Beorn Outpost
Main Gate Inside the gate, the walls are thicker than first expected. Nearly a yard thick, they are double layered, in between the layers filled with loose dirt and rock. Not as open as might be expected, there is another, much shorter wall under the tower that connects the first gate to a second, smaller one. The thick beams on either side of the second gate also serve as supports to the tower above. Dangling loosely next to one of them is a rope ladder leading up into the tower above, which in addition to the hole for the ladder had a few more holes cut in the floor, each no larger than a square foot.
During the day, both gates are kept open as there is usually a steady stream of Woodmen with their wagons going both into and out of the outpost carrying anything from bundles of twigs to a few wagons put together to carry a whole felled tree. In addition to this wagon traffic, there is also a fair share of woodmen foresters, both working and just milling about. Contents: Cvalnir Marin Jaegar Grizzly_Bear Balzor Braek Orgh Trakarg Grundash Tso'har Obvious exits: North leads to Mirkwood Outpost. Up leads to Guard Tower. Gate leads to Trail through the Forest.
Grundash appears from deeper within the wooden fort in the open area near the main gate. His lumbering form moves with purpose, pausing several times to speak to other warg riders. Unlike the others, this one is cloaked in a large warg pelt whose snarled visage rests atop his head. Raising his head, he sniffs the air much like his four legged brethern. His face quickly turning into a frown.
From not far inside the walls, dirt rising from packed floors, shuffling
feet running here or there, a small group of uruks sits in a rough circle,
leaning in as if expectantly. If one were to approach this gathering, they would see rather swiftly the giant uruk appearently the center of attention. The six-foot uruk sits crosslegged, his ample figure forcing those clustered to scramble and fight for position to see. Occasionally, the softest sparkle would strike up and run over the face of one of the orcs,disappearing before it is even registered fully.
Balzor walks away from the wall to a cul-de-sac along the wall. He looks for a moment thoughtfully at Grundash before he takes the reins of his horse that stands there idly. He strokes its mane with a black gloved hand for a moment.
A group of large dark clad uruk-hai stand in the middle of the area surrounding Shagrat. With bowed heads the orcs stand conferring with each other, all of them first reporting to Shagrat then falling on discussing the many flaws of the northern uruks.
Balzor turns and looks at the orcs and smiles lightly for a moment in a mirthless fashion. His sharp eyebrows grow sharper with furrowed peaks. He stands idle again.
Across the compound's hard-packed earth strides the towering form of Trakarg, hurriedly approaching the southern gates from the northern side of the outpost. Jogging closely behind him are several large Uruk warriors, clad, like their Olog master, in black and bearing the symbols of Barad-Dur upon their shields and surcoats. A great hammer of war rests firmly in the Warlord's powerful grip, the weapon's weighty iron head swaying almost casually with each of his lengthy steps.
With a great deal of squeaking and sqwaking, the sentries from beyond the gates begin to scurry back towards the outpost. "
Seeing the gathering throng of Dushgoi warriors, Grundash makes his back the area where the Pulgor troops have been gathered. He idly fingers the horn at his side, before settling in next to one of them, "I've got that feeling again! Something is in the air"
The Warlord's long steps bring him quickly towards the sturdy walls which rise at each side of the fortress' southern gate. Beneath his helm's 'T'-shaped slit, a pair of slitted eyes glimmer in silent cruelty as he gazes all about him, searching over the numerous twisted, orcish shapes which scurry to and fro around him. "
Balzor stirs from his reverie and mounts his steed. He curses under his breath saying, "...and only a few useless orcs to defend me." He then turns his steed and rides slowly forward, his palm outstretched in a token of parlay. He then cries out to those behind him, "Gather yourselves. I shall see myself what makes our own goblins quail."
Balzor stirs from his reverie and mounts his steed. He curses under his breath saying, "...and only a few useless orcs to defend me." He then turns his steed and rides slowly forward, his palm outstretched in a token of parlay. He then cries out to those behind him, "Gather yourselves. I shall see myself what makes our own goblins quail."
Grundash rises quickly as the alarm is sounded nodding to those gathered near him, "To arms Pulgor Dogs. Lets show the enemy what it is to suffer." Bounding across the open area, he races up the stairs to the battlements of the wooden fort. Gathering up the horn from his left side, he brings it up to his lips and blows. An eerie call emanates from the device, long and low, almost like the call of a wolf. After a few seconds it trails off.
