Battle of Iach Celduin

Iach Celduin

Iach Celduin is an old trading town built on the border of Mirkwood, where the Old Forest Road emerges and meets the Running River come down from the Long Lake to the northeast.

The town is on the east side of the river, in a bend as it turns to flow to the southeast, built next to a wide bridge heavy enough for large burdened wagons to safely cross. The town is fairly large, with several livery stables, stores and inns to help support the increase in traffic across the road since the death of Smaug and re-population of Erebor years before. The town also has a large contigent of soldiers from the Dale-Lands, to help guard against the predidations of orcs and other fell beasts from the woods.

Several docks stick out into the river, and barges laden with logs felled in the forest make regular runs up-river to the sawmills powered by the water fall at the base of the distant Long Lake.

Contents:

Bifur

Black_Rîder

Pishgob

Thári

Gelbard

Caravan

Obvious exits:

Inn, Into the River, SouthEast, and West over Bridge

Characters Involved/RPers: Broddur, Bifur, Black_Rider, Pishgob, Iswas, Thari, Gelbard, Lotrok, Luzgra, Neleth

[+TIME] Middle-earth time is: Night on Mersday, Day 2 of December.

[Thári(#31038)]

The weather is not kind tonight. It\'s not snowing, but it\'s cold enough that the rain comes down sharply against the skin and coats the ground with ice.

The town of Iach Celduin is thus mostly indoors, though men still keep watch in windows. There have been dwarves here lately, swelling its numbers with allies, but there is no wall about the city. Fires burn low, red and orange as the sky fades from grey toward black.

Thari is moving away from some wagons near the east bank of the river toward the town. Due to the ice the dwarf is cursing aloud and moving slowly, voice clearly heard through the swaddling layers of a scarf.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

A grim chuckle mists through the air as it leaves Gelbard\'s lips, and drawing near to the wagons he espies sight of Thari -- not mention catching rumour of the dwarf\'s curses! Moving to join Thari he strides over the chilled grass, dressed for war it seems as his armour rustles with every step.

[Thári(#31038)]

If there have been any battles so far, Thari has not shown a bit of harm from them, moving as easily as one might over the slick ground. \"More sensible to live under stone,\" the dwarf grumbles to the dale-lander who comes near without looking up. \"I haven\'t dealt with any weather since springtime until I came out to help you fellows!\"

The slight shelter proved by the ceiling of one of the town\'s building does little to keep the rain from pelting the dwarf seeking shelter under it. Neleth\'s right hand reaches to remove the pipe he has been trying to light from his lips as he resigns to the fact that the weather will not agree with his desires. Tucking the pipe into a pocket he pulls his coat tigher around his body, eyes traveling to watch the approach of two figures, one dwarf and one human, from the direction of the river.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

\"And we appreciate it greatly!\" replies Gelbard to Thari, more cheer in his voice than can be found in his eyes as they glance westward towards the hidden line of the Mirkwood. \"Come now, my good merchant. You share your ale, and we share our weather in return. You have to admit, this is the perfect night to be enjoying it inside the warmth of the town...\"

As the two walk on, the Barding lord\'s gaze then steals toward that town, though if he catches sight of Neleth he does not show it yet.

[Thári(#31038)]

\"I\'ve never yet spent a winter in a tent,\" Thari continues, slipping briefly on a patch of clear dirt and catching footing a moment later. \"So indeed the town is much preferable. And perhaps the circumstances of the Shadow in Mirkwood are not what they were a few weeks ago, I think? Perhaps we will go home soon.\"

Thari glances up, too, eyes briefly catching on the spark of a distant pipe.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

Over the river and through the woods, and to the town they go. The orcs know the way to pillage and slay, \'spite the white and blinding snow. There are about ten of them in a band, tracking, perhaps, snuffing out the ways and means, and reporting back. At their head is a smallish orc with gleaming eyes and sharp nasty cruel teeth. She tramps through the wet white, furred with skins of hapless forest animals. On her head is a hat-hood of squirrel-pelts, squirrel-heads and squirreltails still attached. Her stomach growls as the scent of manflesh comes to her nostrils.

\"Rain and ice and death and... ice...\" Neleth\'s muttering is barely audible, and the dwarf shakes his head. Water it splashed from his beard as he does this and his right hand is required to remove a strand of hair from his eyes. Grunting, he steps away from his place against the building\'s wall. His eyes go to dwarf and human approaching and his eyes squint slight to try and recognize the figures, but to no avail. \"Oy - why would anyone willingly live in a place of this sort of weather?\" It is spoken louder than the earlier mutter, but still is mostly for himself. He begins to walk along the side of te building - apparently intent on heading from his position further into town.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

Gelbard\'s cheer, meanwhile, fades a little at Thari\'s words, and once more his gaze flits out into the darkness as they walk. \"I hope you are right, sir, though I would not wager upon it. Some disquiet has been upon me these past few nights, and I fear we may be shown their circumstances soon enough.\"

He does manage a smile then, and turns to face the khazad. \"Forgive an old soldier his dour demeanour. I\'ve seen much battle, and perhaps see it even where it is not to be found.\" The lord\'s eyes catch Neleth\'s movement then, and he asks of Thari: \"One of your colleagues?\"

