaches behind him for an arrow...

[Elamdir(#17629)] The men on the battlements take up Tinnugwaths lead let loose a shower of punishment toward the same advancing group of orcs. Amidst the whistling of arrows the elf-song rings out from below.

The group below have finally reset the ballista and have aimed it toward the newly approaching orcs lead by the human captain. The pin is loosed and another giant deadly bolt soars over the wall toward their captain.

[Ollie(#15066)] A thin line - black in the night, black with beads of blood - opens across the top of Oliver\'s hand. He jerks it back, then lifts his hand to look at it sorrowfully, and press it to his mouth. \"Sh-op,\" he mumbles, looking down at the evil yellow-haired elf. \"Sh-op hi\'ing Ollie.\"

The deep chisel between Elathrad\'s brows grows deeper, a frown well-marked as he replies to the great-orc? man? \"The winter of the Eldar is nigh, and verily we will pass this land to the Men, the second-born. But,\" he says, voice grave and resonant, \"not to this Power you speak of. Not /that/.\"

The beautiful syllables grow harsh with hatred, and he charges forward -- though a touch of hesitation in his sword-arm as he faces the human-faced creature.

You attack Hephtur with your Longsword...

Hephtur dodges your attack.

Angry Beijabar attacks Hephtur with its fearsome claws!

Angry Beijabar attacks Hephtur, but Hephtur parries the attack with his Battle Axe!

[+POLL] Announcement: Logoz(#19187) has changed the poll to: Okay, we just found our trailer scene

[Glorfindel(#30248)] \"Nay! I shall not stop, lest you retreat from here with this cursed rabble!\" Glorfindel shouts up to his foe of living stone, the sound of his voice musical even so. \"Be gone, or fight!\"

At this, the Caun again attempts to draw forth Ollie\'s ire - and his blood - with a bitter stab of his weapon across the boulder of his right knee.

Glorfindel attacks Ollie with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

[Hephtur(#1434)] The mischievous look on the human captain\'s face quickly disappears as Elathrad charges him - puzzlingly enough, it is replaced with a look of disappointment. He easily sidesteps the elf\'s charge and pivots to face the elf...

But as the captain digs his heels into the ground to face his opponent, he catches sight of something a little odd in the corner of his eye. He looks into the distance only to see a massive bolt darting toward him. With inhuman, predatorial dexterity he raises his axe blade over his armoured shoulder and jumps into the bolt as if to tackle it. The bolt crashes against the metallic wall that is captain\'s axe blade and chainmail, and it falls uselessly to the ground. Rolling his eyes callously, he looks again at the elf. \"You fool,\" he says. \"I was going to let you live.\" He charges forward and swings his axe downward at Elathrad\'s shoulder.

Hephtur attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You\'ve been injured for 41 hp\'s by Hephtur\'s attack...

...you have 41 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Ollie(#15066)] \"Ha\'n got no rabble,\" Oliver says indignantly, taking his hand from his mouth, the better to reply with. But then, base treachery! The creature lunges at him, its long silver sword glinting evilly. With a roar of rage, the troll swats at it with his club. He misses, alas, and the blade slides along his leg. The troll\'s backswing heads for the elf.

Ollie attacks Glorfindel with his Club, but he misses by a long shot.

Zordain hisses under his breath, watching the fight between the olog and Glorfindel. The uruk curls his upper lip up into a sneer, drawing back the arrow notched into his bow and lining the elf up in his sights. He takes another quick glance before digging his feet down into the ground and releasing the arrow, hoping his aim hasn\'t suffered in the long time since he last did battle with his trusty weapon.

Zordain launches an arrow...

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

Groth sees the Captain has things well in hand, and so turns towards the lone -hai archer. Not wanting to get too seperated, he takes a few steps backwards to join his compadre, making sure none of the enemy infantry close with the vulnerable archer.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Leaping over a smaller pile of bodies, Ivorin and her mount charge towards Logoz again. When the orc spins away, the force of her swing causes Ivorin to overbalance just as that mace comes up towards Orthadinu\'s underbelly. It\'s enough of a throw to save the belly, but it sacrifices the ribs, two of them cracking as the horse goes down on top of her rider. Biting her lip to stifle a cry of pain, the elleth swings her sword over her head at the legs of her assailant.