The sentries arrive at the gates, and begin to scream and claw at the hard wooden walls, begging that the road to salvation be opened to them. But it is not to be. With a roar like cold thunder, a terrible bruin charges from the forest. Giant in his wrath, twice the size of the greatest of the forest bears, he trods down the sentries before him as if they were but stones... and the gates slam open under his shoulders, shattered with a single blow.
Another flash, the eyes lighting up on the faces of onlookers, who all take a step back. Only Tso'har sits in the middle, somber and intent upon the earth, on which lays the objects of his attention, the Bone Reader and his 'bibles'. Yes, he can see it, something...but before the -hai can fully read his scattering of bones and crystals, feathers and smooth stones before him, a mighty call is lifted from the heart of a Warlord, and with a start Tso'har looks up. A silent swear from the mute, for he was into something important, but... He snatches his objects as swiftly as possible from the ground and stands tall to survey the surrounding disarray.
Eyeing the remaining sips of a deer-skin of crude wine, Jaegar guzzles what's left of the contents, murmuring too himself in a deep voice as remnants of the wine trickle onto his thick, unkept beard. The deer-skin is hastily thrown aside as the man's eyes light up in surprise at the sudden alarm of orcs and the smashing of the gate. Yet, a thin smile appears as his hand moves to his sword and his shield.
Jaegar quickly pulls free from an ordinary leather scabbard a longsword that's glow pierces even the darkest of nights and darkest of spirits. The ancient warrior's "Sword of the Moonlight" shines anew.
Trakarg the Olog experimentally sweeps the massive hammer in his grip, scattering a small number of the orcish soldiers who have rushed towards the gates before him. The deafening crash of shattered wood and metal before him once tears his attention from the weapon, his cruel, cunning eyes shifting to look upon the huge bear monster standing suddenly before him. "
Several more minutes pass before Grundash's signal elicts a return call. Softly at first, then growing you distinctly hear the howl of several different forms. The howls and calls rise in a crescendo till it feels as if the very air was alive with the sounds. Dark forms pull themselves away from the shadows of the forest's edge, circling the intruders, but never coming near to them. The continue their cries and pad lightly in and out of the forest's borders.
Balzor spurs his great horse before the bear and speeds back to a safe distance. His lips smirk for a moment, his pale face even more blanched as he says, "What a misfortune. They refuse to parlay like civilized peoples. He then calls behind him in a clear voice that is charged with pride, "Now! Arise! Slay me these renegades of Mordor and you shall feast upon the flesh of bear and Man by evening!"
Shagrat and his group of elite guards turns at the commotion taking place at the gate. With a quick nod from Shagrat the elite group split off drawing their weapons out and heading off to gather the orcs about them. Shagrat watches silently, then spitting at the ground he picks up his battle axe and heads towards the gate. As he marches forward he waves his hand about pointing to orcs and shouting, "
Following the lead of the bear, and the lead of the other men in on the attack is the much-slower Cvalnir. The Chieftain, apparently, wouldn't be left behind for this venture, even though signs of the last battle are still painfully obvious. Instead of the massive war axe the Woodman should be carrying, instead, he swings a stout wooden crutch, as he still has one useless arm.
The bear rises to his hind legs, pawing the air ten feet above the earth. His jaw opens to slaver, great gobs of white flying forth from the roar to spatter upon the ground below. Accepting the charge of the Olog with full force, the bear sweeps those teeth towards the hard flesh of the mighty troll.
Many of the orcish soldiers nearest the gate recoil in fear as the imposing form of the great Grizzly advances, yet most hold their ground as their own leader, Trakarg, moves to meet the terrible enemy. The Warlord moves forward heedless of the commotion around him, his eagerly glittering eyes focused only upon the beast who rises to his challenge. The iron hammer is suddenly shoved out before him, and only through great force of his own weight does the Warlord manage to knock aside the beast's sweeping jaws. With a mighty grunt of exertion, the black-clad Olog shoves the spiked point of his hammer towards the standing Grizzly's underside.
Following in the wake of the bear is a maid, more subtle in movement, but no less fierce in gaze. A finely wrought blade is in her hand and in another moment, a small shield dressed to her arm. Moving from the shadow of the mighty bear, she makes her own path and makes way for a victim of her own.
Somewhat hidden among the crowd of taller native northlanders, a smaller, darker figure charges in the main brunt of the Beorning attack, his spear held forwards, ready, its point glinting in the sun. His shorter legs somehow taking him faster forwards than his comrades, his mouth opens wide, a guttural animalistic growl leading his way into battle, quickly changing into a barrage of incomprehensible syllables.