[Bifur(#6709)] Amid the dreary backdrop, a lone dwarf tramps along the river. He is a short, yet solid figure -- and one that seems in no mood to waste time. Bifur occasionally tosses bits of already soggy grass into the river and eyes the river\'s behavior carefully. It\'s almost as if he expects the river to rise up and attack him at any moment. In fact, he looks like he\'d rather be far away from the river. Nonetheless he continues with his task, grumbling curses under his breath.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

Among the slinking bodies beyond the glow of the torches, one in particular fixes beady eyes upon the town itself. Lotrok sneaks on in Pishgob\'s wake, stepping in the prints of her own paces and fingering the haft of a wickedly jagged scimitar. A feral snarl seeps from his lips as the orc presses on, lips curling with relish as he catches sight of movement within the town.

[Thári(#31038)]

Thari\'s head lifts and the dwarf peers toward Neleth. \"Well,\" the merchant eventually hazards, \"It appears to be someone of the dwarvish height, with a beard, so I would say yes. Ho!\" Thari calls to Neleth.

[Bifur(#6709)] The old dwarf by the river kicks at a muddy clump near the river bank, ostensibly with some purpose other than taking out some frustrations. It ripples the surface with a *PLOMP* and slowly drifts downstream as Bifur grunts. Though he lifts his head to look in the direction of Thari, he seems in no hurry to move closer. Mud cakes his boots and most of his outerwear at this point. Muttering to no one in particular, he grunts, \"Never liked travelin\' by river anyhow.\"

Dwarves travel. It is just so - they trade, so they travel. Neleth has been in many caravans - he has experienced his dair share of travel. But that doesn\'t mean he can enjoy the col, rainy night. When Thari calls out, his attention is brought to the pair working their way towards the town from the camp by the river. He stops and turns his head towards the pair. He tries to make them out for a few moments before he moves away from the building and toward the pair. He can\'t recognize them yet, but does call out, \"Oy, cousin! Not a night to be on a walk!\"

[Pishgob(#24654)]

Pishgob raises her hand and she comes to a halt, licking her lips and her teeth. \"Ware,\" she hisses, her voice little more than the sound of wind on rushes. \"I smell a warrior I have smelled before.\" She hisses. \"We\'re here to count, and to see defenses. Stupid makes dead. Remember that.\"

Many a foul head nods to Pishgob\'s command, and Lotrok\'s is no exception. With a black tongue lapping over yellow fangs he steals forth a few paces ahead of the Rakarg knuckles crackling as he presses them against his thighs. \"Trog, Bugnit,\" he hisses. \"Take the north. Me and Vombok\'ll take the south.\"

Turning to bare his teeth to Pishgob he says: \"We\'ll take care, boss. Have no fear...\"

and with that he is off, slipping through the darkling night with a mace-wielding fellow at his side. Slowly they approach the edge of the town\'s light.

[Thári(#31038)]

\"Maybe the goblins will think so, too!\" Thari calls in answer to Neleth. A glance over shoulder at the forest, a squint and a frown. \"Do you see movement over-- oh! There\'s old Bifur.\"

[Gelbard(#23381)]

\"Not for a walk, indeed,\" says Gelbard then, answering Neleth\'s cry, though it was meant for Thari. \"A better night to be on guard, perhaps. Have you a pinch of weed to share among those who watch the horizon with you?\"

[Bifur(#6709)] With a shrug of his shoulders and a loud grunt, Bifur stomps over toward Thari and says in a harsh voice, \"Old indeed. Old \'nough ta know when trouble lingers too close fer comfort.\" Glancing over toward Gelbard, the old war marshal smirks, \"I\'m sure the tradin\' folk have plenty o\' that sort. Not the best evenin\' fer keepin\' an eye out though.\"

[Thári(#31038)]

\"Aye, it is, but it would get closer to the Mountain if we didn\'t stop it here.\" Thari has stopped walking now, speaking to the two dwarves through a muffler with beard poking out the bottom. \"P\'raps you fellows ought to wait for spring to get home now.\"

[Bifur(#6709)] Shrugging his shoulders, Bifur hardly looks at Thari even as he answers in a harsh voice, \"Akh, delays at every turn. I shoulda been back west long ago.\" Waving a hand vacantly in the air, he grunts, \"No hurry ta get ta the pass in the height o\' winter. But I mean ta be on the way ta get ta the pass as soon as it opens.\"

[Gelbard(#23381)]

\"A shame, for my part,\" says the Barding then, chiming into the conversation. \"And not simply because of your doughty warriors. It\'s been too long since your folk tarried overlong in our towns, when once it was common. Will nothing short of attack keep you with us?\"

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas is getting bored. He shifts restlessly, moving his weight from one foot to the other. And then, with a shifty look over his shoulder, he reaches for his bow, and with one clawed hand, pulls out an arrow. He edges forward, looks over his shoulder again, beginning to grin reckless and wild, and shoots! The arrow, short and black and evil-looking, snarls through the air. Most likely it will fall short, but perhaps the orc will be lucky.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

The orcs slink on, keeping to the shadows with deft footwork as they spread out to different points of the town\'s perimiter. But as the arrow is loosed, all of sudden their feet pull up, their heads raise and a low hiss slips between them as they warily unhook their weapons from their belts.