Tinnugwath remembers an archer of old and begins to emulate him, sneaking about and loosing shafts at anything remotely resembling an orc. Can\'t see me, can\'t hit me, mneh. p

[Logoz(#19187)]

A roar of triumph echoes out as Logoz seens his foe go down, and slamming his mace into the ground he cries out: \"Down goes another one! The leaf-ears should have sent more than they sprat-raisers to contend with Logoz!\" This said he adcances purposefully on the downed horse, hefting his mace once more as he scans for a sign of Ivorin herself.

Elamdir and his crew once again begin to reset the unwieldy weapon. There is an odd smile on his face as he continues to sing. As he and the men labor to fetch another giant bolt the singing elf, almost merrily works the crank that draws back the large rope.

The archers along the wall let fly another volley of arrows, and several more of the horrid creatures drop dead, adding their blood to the black stained snow banks below.

There is a clatter of something large and sharp and flying towards the captain of the great-orcs and Elathrad, and the latter pauses to glance from the corner of his eye.

It is now that Hephtur\'s axe sails across from the Elf\'s shoulder, down over his ring-mail, to the opposite side of his hip. Blood bursts forth freely from the torn rings and rent clothing, and streams of red splatter among the dirty, trampled snow and the clean, new fallen drifts.

He falls easily enough, lips parted slightly in surprise, and the stained longsword falls from his nerveless hand.

[Logoz(#19187)]

A roar of triumph echoes out as Logoz seens his foe go down, and slamming his mace into the ground he cries out: \"Down goes another one! The leaf-ears should have sent more than they sprat-raisers to contend with Logoz!\" This said he adcances purposefully on the downed horse, hefting his mace once more in challenge.

Ivorin\'s sword is seen at the last moment, his deft feet seeming to dance to escape its bite, and he cackles mockingly as he circles with the elleth.

Glorfindel\'s lips all but part in a smile frightful to his foes as Ollie\'s club finds little more than air once more, the lack of fear in his eyes a cold sight. But even in the split second afforded to look around, the clamor of Hephtur\'s parry draws his eye, and there follows an ireful stare for the captain upon his next swing fated for Elathrad.

\"The olog!\" Glorfindel shouts in Sindarin, once more like a trumpet before the march of a frightful army unseen by this age, with all hopes that Elamdir may hear him as he attempts to skirt Ollie\'s notice and set out across the field once more.

[Hephtur(#1434)] The captain grins as the elf falls to the ground, defeated. Once more he raises his battle axe and swings it toward the Elathrad\'s neck, hoping to finish him in one great blow.

Hephtur attacks you with his Battle Axe!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

ARB: You\'ve been injured for 14 hp\'s by Hephtur\'s attack...

...you have 27 left. Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     One of the first things Ivorin learned to teach her horses was never to stay down on a rider. It\'s this teaching that may just save them both. Pushing to her feet, the mare swivels her head towards Ivorin, who calls out three simple, directional words in the Quenya she uses with her horses. Command accepted, the black mare hobbles off towards the open gate as quickly as she possibly can. This leaves Ivorin free to roll a full rotation nearer, jabbing her sword upwards towards Logoz\'s lower abdomen. \"Don\'t count your hawks before they hatch, shadow-spawn.\"

Zordain growls as his arrows flies uselessly off to the side, missing his target completely. He turns his attention away from this particular elf, for now, as he spots his captain locked in battle with yet another. The grin returns to his distorted features, and he notches another arrow when at first you don\'t succeed....he releases the arrow, silently hoping he doesn\'t hit Hephtur by mistake.

Zordain launches an arrow...

Ow! You\'ve been injured for 14 hp\'s by the bowshot.

Arrgh! The arrow is stuck fast, requiring treatment.

ARB: Please RP this injury accordingly.

[Ollie(#15066)] He has missed. Again! Oliver stares at his club, betrayed. Then he lifts it, turning it slowly over in his hands, while he scrutinizes it closely. Could there be...?

But no. There is no sign of curse or hole or - well anything unusual. Old blood stains, dents, splinters these there are, and always have been.

Experimentally, the troll bangs at the ground, then cocks his head to listen. Yes.. it thuds nice and squashily into the dirt. And reassured, Oliver looks about for his prey - only to find it gone missing! Ah well. There\'s another, close by.

[Logoz(#19187)]

The \'shadow-spawn\' is caught off guard by the ferocity of the elleth\'s strike, too busy gloating and mocking -- oft does evil will evil harm. The blade slices into the rings of his mail breaking the foul flesh beneath or so the sudden wash of dark blood would suggest, and he staggers back a pace in disbelief. Bent double, wheezing for breath and spitting out yet more of the vile ochor, he seems wounded for true perhaps here is the chance Ivorin has been waiting for.