Barehanded the uruk beast moves toward the gates, gaining speed with each long step. Tso'har's slitted brown eyes search here and there, looking for where the danger lies. his sinewy mass lumbers over rocky ground toward the gates that stream with bodies.
Trakarg's hammer slides just past the underbelly of the bruin, even as the bear is coming to ground. The bear is off balance on two legs, but finds himself as his front paws come again to earth. With rear legs now able to give purchase and lend power, the bear shoves his giant frame against the olog's legs, seeking to knock him over.
Balzor turns his horse about and then spurs back to the main heart of the orcish band. He comes among them for a moment to make a fine barrier between he and the Woodmen.
A sword is raised high by the pudgy, broad-shouldered Jaegar, his thin smile spreading as he crashes the flat of his sword against the metal shield he bears proudly. After running toward where the massive bruin led the charge, Jaegar suddenly stops at the sight of the horde of darkness. At that sight, his charge suddenly decreases noticeably and his throat tightens. "I shall need another deerskin of wine, perhaps two, after this ..." the man murmurs, before rushing forth, engaging the nearest orc that draws close.
Red eyes blazing yet squinting in the sun, Braek flows toward the battle amidst the tide of uruk troops. At full speed, he breaks towards the onrushed troll. While Trakarg battles the bear, Braek hastens toward the human limping into the conflict. A shrill cry emonates from his throat and he waves his scimitar wildly.
An angered hiss escapes the lips of Trakarg, the sound faintly metallic and muffled by his heavy iron helm and mask. His unsuccessful blow's momentum carries him forward a step, yet with surprising speed the Olog is able to twist his own weighty body away from the great Grizzly's attack. Escaping the other's push narrowly, the Warlord now raises the great hammer overhead, and with both hands, lashes out in a powerful blow aimed for the bear's back and side.
Forth rides in Balzor black clad. Forth he rides in the wake of Braek and those orcs about him. He sits straight in the saddle and his grey eyes glint coldly upon the Men. His sword is now in his hand. Pale and cold.
Loping along behind the group as fast as he can manage, Cvalnir's head turns at the crying orc and he starts to drag his bad leg towards him, mutterings and cursings coming from him rather than taunts. The wooden crutch is held like an axe now, and he grunts, swinging it a few last times to test its weight before commiting himself.
Orcs scramble about, their weapons hacking down at the invaders. Blood begins to trickle forth from the begining wounds. A small orc flies past Shagrat, as he moves forward towards teh invaders. Reaching out a hand he graps the orc and throws him back towards an advancing human. Then continuing on he raises his battle axe in prepartion.
Balzor urges the orcs to press forward like a wedge to the gate. He then intones, "Cut off the gate. To the gate!"
Surprisingly dextrous, as though he had a sense for where the thunderbolt would fall, the bruin slips just aside of the blow. Though he could, on all fours, easily snap the head off any uruk, he can but reach the hips of the giant. So, that is where he seeks to attack: just inside the left thigh, where mighty vessels flow with dark blood.
Reaching the whooping Braek, Cvalnir swings the makeshift weapon in a one-handed arc at Braek's head, hoping to end this as quickly as possible. The swing isn't a strong one, however, and is more a move to hopefully buy a few precious seconds to set his feet as best he can to prepare for the battle.
Before throwing himself into the darkness of steel and blood, Jaegar laughs wildly and again crashes the flat of his sword off his shield, emitting a loud clanging of steel that nearly matches his laugh in volume.
Not hesitant, but calculated, are the maiden Marin's moves as she surveys the disarray about her. Calm, but also eager is her countenance and it may seem to some she has done this before. Pale fingers curl tighter around the hilt of her good blade as her lithe body coils in anticipation, waiting for one servant of Night to venture just a bit too close...
Grundash returns the horn to his side, satisfied by the growing sounds of the Mirkwood wargs that fill the forest. As he sees the first of the four-legged beasts moving among the shadows, the warg-uruk eagerly reaches down with his right hand and pulls free the steel blade from its leather sheath. A cruel grin crosses his face as he spins and rushes down the stairs and into the melee, howling like the wargs he has recently summoned.
Now comes the Beorning smith, Ricker, axe in hand, ready to back up his kinsmen and their allies. And, of course, smite the maggots so hard that the Enemy will have to create a whole new race just to replace the weaker one.