\"We\'ll be home as soon as we can be, Marshal.\" Neleth says this quickly, head turning in the direction he believe the pass should be in. \"We have no reason to tarry anymore. From the Blue Mountains to Erebor we travel. No cause to tarry unless we must.\" Neleth has started walking back toward the town, even as the arrow goes unnoticed by him.

[Bifur(#6709)] The old dwarf glances towards Gelbard and scratches idly at his damp beard, \"I assure ya it is not fer lack of good company that I wish ta head westward. I have been delayed too long. First by Thranduil and his lot and now by troubles along the road and weather.\" With a wry grin, he starts to add something when an arrow whizzes errantly by in his peripheral vision. He\'s not really sure, so he glances first at Gelbard then at the other dwarves with a questioning look.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

\"You addled dung-brained idiot!\" hisses Pishgob as the orc archer fires. \"Do you understand what scouting means? Let me explain something. If they come against us, you had best hope they kill you, because if they don\'t, I\'ll flay you alive, then disembowel you and watch the wargs eat you alive. By the wazy, you\'re demoted.\" She spits. \"Make ready for possible attack, lads, and all. He goes in the front.\" She points to Iswas.

[Thári(#31038)]

\"Ah, Thranduil,\" Thari answers in sympathy to Bifur, she glances back at Neleth. \"The road is-- Ah!\" The Erebor dwarf gives a cry, pointing to where the arrow flies past. \"Beware! Arrows!\"

Thari turns toward the river, a small axe coming from belt.

Gelbard\'s hand flies to his sword-hilt as Thari cries out, and at once his cheer is lost utterly a grim steel settling into his eyes as he strides forth. \"To arms!\" he himself cries out, pitching his voice toward the inn, and after a moment or two is rewarded by the sight of a half-dozen men of Dale rushing out with swords drawn.

The Barding lord then unsheathes his own blade, striding to the cover of one of the wagons, and scans the darkness with a wary eye.

[Combat(#13388)] Gelbard brings forth his fell blade, Scrutiny, and it sits in his palm as it awaits the fray.

[Iswas(#32393)] The unfortunate archer is still grinning wildly. He does a small dance of triumphant glee as his arrow has its effects - of stirring up the enemy like a little anthill if nothing else! And he can\'t quite smother his mad smile as Pishgob scolds him. Iswas cowers suitably, cringing in the accepted fashion, but the insane, cackling laughter sits in his eyes all the while.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

\"Fool! Lackwit! Dunghead!\" come the seething rasps as the orcs hurl their scorn upon Iswas, but with a snarl Lotrok keeps still in his place. The jagged blade of his weapon lowers to scrape the ground as he crouches, and as black as deepest shadow he watches for a sign of advance from the town.

[Bifur(#6709)] As the others react, Bifur reaches for his axe and looks off into the gloom. With his axe held firmly, he seems to see little threat from arrows, though with his armor, it is easy to dismiss such things. The old dwarf glances at the other dwarves and speaks in a low, gravelly voice, \"Steady... could be just a lone scout. But best ta make sure...\" Bifur taps the top of his helm to settle it on his head and strides purposefully off in the direction the arrow came from.

Having missed the sound and the sight of the arrow himself, Neleth turns himself around at the call from Thari. His sword is drawn a moment later, though his shield is left in its place, strapped to his back. \"Bloody globlin!\" The statement is said in a growl. \"Can\'t have one night \'o peace...\" Neleth starts walking in the same direction as Bifur.

[Thári(#31038)]

Some dwarves come out of the inn, too, with one in particular looking around for something while pulling on a helm. Thari ignores this, however, sliding a shield on and taking a few steps after Bifur.

An impatient fidget, watching the old dwarvish hero. And then Thari follows Neleth and Bifur at a distance.

[Pishgob(#24654)] %rPishgob snarls, and she hisses at those under her command. \"Alright, let\'s see what happens, but like as not we\'re outnumbered. Keep to the brush, and we\'ll get out. Idiot. There goes surprise. Hide yourselves as best you can...\"

[Iswas(#32393)] The other orcs heap abuse on poor Iswas\'s head. He bows it, submissively, but his fangs glint in his mouth as his mad grin grows larger. And he slithers into the brush, as ordered... lifting his bow again, and shooting an arrow towards one of the short squatty folk.

Iswas\'s bowshot hits Bifur, mildly wounding him.

[Bifur(#6709)] As Bifur tramps across the bridge, not rushed, but covering ground quickly, another arrow flies out of the gloom towards the old dwarf. He sees the arrow at the last moment and turns his head aside even as the point bounces off his left shoulder. The mail protecting him turns it away and Bifur shows no indication that he was even struck other than a low growl and a look of pure hatred in his eyes.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

The soldiers of Dale continue to rush to the town\'s edge, approaching their general with concern in their eyes. Gelbard nods absently to them as they arrive beside him, but is quick to sniff and point out into the darkness. \"An archer,\" he explains, as they follow his gaze. \"Though we know not if he is alone. Move out, but have a care keep your shields raised to cover yourselves.\"

[Gelbard(#23381)]

With nods of resolve the Barding troops catiously advance to the edge of the torchlight.