What may be a shallow cut elsewhere is a deep wound upon Elathrad\'s neck, though it fails to sever his neck completely. There is more red blood upon the snow now, puddling swiftly by Hephtur\'s feet.

And an arrow flies in, its arrival quite opportune, for it buries itself deeply between the ellon\'s shoulders.

Elathrad shudders once and again, his hand curling to reach for the axeman\'s boot, though it does not quite reach it...

[Elamdir(#17629)] The Cuan\'s voice carries among the din of battle, and even above Elamdir\'s song. Two simple words give him a new target, and the team quickly wheel the large machine around to face the troll as the bard translates the command. Taking only a brief moment to check his aim Elamdir let\'s fire again.

Angry Beijabar attacks Ollie with its razor-like teeth!

Angry Beijabar lightly wounds him!

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Unlike the megalomaniacs of this world, Ivorin lives by the maxim that \'dead enemies are better audiences\'. Another half roll and she\'s on her feet, rushing towards Logoz\'s bent form from a slight angle and bringing her blade down swiftly towards his neck. Off with his head!

Tinnugwath is hammered to his knees by the blow, his vision going all blurry as his broken body succumbs to unconsciousness, his head spinning and visions of a far green country under a swift sunrise filling his mind.

Glorfindel does not look back to the troll, choosing rather to run at the height of his speed across the battlefield with Elathrad in his sights, and Hephtur in the way of his blade\'s next swing, seeking to slash along the man-orc\'s spine with a dreadful cry in a strange and beautiful language unknown to most upon these shores.

Glorfindel attacks Hephtur with his Longsword and badly wounds him!

[Logoz(#19187)]

Alas for Ivorin\'s desires, for this orc seems not conquered yet, and something strange flashes in his eyes as he turns them towards the elleth\'s charge. A coldness is there to replace the wrath of before, and with a great swiftness his limbs raise as though guided by some other hand. The shield of the brute meets with the steel of her blade, and with teh same dead stare in his eyes he regards the elleth anew.

\"Not tonight,\" he snarls in a hollow voice, and out lashes his mace in a murderous upward swing towards her fair chin.

[Hephtur(#1434)] The captain is taken by surprise when a blade is suddenly thrust into his stomach, completing bypassing his chainmail. He is thrown backward in pain, but makes no noise. Blood protrudes from his new wound, and he grimaces. He stares at his assailent. \"What was that for?\" He cries. \"He struck me first!\" He clutches his stomach.

Zordain rumbles in delight, watching his arrow hit its mark. He quickly notches another, hoping to finish the job this time. He notices with disdain that his previous target has found his way to Hephtur it would seem that he will have to set his sights on Glorfindel yet again. First things first, however, and he turns back, lining up the downed elf. It is of course more than dishonorable to hit an opponent while they are down, which gives Zordain all the more reason to let loose his arrow, right at Elathrad!

Zordain launches an arrow...

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

Tinnugwath near-lifeless body lies broken, sunk deep into the muck of melted snow in the deep crater made by the troll\'s club, with only the tenacity of the First-Born keeping him even remotely alive.

[Ollie(#15066)] Oliver is simultaneously thwacked across the shoulder by a familiar foe (he glares towards the walls of the town, so close, so close!), and finds something soft and squishy under his club! Curiously, he bends down, reaching out to gather Tinnu\'s form into his capacious grip. And then, a furtive look about. And the troll soft-foots it towards the trees!

Groth makes sure the archer is fine by himself as he turns to the aid of his Captain. Bringing his sword around, he advances on the small group, hustling, his superior orcishness allowing him to close the distance to the group, rushing to Hephtur\'s aid.