Clearing a prone body of a stumbles ally, one long step carries Tso'har over and rushing for the gates. Such a thing for a drabble of a fort, and a fort where bad spirits lay. Not a place to fight for - not a place worth being in - the bad energy flows over and around and unsettles him and all beings, seen and unseen. But nonetheless, the blade sweeps out from over his back, the stirring of its soul awakenig as its jeweled hilt is grasped and its blade is freed.
Almost laughing at the sight of a human rushing him with a crutch, Braek's foolish grin disappears as the crutch slams onto his helmet. Shaking his head to clear the cobwebs a little, Braek hisses under his breath. His scimitar flashes as he lunges towards the bandaged arm of the human.
Trakarg's thick, powerful legs carry him a single step back as soon as he is able to recover from his previous blow. With a deep growl, the Olog uses the thick haft of his frighteningly large weapon and his great weight to knock aside the Grizzly's own attack. His eyes glitter angrily, and the twisted horns of his iron helm tip back slightly as he once again raises the hammer for another strike. The weapon is swung downwards and around in a crushing strike, its pointed end aimed low for the great bear's front legs.
Porle stands tall and peers past the fury of his companions. In a swift motion, he slings a taught cord of hand twisted material across the length of his bow. Raising up the wooden weapon, he sights a fighting orc at some distance. He draws up his bow and with careful aim, launches an arrow in a fluid motion of arm and eye.
The hammer thuds against the thick fur of the grizzly's legs, eliciting a grunt from the beast as it rebounds off the layer of fat beneath the fur. With a furious snarl, the bruin chases the hammer-hand... his jaws seek the wrist with meanace.
Marin does not have to wait long for prey to find its way to her blade as an overeager Grundash rockets down the stairs towards her. Holding her small shield up over her shoulder, she crouches slightly and swings at the uruk before he even leaves the stairs, the steel making way for his ankles.
Stygius catches sight of an orc momentarily vulnerable, blowing a horn which sends shivers down his spine. His eyes burning darkly, he raises one hand, now bloody from the life-liquid of monsters, to push hair from his face, in the process drawing red lines across his cheeks and forehead. Gripping his spear, he charges at the selected goblin, strange guttural words welling up from his throat, "miplaaaatz!!! ze-met, ze-met, ze-met i ze-mwe wa'dabardhm-a tzem-aaaa, ta'shaaaaail!!!!!"
Balzor yet rides behind the fray, watching wildly at the tide of battle and their positioning.
As Shagrat nears the first of the invaders a arrow catches him on the side of his chest. Spinning around from the impact he falls to one knee. Grunting in pain he reaches out and pulls the arrow from his chest and throws it to the ground. Then with black blood trickling from his side he regains his footing and marches forward to seek revenge.
Wounded though he is, the Chieftain moves a bit too fast for the scimitar-wielding Braek. Instead of poking at his wounded arm, Cvalnir gives him the ground, stepping to the side with his good foot. Even as he moves, the crutch is swinging around in another arc, this one aimed at the back of Braek's knees.
The towering Olog draws back to avoid the Grizzly's quick counter attack, yet too slow, his right wrist is nearly caught by the monster's powerful jaws. Several long, shallow gashes are scored across his forearm, though the Warlord avoids being trapped by his opponent's crushing grip. Even as he moves a step backwards, the hammer's butt end is shoved viciously at the bear's face, the blow aimed for the creature's maw.
The momentum carries the form of Grundash down the stairs. Spying Marin, he tries to jump away to avoid her blade. Only marginally successful, her weapon manages to catch him in the bottom of his left foot. However, the jump brings him into the direct line of Stygius' spear. It strikes him fully in the side and draws black blood. Howling madly, the cloaked form turns around and strikes back at Marin's side with his scimitar.
Grundash pulls a long wickedly curved scimitar from a leather sheath on his side. He pulls it out in one fluid motion so quickly it appears as if it simple jumped into his hand.
The glow of Jaegar's sword is clouded by the blood of a small orc, whose unfortune was to have his back turned toward the approaching stocky man, who's cleaver-like use of the sword left the small orc armless, and quickly dead. With the orc at his feet, the Beorning man bangs his sword and shield again together, before rushing forth to face toward the approachign Shagrat.
Balzor suddenly wheels his horse and carges into the press making a straight line for the gate!