[Iswas(#32393)] There is a yelp from the bushes - still mostly lost in gloom - and then a rustling and an orc pops out into the clearing. He is, perhaps, still but dimly seen, if anything other than movement can really be seen in the night and he turns a little to glare at Pishgob. One hand clutches his bruised behind. Then he turns back, snatching an arrow and shooting it almost at random towards the oncoming enemy.

Iswas launches an arrow...

Ow! You\'ve been injured for 5 hp\'s by the bowshot.

The sound of an arrow traveling through the air causes Neleth to slow himself and lower his body ever so slightly. As the arrow makes contact with Bifur, Neleth\'s eyes narrow slightly and his pace his quickened to reach to darkness where the arrows are flying from. As he is moving his arm reaches to his back and a few moments later his shield is on his left arm. \"Cowardly, no go-\" \'good\' was his intention, but the arrow that scrapped his right thigh, causes his words to stumble. His march is also stumbled, though only momentarily. His pace, rather than slowing, is quickened as he starts off in the direction of the shooter.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

Pishgob snarls softly to herself, then sidles back into deeper brush. \"Goborg,\" she hisses, \"Run it back to camp that Torgok\'s idiot shot an arrow into town to test its defenses. Let them know that the town is now on guard. Oh... tell them I want Torgok\'s entrails personally. Go on, now.\" She mutters, picking her own way back. \"Like a good fight, but this is a stupidfight.\"

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

Baring his teeth Goborg nods and turns to bolt westward at once.

[Thári(#31038)]

Thari is overtaken by the men of Dale and is in no hurry to rectify this, quite the brave dwarf. Still, the Erebor dwarf takes a step aside, slipping on the ice, to keep the dwarves from the west within view. A growl is heard as Neleth is wounded.

[Bifur(#6709)] The old dwarf\'s attention first goes to the outline of the archer, but amid the gloom, Bifur catches a glimpse of Goborg scampering westward. With the look of a hunter closing in on his prey, the war marshal grips his axe and breaks into a run, howling as he waves his axe, \"Ayieeeeeee!\" All thought of caution is thrown by the wayside as he focuses on his mark.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

And Bifur rushes on past the hidden crouch of Lotrok, who sneers with relish and rises at once. Out lashes the orc\'s blade at the dwarf\'s back and a laugh of malice bridges the cold air between them.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

\"Bloody squat-bellied rat-folk,\" growls Pishgob as the dwarf sees them. Just run, Goborg. Nice job, Lotrok.\" She shakes her head, then motions her lot to take up fighting positions. Her eyes gleam in the darkness, and she licks her teeth.

[Bifur(#6709)] Unseen to Bifur, Lotrok\'s blade easily finds it\'s mark, slamming into Bifur\'s back! The fine craftsmanship of the dwarves of old is all that keeps the blade from slicing Bifur open. The mail does not yield, though the blow is sure to leave a mark underneath. \"Ayyeeagh!\" yells the war marshal as the blow knocks him off balance, careening into a puddle of mud! He struggles rather comically on the ground to regain his footing, though his axe remains in front of him at all times.

[Thári(#31038)]

\"Baruk khazad!\" Thari bellows from behind the lines of Dale-men. The Erebor dwarf begins to run toward the bridge, only to be suddenly pulled back by the hand of a brown-bearded dwarf gripping her elbow.

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas cackles as his second arrow also strikes, and swiftly hauls another one out, shooting it towards Neleth, who is coming on faster now. Then he dances backwards a bit.

Iswas launches an arrow...

Ow! You\'ve been injured for 5 hp\'s by the bowshot.

Not far behind Bifur is Neleth. Neleth\'s intent is the archer - he does need to stop that annoying goblin. However, the position Bifur is in isn\'t one Neleth intends to ignore and as Bifur is attack Neleth is there moment later to swing his own sword at Lotrok\'s hip. \"Oy!\" And, again, he is hit by an arrow. This time it scrapes along the side of his shield arm\'s shoulder. The chain mail, thankfully, takes away more of the sting.

Pishgob creeps through the brush, mottled furs about her disguising her form in the play of light and shadow, snow and mud. she slips towards the bridge, her eyes flickering as she looks ar rhe supports.

A cackle leaves Lotrok\'s lips as he watches Bifur flail, and with his jagged blade slashing the air before him he bears down upon his dwarven prey. Eyes sparkle with cruelty, teeth gnash eagerly and the orc raises high his weapon in readiness to put an end to the aging marshall. But ere he can strike the blade of Neleth bites into his slim leather armour -- sending him reeling if not bleeding to one side.

[Bifur(#6709)] Neleth\'s assault buys Bifur the time he needs to get his footing and join the fight in earnest. The old dwarf moves with surprising quickness to advance on the reeling Lotrok with his axe waving in front of him with each step! As he approaches, the mud-caked figure of Bifur whirls around to the left, bringing his axe around in a low arc, aiming a blow with his considerable strength behind it at the orc\'s legs!

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

Gelbard watches the ensuing fray with whitening knuckles, his own veteran eyes fixing upon Bifur\'s plight. Stirring from his vantage, slipping toward the stables he moves with an urgency not to be expected of a man his age.