Elathrad is fortunate to be forgotten, a dark heap of black and red (and redder by the minute) that heaves for breath, pale hand curling and uncurling. An arrow sticks into the dirty snow next to him.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     It\'s a stalemate of strength for a moment, a small pause in the raging chaos that is this battle. The orc captain makes a bold promise, and Ivorin only smiles. When her mother named her Bride of the Blade, she truly named her daughter well. That mace comes up, seemingly out of nowhere and only a thousand years of training allows the elleth to keep her head at all. Using the very shield Logoz drew up to protect himself, she pushes backwards, bending her upper body away from the swinging weapon. It\'s enough to save her jaw, but one of the spikes catches skin, leaving a gash along her jawline that bleeds so much more than is absolutely necessary. The force of this evasion has her falling back on her rear end, hissing with the stinging pain from her face. It\'s only a heartbeat however, before her free hand is at her belt, pulling forth a small-ish dagger and huring it in such a way that it looks as if she aimed for his face and missed, but the subtle weapon sings end over end on a path toward the orc\'s mace-hand.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] \"Yes,\" Glorfindel answers in a timbre menacing for its even chill, steel eyes leveled upon Hephtur like ice upon stone. \"And since he is unable to continue to strike you, I am left to do it for him. You are lucky I have wasted time upon the explanation.\" As he speaks, he presses his blade mercilessly toward the captain\'s throat, seeking to drive him back from where Elathrad lay bleeding.

Though Zordain\'s shot steals his focus for a time, his fury is only colder when it returns to the captain, his voice louder that those behind him may hear. \"Call off your men and depart, that we shall fight another day. I shan’t offer again.\"

Elamdir stops his song mid word. He\'s taken aback by the scene as he witnesses the large missile deflect harmlessly off the Trolls thick hide. His suprise turns to horrer as he recognizes the limp figure it picks up and carries away. He stands silently stunned, as the men beside him try to return him to the battle at hand.

Zordain grunts impatiently, clearly, he needs the practice today, his arrow uselessly sticking into the snow. He eyes Glorfindel, though his fingers impatiently grip the arrow already notched into his bow. He knows this is his last chance, he fires at Elatrhad, once more, hoping his aim is true this time.

Zordain launches an arrow...

Darn! You\'ve been knocked to 0 HP by Zordain\'s bowshot!

You are critically wounded, and will die soon without a +HEAL\'er.

See HELP COMBAT DEATH for more information. Good luck!

[Hephtur(#1434)] The captain lowers his axe and grins at the elven-lord. He glances away to witness one of his henchmen deliver an arrow into the body of Elathrad, and then turns back to Glorfindel. \"Fall back!\" he cries out while taking a few cautious steps backward, not breaking eye contact with elven-lord. \"Fall back!\" He keeps stepping backward, not yet fleeing entirely although most of the surviving great-orcs make haste northward.

[Logoz(#19187)]

The knife of Ivorin is well aimed, and buries itself an inch into the flesh of Logoz\' weaponarm, but lo! the goblin leader appears to heed it not. No cry of pain leaves his lips, no flash of anger in his eyes only the dead, cold stare that has stolen over his gaze. He snarls anew, advancing purposefully upon the elleth, and some strength not seen before guides his arm as it drives out the head of his mace toward her sternum.

[Groth(#30358)] Now, if you were to order a regular orc to run away, nine times out of ten they would turn and beat feat, but not THESE ones. Groth glares, taking a wee step backwards, blade held infront of him as he waits to make sure his Captain manages to break contact from the pointy eared one.

Ollie has disconnected.

Another shaft drives into the fallen Elf\'s side, and Elathrad\'s breath halts with a low gasp. Whether it resumes again is unclear, for he does not move, and the snow falls upon him in silence.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] As intent as Glorfindel\'s focus is upon Hephtur, the shift in Zordain\'s glance and the movement of his bow is not missed - and neither is the final barb that stills Elathrad\'s breath upon the cold ground.

Thus is a new fire kindled upon the Elf Lord\'s face, his voice rising in a curse almost song-like in a tongue that seeks to burn unfriendly ears with the fire of stars. It sustains as he advances further on Hephtur, blade not swung for for the import of his word, but aimed still in a dreadful promise as his voice lifts over the cold and bloodied field of battle, where the first blood has already begun to freeze beneath the new fall of snow.