The thrust throws Braek off balance, and the following shot by the human chieftain knocks out his knee. The uruk crashes to the ground but quickly rolls out and jumps back to the balls of his feet. His eyes narrow and his lips move in silent curses. His scimitar thrusts out again at the human.
Porle grims broadly as he catches a distant figure preparing late for the bloody battle. As the first arrow has knocked it's foe to the ground, he is notching a second. Light eyes peer downfield and sight a new foe. Dread thoughts fill the fletcher's mind as he loosens the shaft. Speeding on it's way with barely a sound, the second heads towards the newly appeared Grundash.
The hammer smashes hard into the grizzly's skull, though the thick bone holds up against even this bruising attack. Still, the bear staggers a bit against the blow, and falls back.
Dinenduin charges in amongst the flood of woodland warriors, staying particularly close to this club-wielding Chieftan. "Brotho, ye mighty man!" cries this gaunt Quendi chap, then timidly slashing at the Braek beast.
His quick blow gaining some time for the Warlord, he once again draws back a quick step, nearly crushing a pair of orcish slaves where they cower upon the trampled ground behind him. The two orcs regain their enthusiasm, rising quickly and hurrying off through the confusion. Trakarg raises the great hammer before him, gripping the weapon's thick haft two-handedly now as he uses his enemy's hesitation to regain his own balance and position.
Shagrat spots jaegar approaching with his sword ready. Growling loudly, Shagrat raises his battle axe above his head and charges forward. As the distance closes, Shagrat steps off the the left while swinging his battle axe down at Jaegar's midsection
Marin nimbly jumps aside as the dark scimitar of Grundash makes way for her. Her otherwise fair face is drawn taut and her shining eyes darkened by his howls and her failed attempt to down him. She finds her own warcry as she steps forward boldly and lunges at the beast, making aim for his midsection.
Balzor breaks through to the gate and wildly he charges out onto the forest road.
Stygius catches sight of the fleeing monster in human form, suddenly torn away from his previous target by the palpable anger of his body language....and the tone, if not the words, of his voice. "urkud! urkud sughel ta'souuuusmaaaaald!!" Charging through the chaos, stepping up and over some of the smaller goblins' dead bodies, he runs directly towards Balzor, trying to catch up to the man on the horse, his spear raised high towards him.
And once again, the scimitar finds nothing but air as the Chieftain moves. Grumbling to himself at the elf trying to ruin his fun, there isn't much he can do about it other than dispatch this foe quickly enough to move on to another. In an effort to do this, his cudgel is brought over his head to try and simply brain this goblin and be done with it.
Shaking his head, the bruin snorts out a stream of blood. As the olog before him pauses, the beast gathers himself up. A growl shudders in his chest, and he advances again upon this first, worthy foe... but there is more caution in his assault, this time, as he seeks to take out the olog's legs with slashing paws.
Ragakmog seeing that the fort is besieged lets loose a gutteral Howel and leads his relief unit of uruk and Uruk-hai into the foes streaming into the fort from the South. "The fort is the Anvil and we are the hammer!" He cries as he and his charge forth looking to engage the opponents from the rear.
The stocky Jaegar bellows out at the approaching -hai with fierce words, words spoken in a deep voice and nearly spat out. Yet, it is laughter, gauling and sneering laughter, that fill the air when Shragat misses the stocky man. A thrusting sword at beast's mid-section accompanies the maddening laughter.
Slashing, fighting, straining, sweat rolling already down crimson and brown skin, the man-height uruk's scim tastes blood while the body gets some taken also. The inlaid blade slashes and marks up others, but many the healer gets in return in the fray. The Bone Reader makes a half-hearted slash at a black-dressed being whom fights another before turning to prepare to engage another that bums into his body. They surround like flies to the pot, the many colors flashing in the eyes even in pale light.
Porle sighs as one of his precious creations flies wide of the hideous face it was aimed at. With a scowl, he draws out one of two remaining arrows and mutters something about where it should strike to it as he notches the shaft on his bow chord. In seconds a steady hand draws up and aims at the screaming orc newly arrived.
Obvious frustration flames in Braek's eyes as he slips the elven spear only to be knocked again by the human's club. A welt has formed on his forehead, closeing his right eye slightly. "Bah!" he cries, "Stand still so I can smite you, maggot!" Braek backs a little, then lets go a lightening quick slash with his scimitar.