[Thári(#31038)]

Thari gasps and steps forward a bit when the dwarves are again wounded, but is still held back by the other dwarf\'s hand on her elbow. \"Thari,\" he says, a warning or a plea.

Thari and the dwarf beside her turn away and walk back toward town, though they both look back at the battle across the river.

[Iswas(#32393)] More time to shoot! Iswas\'s gleeful grin grows still wider, and he snatches another arrow up to help Lotrok out. So generous! So thoughtful!

Iswas launches an arrow...

Ow! You\'ve been injured for 2 hp\'s by the bowshot.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

But the orc\'s legs that Bifur seeks are nimble indeed, skipping away to regain their balance as the great axe whistle by mere inches away. A low rasp escapes his lips, fangs bared in hatred all trace of his mocking laughter fled now from his eyes. The orc snarls then, pouncing forward as Bifur completes his swing, blade whipping out in search of the brave khazad\'s gullet.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

\"So dead... when I get him back, oh, death, death, slow and deadly deathness...\" Pisgob half-hums to herself, though still softer, by far, than yelling dwarves or cackling idiot-orcs. She makes her way to the bank, smiling grimly to herself.

[Bifur(#6709)] The orc deftly avoids Bifur\'s swing, but the old dwarf is no fool. Decades of experience allow him to anticipate Lotrok\'s next strike. His own blade, with a simple yet powerful redirection, comes crashing down on the orcs with a metallic *CLANG* Unable to mount an effective strike with his blade quickly, Bifur then jabs the butt end of his enormous axe toward the orc\'s chest in an effort to throw him off balance.

His part done in the defense of Bifur, Neleth turns as soon as his sword is free from Lotrok. He turns in the direction of the now closer bow wielding goblin. His pace is fast and his eyes are determined. He has a goal, certainly. He moves fast, and closes the distance on the archer quickly. Even as he begins his sprint another arrow skims his arm, chain mail again doing its part to prevent penetration.

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas skips nimbly backwards, throwing his bow towards Neleth\'s feet and grabbing for the short spear that is hanging beside his shield at his back. But the dwarf moves fast. Very fast. And perhaps the hapless archer hasn\'t quite enough time to switch over to a spearman - unless Neleth trips over the bow on his way?

Brandebras(#25187)] One more dwarf, this one gnarled and black-bearded, swings his mattock in a steady rhythm. It slides through the air, clearing space before him, or - alas, sadly less frequently - finds its mark in tough goblin flesh. Broddur grunts with satisfaction as one particular blow strikes home, though this changes to a sudden hiss as a rusty blade hacks only inches from his head. He spins, swinging the pick wildly, to defend himself and finds himself looking out on the edge of the fray.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

Bifur\'s axe-butt does it\'s work well, crashing into the goblin\'s sternum even as the scimitar digs into the frosted earth. Lotrok is thrown back more than a pace or two, weaponless, until he plops down upon his rear with little ceremony. Seething curses muster behind his teeth as he scrambles and clambers to his feet.

Neleth doesn\'t trip over the bow. He does have to jump over it, though, and his landing on the cold, wet and slightly icy ground almost makes him lose his footing. One foot starts to slide before Neleth digs the heel of his boot into the ground. It takes hime a moment to steady himself - sure, he didn\'t trip, but certainly it gave the Iswas time enough to get his gear equipped. Neleth\'s sword is swung at the goblin\'s left side, aim at his upper arm.

attack iswas

You blindly attack Iswas with your Short Broadsword...

[Combat(#13388)->Nelèth]

Iswas dodges your attack.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

All the while, Gelbard\'s trek to the stables is complete his rough hands snatching up the tether of one horse in particular. Lifting the loop from its peg the Barding lord quickly unfastens the rope, tossing it to one side as his eyes seek that of his steed. One hand pats upon the flank in wordless request ere he plants his boot in the stirrup and heaves himself to the horse\'s back.

Out it trots a moment later, and the general of Brand\'s armies takes up the reins in readiness.

[Bifur(#6709)] As his axe butt finds its mark, Bifur grins wickedly, the look in his eyes more animal than dwarf -- as if he were personally taking out every bit of dwarven anger at the orcs in this moment. Now is the time to press his attack, so the axe flashes around in a quick circle, bringing the blade to bear in a hacking arc headed toward Lotrok\'s exposed shoulder!

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas ducks the slashing sword, and stabs forward with his spear. From his wild movements, it almost appears that he has forgotten he is holding a shield - good thing it wasn\'t needed this time!

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

A howl of fury and anguish rends the night air as Bifur\'s aim is true -- Lotrok is swatted to the ground once more, this time spilling a tide of dark ichor upon the ground. All but hewn his arm hangs limp from his torse and the hapless uruk curls up into a ball before the dwarven veteran.

Iswas attacks you with his Spear!...

...and he misses!

[Brandebras(#25187)] Breathing heavily, Broddur leans on his mattock for a moment to regain his footing - any nearby would see that the Dwarf moves with a limp. The moment is dearly gained, as the rusted blade of earlier seeks out his flesh again, finding purchase against his armour at the shoulder. With a grunt, the Dwarf jerks his mattock round and up, aiming for the scimitar-wielder\'s legs - or any other soft body parts will do as well. \"That\'s more like it!\" he mutters grimly, barely acknowledging the torn leather at his shoulder.