Zordain grips his bow, turning swiftly and striding his way back into the horde, as it quickly shifts direction at the sound of Hephtur\'s voice. He smiles to himself, the emotion plastered hideously over his features as he realizes that his commander has seen his work spill quendi blood on the snow. He seems less concerned about the fate of said commander, he knows that Hephtur can take care of himself, but more imporantly, he knows better than to defy a direct order to fall back hissing soflty in silent laughter, he blends back into the ranks.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     Ivorin watches Logoz\'s approach with something akin to morbid curiosity. There\'s a dark aura of fear and shadow tickling at the edges of her mind, an icy cold seeping through her bones. Looking to the goblin\'s eyes, the Rochon elleth notices a distinct lack of fury, or of anything for that matter. It\'s like looking into the eyes of the dead. That realization seems to snap her out of her trance-like viewing. She rolls just as the mace comes down, the sound of tearing fabric the only victory that weapon with gain this time. Fear adds an element of the hyper-aware to her now this is no ordinary orc captain. Whether he can hear her or not, there\'s only one being present who she can think of that would be able to recognize this evil, nonetheless aid her in fighting it. \"Glorfindel!\" she calls out in the same High Quenya she uses with her horses. \"Glorfindel, the darkness!\" There are probably about eighty million more descriptive things she could have yelled across the battlefield, but time is short she\'s got to try and keep this thing occupied for a little while longer. Running headlong back into the orc, she makes to impale him with her sword using the same wound she made before. \"What are you called, evil one?\" She tries first in that same high language. If this thing - whatever it is - is old, it may yet recognize her speech.

[Hephtur(#1434)] Something rings in the captain\'s ears, but he resists the urge to shriek in discomfort. He body shakes slightly. \"I am not your enemy,\" he croaks. \"We serve the same Lords. This is a misunderstanding...we...death...\" he grimaces at the elven word\'s mysterious magic.

Groth snarls, putting his free hand to his ears. The burly Uruk-hai steps backwards, like a girl shrieking when she spies a spider. Groth retreats hastily, following Zordain\'s footsteps in retreat.

[Logoz(#19187)]

No answer comes from Logoz\' lips to Ivorin, and with deftness unexepected he slips aside her charge, snarling all the more. But as he raises his mace to deal a blow in return a further change is wrought upon his features. The snarl turns to a whine, and then a hiss of anguish as Glorfindel\'s song rises over the battlefield, and with a hideous twisting of his mouth the orc-chief staggers back pace after pace as though in pain. It does not last long, however, and after a moment the light of his eyes is rekindled -- the dead stare replaced by his own once more.

Then does he cry out in pain, and dropping his shield he clutches at the wound dealt him by Ivorin\'s blade. Dark blood stains his fingers, and with a fearful yelp he turns and flees toward the forest, panic spurring him on to a great haste.

Beneath the flow of ancient elven-song, Elathrad stirs once. Or is it the snow-drift that teases his cloak?

[Elamdir(#17629)] As the enemies begin to retreat, and the sun begins to rise, Glorfindel\'s song carries back even to the village where it greets the men happily. Though the battle is over no one cheers. In silence they merely listen. Standing amidst the towns-people Elamdir stands unmoving. Still staring through the open gate toward the blood soaked battle field he listens to the tune, and half heartedly hums along to himself.

[Glorfindel(#30248)] The terrible meeting of music and anger in the Elven tongue resonates now through the night from where Glorfindel stands above Elathrad. Though he remains before Hephtur, the Elf Lord no longer seems to see him as the song swells with Ivorin\'s cry to offer what the most ancient of elven songs met with the terrible skill of the blade of Gondolin may provide in the way of protection. This song wrought of martial intent speaks beyond words like a light against darkness, and it is as if the Eldar among the battling and wounded are taller and more terrible to look upon than before. Even the men among the villagers that yet defend the gate quail slightly at the sight.

Glorfindel\'s eyes turn last to Logoz, as if to look through and beyond the orc captain\'s retreat. \"Fall back,\" comes a voice like Glorfindel\'s meant for elves and men, woven with the song.

[Logoz(#19187)]

With the retreat of their leader, the goblins of the Shaws look nervsouly among one another, and it is as though some spell of frenzy has been broken. Their gazes fill with fear at the sight of the Elves that battle on, and one or two of their number go down easily from the Eldarin wrath.

The others catch on quick, it seems, and the forest goblins turn on their heels, they too seeking the safe reaches of the Yfelwyd.

[Hephtur(#1434)] Finally, the captain turns and flees north.

[Ivorin(#17307)]     A little stunned at the sudden change in demeanor of her adversary, Ivorin watches his reaction to Glorfindel\'s song and his return to normalcy, followed by retreat. The sounds of still-raging battle catch her ears, however, and the raven-haired elleth moves inwards to assist with the \'cleanup\' rather than heading for the village gates herself.

Elathrad is fortunate not to be trodden upon in the retreat, though the scarlet of his blood still spreads into the white. He bleeds still his heart beats still, perhaps.

[Tinnugwath(#27474)] And sharp eyes might see the faint rise and fall of a shattered chest, the barest indication of life -- one that clings on by a strand even finer than that spun from women\'s beards and fishes\' breath.