Shagrat's step to the left allows him room enough to twist out of the way of Jaegar's swing. Coming to a halt he growls, "Fool, I will sup on your heart!" Then twisting his arms about he brings the butt of his shaft down towards the back of Jaegar's right knee.
attack/6 jaegar
Trakarg's cold gaze remains focused exclusively upon the massive bear who cautiously approaches. The hammer rises ever slowly in his grip, its battered iron head rising above the twisted horns which rise from his protective helm just as the enemy strikes. A quick step back is not enough to gain him safety, the the great claws tear away part of his thick, scaley skin just above his left knee. The strike throws him off balance, yet even as he drops to one knee, the Olog warlord drives his hammer down in a powerful blow meant to crush his opponent's back.
The great bear sweeps the hammer low and under himself, down against the earth. Moving in with his weight, a full ton in size, he lays himself upon the shoulders of the kneeling olog. With grim intent, he seeks to lay the troll upon the earth.
Wrists as thick and stout as tree branches make Jaegar's longsword deft, when his portly midsection that clings to his cloak makes him appear an easy target. Even his agile feet seem to belong to more of a fox, than a bear. Either way, he stands toe-to-toe with the -hai Shagrat, trading steel and snarls without batting an eye.
Ragakmog smiles a toothy grin as Porles arrow wings past his head and sticks into one of his guard faltering him. The Orc CAptain lowers his spear and presses his charge upon Porle shoving aside with his shield any that get in his way.
Dinenduin whirls about, struck upon his starched leather casing by such a beastly being's instrument. The young apprentice hasn't much time to size him up - although fear does sprinkle over him at this gruesome sight - and he daintily jabs his spear's end out, for the orc's chest. At this time, he finds it rather comforting to turn his backside to Cvalnir.
drop koltar
Grundash swings wide and his blade complete misses the mark. Overextended, he makes the mistake of opening up his already wounded side. Marin's blade strikes him hard and he tumbles to the ground. Bleeding profusely now, the uruk stands and curses, "
Shagrat falls back with a short cry as the blade bites into his armor. Then as a black spurt of blood erupts from the wood, Shagrat spins about whipping the head of his battle axe around towards Jaegar.
And this quick slash is rewarded by drawing blood, albeit not much, from the Chieftain's good arm. Nostrils flaring as he's been blooded now, the Chieftain's club swings even faster now. Instead of a wide horizontal arc, as is usual for him, and instead, he swings the bottom, flared part of the club upwards from the ground, trying to hit that crucial spot between Braek's legs.
Porle screams as the point of Shagrats spear draws a crimson line across his side. With a scowl his spits at the Orc Captain. Spittle follows the stare, and he reaches swiftly behind him. The twist making his sweat in pain. He pulls his hand back with an axe in it.
Porle pulls an axe from his belt and instinctivly weighs it in his slender hand.
Trakarg growls violently as the great bear before him manages to avoid his powerful blow, and again as it rises suddenly to throw its weight upon his shoulders. With desperate speed, the Olog warrior twists to his right, avoiding one of the beast's claws and most of its weight by pulling himself out from under it. The Grizzly's single claw catches his left shoulder, however, tearing the frayed and dusty surcoat which hangs loosely draped over the troll's girth and shoving him backwards. Off-balance, Trakarg manages only to raise the hammer before him once more to ward off any coming blows, yet he remains on his knee and only partly facing his terrible opponent.
Braek blocks the upward sweep of crutch and he locks eye contact with the human. Both seem to read each other's minds for a flash of a moment. Breaking the tension, the uruk unleashes his scimitar towards the humans chest, moving from left to right.
Snarling, cussing, sneering. Spit forms on the portly Jaegar's chin and it clings to his unkept beard, as he pesters the -hai Shagrat with murmured snarls. Intermixed is his maddening laughter that comes with each missed attack by the -hai and well as his counter-attack - a sword always thrusting forwards quickly, this time toward the beast's arm that wields the weapon.
Stygius chases the orc-in-human-skin all the way to the gate of the outpost, but almost drops to the ground in exhaustion as Balzor's steed leaps ahead, out of the fray. Spitting after him, the dark human spins back around, pausing at the edge of the melee to scratch his beard and consider his next target.
The grizzly makes a face, but presses what little advantage he has. This time he seeks the shaft of the warhammer in his teeth, to drag it down and keep it from the fight.
Air explodes From Ragakmog's mouth as his spear tear's his oppont, Porle's flesh, "Justa little undressing my pretty!" He cackles circling as an axe springs to his opponent's hands. Ragakmog feints once, twice and then follows through with a spiraling attack aimed for Porle's midriff.