Neleth\'s follows his sword\'s motion as his attack misses its mark and passes over the offending orc. He spins, doing a complete three hundred and sixty degree turn, noticing the spear\'s thrust passing by him mid-spin. His sword is brought to bear again through the motion of the spin, the sword aimed at the goblin\'s left shoulder.

attack iswas

You blindly attack Iswas with your Short Broadsword...

[Combat(#13388)->Nelèth]

Iswas dodges your attack.

[Bifur(#6709)] The blade strikes home with a powerful blow to the orc\'s shoulder! As the orc lies in a heap on the ground, Bifur sees the chance to finish his work in an instant. The blade flashes quickly around to the other side, slicing with all his considerable might at the orc\'s neck!

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

And Bifur\'s reward is another notch on the tally-stick, should he have one. Lotrok\'s head flies from its miserable shoulders with zeal, and the foul stain that seeps over the ground from his corpse threatens to reach the khazad\'s boot. Another vile little brute slain at need, and one less to harrass the township this night.

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas snarls deep in his throat, and steps back again, just as Neleth\'s sword goes whizzing past his neck. The orc stabs again, aiming his spear for the dwarf\'s face - eyes would be nice, though they are a rather small target.

Iswas attacks you with his Spear!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

[Pishgob(#24654)] Muttering under her breath, Pishgob begins to quietly hack away at the bridge supports. As quietly as she can.

[Bifur(#6709)] Yanking his axe back in front of himself, Bifur glances around quickly and gets a look of unease on his face -- as if something isn\'t right. He speaks in a low voice, though not to anyone in particular, \"Where was the other off to...\" His feet start to move back toward the bridge, though slowly at first.

[Brandebras(#25187)] Broddur\'s pick has done its work - lame Dwarf is now matched by lame goblin, the latter cursing viciously in a mixture of Common and some crude orcish dialect, as blood streams from one leg. Now the dwarven mattock has found not flesh but metal, as it strives against the filthy goblin scimitar. Dwarf grunts and jerks, goblin hisses and pushes ... Struggling as he is, it\'s scarce wonder Broddur notes neither the Marshall\'s victory nor the shadow beneath the nearby bridge.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

Gelbard guides his mount forward, snatching up a torch from those that light the town\'s edge, and with a neigh of protest the horse trots across the bridge to meet with Bifur\'s retreat. \"How many did you see?\" he asks of the veteran warrior, his eyes never once leaving the darkness to the west.

By now Neleth is angry. Well, a bit more. The cold rain, the annoying arrows and now the top of his left is his sliced off by the offending goblin\'s spear. To add to that there is a small gash in his head next to where his ear was sliced. He lets out a yell in pain and anger even as he throws his body toward Iswas\', hoping to make the spear ineffective by close distance. As he does this his sword is thrust forward at Iswas\' upper chest.

attack iswas

You blindly attack Iswas with your Short Broadsword...

[Combat(#13388)->Nelèth]

Iswas dodges your attack.

[Bifur(#6709)] His breath coming back to him slowly after the exertion of the chase and fight, Bifur nods in acknowledgement to Gelbard. After a moment, he grunts, \"Only a few, but... but one ran off.\" Pausing momentarily to wipe the blade of his axe with his tunic, Bifur gestures with his left hand, \"He ran off \'fore we were even upon them. I wouldn\'t go far without more strength...\"

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas cackles, dancing lightly around Neleth so that as the dwarf stabs forward with his sword, the orc is is sliding to the right. He pokes his spear at Neleth again - maybe he will get lucky and slide the point up under his armpit.

Iswas attacks you with his Spear!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

[Pishgob(#24654)]

More strength is exactly what Pishgob hopes to avoid. She works as quickly as she can, close to the painfully cold water, letting it mask the sound of scimitar on wood. Her breath comes quickly, and her eyes dart back and forth as she looks about for foes.

[Brandebras(#25187)] Flickering light from Gelbard\'s torch draws one goblin\'s attention away from his foe for a crucial instant. At a twist of Broddur\'s mattock, the filthy scimitar is jerked free of its wielder\'s hand to topple down, down toward the river-bank.

This particular fight is far from over, though. Whilst Broddur is still twisted round from the effort of his yank, the goblin, cat-swift, pulls out a little knife and thrusts it toward the Dwarf\'s hip, at the place where the armoured jerkin splits.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

As the fray continues, a chill seeps from the west. Faint as a breeze it ripples across the plain, cold fingers kneading through the grass. There, along the dark line of the nearby Mirkwood a shadow might be seen to stir, were any eyes to scan the horizon.

Luck is apparently not something Iswas recieves in this case. Indeed, the spear is instead met with an arm instead, scrping along the chainmail of Neleth\'s left arm. The dwarf growls... sort of. It\'s more of a grunt really. He lets out a \"Ai!\" as he swings his left arm, his sheild sliding free and to the ground while his sword is swung, again, at Iswas\' neck.

You blindly attack Iswas with your Short Broadsword...