The wargs continue howling as they circle the opponents locked in battle. Occasionally, one darts in to the fray trying to knock down those who look like easy prey, before bounding off again.
Marin flings her arms aside and jumps backwards deftly to narrowly miss the bite of Grundash's scimitar. A grim smile curls her lips as naught but unfortunate air is found by the dark blade. Bringing her shield down defensively again, she makes a backhanded attempt at her opponent this time, making to slice at the creatures thick neck.
The One smiles upon his apostle who fights today, for Tso'har had not noticed the tip of the spear at his back, but as he draws his scimitar behind him to make a deep wound upn his foe The One guides his blade to knock the spear away. With a start, Tso'har catches himself, and in that briefest pause his enemy has drowned in a sea of crushing bodies and swept away to fight somewhere or someone else. Spinning his giant uruk body around to spy his striker, the Bone Reader blinks at the 'familiar' figure of black, but before thinking more he thrusts forward to defend himself.
Ricker scans the melee in search of a maggot to rend. He fixes on Porle, who is hard-pressed by Ragakmog, and charges forward, swinging his axe toward the orcish monstrosity. He's not singing this time; he wears an expression of deadly purpose.
Shagrat howls in pain as his right forearm is spliced open. With the sudden pain his right hand falls from the battle axe, leaving only his left to carry the full weight. Cursing in the black tongue he flips the shaft under his left arm and steps forward thrusting the pike out in attempt to keep some distance.
attack jaegar
Porle curses the dark foe before him. With a defensive sweep, more to distance his foe than connect, he swings back at Ragakmog. His other hand, free of shield or other sweeps down to pick up the fallen bow, a red lind on it from the passing of his own blood.
Unwilling to lose his weapon to the attacking bear, Trakarg shoves out with his left arm, using his mailed left hand to push at his opponent's grasping jaws. The mail is torn and almost pulled off entirely by the great force of the Grizzly, yet this allows the Warlord's hammer an escape, and it soon rises to his side in preparation for a quick blow. The Olog warrior lashes out once more, still upon one knee, and aiming his attack low and for the beast's huge left leg.
Before the scimitar reaches his chest, however, the Woodman's crutch is brought up to block it. Not being brought out of the close-pressedness, the club slides upwards, shaving a good chunk off of it as it goes, but in the end, being stabbed upwards at Braek's chin.
Ragakmog arches his eyebrow and jumps back just in time t oavoid the axe swing of his second opponet Ricker. Keeping his agressive energy on the archer thoguh he growles as he falls for the trick allowing Porle ot retrieve his bow. Taking equal advantage he thrusts as Porle is bent down and in an awkward postion all the while his shield trained on Ricker.
This latter hit upon the slim, wiry elf clips not his armor, yet cuts the flesh. Deeply, one might add. "Agh!" howls the poor, poor apprentice, as his deep red blood trickles out, staining his leathers. He doth stagger back, into the mighty Chieftan's shoulders, groaning in pain.
The bear is not so easily stopped, however. The warhammer slips his powerful jaws once, but misses as it sweeps towards the creature... and, following it, the bruin seeks once more to seize it and wrest it loose.
The crutch catches Braek's chin, snapping his head up and causing him to bite his tongue. Black blood oozes from the corner of his mouth, and he mutters something gutteral again. In frustration, his scimitar lashes out violently yet wildly toward the human.
Porle cries out at the spear of the cruel Ragakmog bites him in the belly. Dark rich blood spills out on the ground between them as Porle finally makes a swing back. His eyes seeming a little glossy with pain.
Grundash stumbles backwards as the Quendi presses her attack. The woman's blade strikes, but misses its mark and cuts his upper left arm. Cursing loudly, the warg-uruk backs away while reaching down for the horn at his side. Bringing the device to his dark cracked lips again, a harsh shrill sound comes out. It isn't long before a large, grey beast rushes up from the left and lunges at Marin.
Trakarg persists in his defence of the weapon, once again shoving his free left arm in the way of the Grizzly's powerful jaws. The thick, scaley skin upon his left forearm is gashed by sharp teeth, this time releasing a small amount of his thick black blood. The hammer in his right hand's powerful grip, however, is drawn back and forth in another quick strike. The weapon's spiked head, this time, aimed in desperation for the beast's face.