Iswas dodges your attack.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

Gelbard looks down to Bifur with a stern nod, though his knuckles whiten anew as they grip tight the torch he bears. \"Right you are, though it pains me to leave any to return to their masters. Too often their spies escape us, and too often reports of our strength slip back to their masters.\"

A frown wrinkles upon his brow then, and his eyes are drawn westward, though their scrutiny appears to yield nothing as yet.

Luzgrak has arrived.

[Brandebras(#25187)] As the goblin knife pricks into Broddur\'s flesh, the dwarf whirls back, beard bristling angrily as his gnarled features contort in outrage. \"Why, you little-!\" The words fade in doubt as the air grows suddenly chill - perhaps the miner feels the first stirrings of fear.

But death waits for no being, and death is one thing to be found here this night for a certainty. Mahal grant that it is not his! The Dwarf folds over as though cramped by pain, but then he straightens in a sudden swift jerk that sends his mattock swift toward his foe\'s belly.

[Iswas(#32393)] The lanky orc doesn\'t seem too disappointed, though he is apparently the easily distractable type, for Neleth\'s falling shield catches his eyes. He bends to snatch at it with long, sticky fingers and the sword whistles overhead. Also, he misses the shield, and jabs upwards with a grunt of angry disappointment.

Iswas attacks you with his Spear!...

...and he hits! Ouch!

[Bifur(#6709)] The old war marshal, now satisfied that the blade of his axe is clean, nods to Gelbard as he speaks in a gravelly voice, \"Let them report back, if we must. Our strength will not embolden them or deter them.\" Bifur heads back to the bridge as he finishes his thought, \"Infermation will not carry the field fer them. Only a lack of resolve and axes on our part will do that.\"

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

A stern test for that resolve take shape all the more in the west, the faint shadow rising up to become a lone figure. Even the light of the stars does not pierce its blackness, and it strides toward the melee with a slow, measured stride. The chill spreads all the more before its advance, though soft and gentle are the fingers that tease upon the spines of the combatants.

Ere long, as the chatter of newly arrived orcs grows behind it, the black figure stands clear against the horizon and a cowled head turns toward the bridge.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

The little orc pauses, then grins. She shakes her head, and reaches into her pouches. She pulls out a jar, and begins to smear black pitch onto the supports, as high as she can reach. As the fighting continues, she crouches low, lower on the bank, and quickly pulls out her tinder-box. Smiling to herself, Pishgob, hidden from sight, crouching to block the light, kindles fire.

[Gelbard(#23381)]

Gelbard would seem to agree with Bifur, for he nods and breathes deep as though ready to call out across the plain, but the cry dies in his throat as his eyes scan the western horizon once more. A long moment spent gazing at the strange figure hardens his gaze, his mouth dropping open, the aging warrior of Dale turning his mount to face this new arrival.

\"Him...\" he growls lowly to himself, forgetting it seems his Dwarven counterpart, tossing aside the torch into the river.

Scrtch after small cut... soon, Neleth will have been hit by the orc on all his primary body parts. The wounds might be small, but together they are quite annoying and becoming a hinderance. Another slice, this time to Neleth\'s left side, is quite annoying. It barely miss running the dwarf through the middle, but he shifted his body quickly. His sword swings again, this time at the orc\'s head. The chill that comes upon him at that moment is strange, but Neleth does keep his focus on his enemy.

You attack Iswas with your Short Broadsword...

[Combat(#13388)->Nelèth]

Iswas dodges your attack.

[Brandebras(#25187)] This time Broddur\'s mattock strikes true and bites deep. The goblin in whose flesh it has sunk folds over, retching ... a few moments later, aided by Broddur\'s boot and a second, well-aimed stroke of the mattock, and the filthy creature retches no more.

The Dwarf pulls his mattock free, ready for another fight-

No. Not ready. Something, perhaps felt rather than glimpsed, pulls Broddur\'s gaze westward, and his arm, formerly upraised, dips slowly with a little trembling. His features are greying.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

Pishgob laughs softly as the tinder crackles, and she wraps the pitch-soaked rag around the blade of her sciimitar. Before the little fire can die, she thrusts the sword-torch into it, then holds it to the pitch-smeared supports. She waits until they catch, lighting, nice, nice fire. She cackles softly, watching the bridge start to flame, and she draws away, shivering with the joy of chaos and blood and death.

[Luzgrak(#31883)]  eyond the shadow more orcs do indeed rise, their silhouettes fading as they charge forward revealing their true shape and number. A vicious roar that can only be a battle cry is unleashed from their ranks as their advancement quickens, glowing eyes searching wildly for prey as they near the fray. Jagged weapons are drawn, already marked with the gore of past battles and hard lives. Reckless and maddening is their pace, a brutal tactic not uncommon of those of their make.

As they continue to close, the sound of the gnashing of teeth and hungered snarling can be heard by those who have taken notice of their presence, and there is no sign of any slowing.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

The black figure to the west merely stands still, seemingl watching the bridge as the first tongues of flame begin to catch upon the wood. And then, a strange thing indeed happens the chill fingers fade away, only to be replaced by an inviting whisper upon the wind. As though guided by unseen hands the orcs part to either side of the black figure\'s gaze, leaving a clear path from it to the bridge.

[Iswas(#32393)] Iswas is successful again! But while Neleth successfully keeps his attention on /his/ attacker, the goblin does not. The same blackness, the shadow in the distance that greys Broddur\'s face brings the orc around, cringing and bowing - for real, this time. (And once more, he manages to accidentally avoid being killed.)

[Gelbard(#23381)]

The invitation from the black figure proves too much for the Barding lord, and heeding not the flames upon the bridge nor the words of Bifur at his side, Gelbard draws his blade anew eyes never once straying from the clear path laid out before him. Indeed his eyes glaze a little, his brow creased and lips baring his teeth as he lowers his head gravely.

\"Not this time,\" he mutters, words as rough as gravel. \"This time you perish...\"

And with that he sets off at a gallop, racing along the path through the battle toward the black figure.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

Seeing the dark figure, Pishgob gives a groan of absolute terror and overwhelmed ecstasy. Her body starts to tremble, and she prostrates herself, feeling cold and heat flare over her. She kisses the bloodied, muddied earth, and groans again.

[Brandebras(#25187)] When the chill fades, with it goes Broddur\'s uncertainty. The mattock is readied once more and, with a bit of a limp, the miner plunges back into the frey, hacking toward goblin bodies whenever he can. Whether his fate will lie on the battlefield, beneath a weakened bridge or far, far from here, who can say?

The cold - the chill... that /feeling/. Neleth\'s color is leaving his face - if from the blood loss or the chill, is unknown. Neleth\'s eyes do go to the figure now - his body halting and hesitating for a moment before his hand tightens its grip on his sword and the orc, now bowed towards the figure, is once again his target. The sword is swung downwards at the bowed orc.

[Pishgob(#24654)]

And the bridge continues to burn. Despite the rain, it is dry beneath, and the wetness of the top keeps the fire below, spreading, weakening, sending blackness roiling up, a foul smell of winter-wood, of dead river-weed, of the fetid odor of every hand that has hewed the logs or set them in place. In the spectacle of death and death and... more death, who would notice one little orc?

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

The black figure stirs not, merely awaiting the rush of the Barding as Gelbard\'s mount charges on -- a still shadow against the vague light of the heavens. All the while a mocking taunt flitters across the night air, and the orcs near the back at least pause to watch the proceedings.

Gelbard cries out in challenge as he goes, his sword held high in readiness as he bears down upon his target, steel found in his eyes as well as his palm. Closer still he goes, spurring on his mount, until he is virtually on top of the shadowy figure, lashing out with his blade...

But to no avail. Swift as a viper the figure moves, ducking the slash of Gelbard\'s blade with startling speed. In return a dagger stabs out from whatever cloak hides the figure\'s identity, delving upward and burying itself in the Dale-man\'s chest. But no sooner has it done so it is wrenched free once more and dragged across the horse\'s throat in one fluid motion. Stepping back, the figure hisses out a cruel laigh, unseen lips crooning over the hapless Barding\'s plight.

Down goes the horse, tumbling to earth, though her rider is dead ere he even hits the ground. Gelbard\'s sword slips from limp fingers, his eyes rolled and seeking up to the sky in an unending stare. His lips remain open, their cry of challenge long dead in his gullet. So ends the tale of Gelbard of Girion, General of the King\'s Men of Dale.

The orcs, naturally, go wild.

[Iswas(#32393)] Bowing and cringing and backing up... Iswas is perhaps a little less than entirely enamored of the strangely wavering black figure. One pace, another... a sword slices down out of nowhere, hacking into the ground in front of the goblin\'s nose. For a moment, he stares at it, cross-eyed, and then he looks up. And up. A dwarf can seem very tall, when you are practically lying at its feet. Iswas leaps up, and turns to race away.

A yell of anger escapes Neleth as his sword, once again, misses its mark. Iswas is apparently extremely evasive. Or Neleth is lacking practice. The former of the two choices is the one Neleth would prefer. His sword is hefted out of the ground in time for his eyes to see the short confrontation between Gelbard and the black figure. His eyes widen at the scene for a moment before he lets out a small grunt of ager. Iswas is forgotten as Neleth moves forward, towards the rest of the battle, pausing only to pick up his sheild as he joins in the fray against other orcs.

[Iswas(#32393)] And Iswas, seeing that Pishgob is distracted and his enemy is gone, takes advantage of the situation to slide into the woods - somewhere (anywhere) away from the one who has sworn to kill him if the dwarves do not.

[Black_Rîder(#28583)]

As the Dale-men watch the slaughter of their general, suddenly their resolve seems broken indeed. Their eyes droop, their limbs tire and fear enters their gazes as they attempt to retreat back toward the bridge.

But even as they do, the black-clad slayer of Gelbard whirls about a crude, savage voice rasping out over the battlefield. \" Slay them all!\" it commands in the foul tongue of the orcs. \" Leave no throat unslit nor belly unopened!\"

Hearing this, the savagery of the orcs reaches a peak a frenzy of fang, claw and rusted iron descending upon those soldiers of Dale and brave Dwarves that still stand against them. One or two manage to make it back across the bridge ere it collapses in flames, but of the others... no word nor body is ever found.

The night wears on, and beyond the light of the township, foul laughter lasts all night long. By morning, the plain is clear once more, save for the stains of gore where once lay the slain.