Jaegar's proud gaze suddenly catches the red eye that stares unblinkingly at him from the -hai Shagrat's helmet. This red eye encaptures the man's attention for only moments as suddenly pain shoots up his shoulder, where the -hai's weapon somehow evaded the shield. Raging in both pain and anger, Jaegar's longsword rises anew, with a new fury, toward the -hai's one good arm.
Pushing forward, the great bear persists in his quest to disarm his foe. Defending himself by avoidance alone, he moves towards the creature's guard once again. Once more, the teeth sink towards the shaft of the warhammer.
Tracing above the bandage line, leaving a jagged red gash in his chest, the scimitar bites into the chieftain. Now, all signs of hubris that he was starting to show disappear, as his bandaged arm is brought up protectively over the cut. His free arm though, is still unaffected, and it is that one that holds the crutch, which is now brought down to try and catch the orc's sword arm in an attempt to throw him off balance.
Rumbling deeply with pain from his numerous gashes and light wounds, Trakarg at last manages to shove himself to his feet, in the same motion drawing back a step and avoiding the bear's next quick strike. His weapon arm is drawn back reflexively, up and around in a practiced circular motion which brings it forward again in a powerful strike. The weapon's weighty head is driven towards the Grizzly's head.
As Marin's attention was drawn by the uruk's curious need to make music in the midst of battle, the warg catches her unaware and she tumbles to the ground beneath it's weight and rending claws. A small cry, more of surprise than pain, finds its way from her lips, though she manages to cling to her weapon which she quickly forces upward for the warg's stomach.
*Whoosh* goes Ricker's axe blade as he attempts to swing around the rim of Ragakmog's shield. The smith's deadly calm remains, though he winces a bit as Porle is struck. Ricker absently wishes that he'd had time to rustle up some arrows.
His enemy disappears, yet another stumbling back into the mass of death and swarming beings. But more concerns him, for crushing near is the toiling straining flesh that his jagged-tipped blade cris out for, the loud weapon of the mute uruk. But as the healer turns to face a close opponent, a sudden surge of boddies gettig pushed back knocks into Tso'har from behind, the sheer number of bodies bringing him to the ground with a loud thud. He fights to stand, but hardly manages to keep from being swept underneither.
Frustrated as the great troll gets his legs under him again, the bear bellows a terrible roar! Charging inside, he sweeps his short, powerful claws to rake along the inside of the weapon arm... perhaps, if the hammer will not come off, the arm might.
Ragakmog,withdrawing his spear from it's lick on Porle, baps away the other's axe as he tries to make good an attack. He leans back keeping his good spear range and keeping Ricker at bay. Feinting for Ricker he jumps mid air swapping targets for Porle and driving his spear for his stomach.
Shagrat grimaces as he forces his right arm to catch hold of the lower end of his battle axe. Then just in time he thrusts it forward to knock aside the attack. Grining slightly under the pain he pushes the axe forward, trying to get the tip of the axe to slice into the underchin of Jaegar.
Kroltar pages: what are the mordor help files?
And that momentum is put to good use as the arm covering himself is now sliced open, the scimitar going through bark and bandage, skin and tissue. Now bleeding a good deal, the Chieftain's pace begins to slow. He's not so quick with the crutch anymore, but it is still swung in a powerful arc at Braek's head.
<
A constant trickle of blood streaks down Jaegar's chest, beneath the chain armor that lays partially hidden by his swaying cloak, beneath the shield that bears the blood of another orc. The feeling of his own blood doesn't quell the man's fever of anger. In fact, it swells and his swipe at Shagrat is accompanied by a deep grunt.
Porle yelps as the dipping spear misses his belly only to slide down his inside leg uncomfortably high up. Porle crosses his blood spattered legs in reaction as he unconsiously takes a step backwards. It is cetrain that will hurt more tomorrow, if there is one. He starts to back away from Ragakmog.
Dinenduin's mighty antagonist(s) are lost within the fray, much to his luck. Though he still leaks his precious wine unto the wild grass of these plains, he does whirl about, spear meekly arising to face Braek once more. "We bleed deeply, Chieftan! Mayhaps flight is desirable!" He pierces at the uruk's midsection with a groan.
The warg drives Marin to the ground snapping it's jaws at her, drool running off it's lips and on to here face. The warg's muzzle moves closer, ready to crush the Quendi's windpipe when it emits a loud yelp as the woman's blade enters it's midsection. Rolling off, the beast bounds away and leaves Grundash to his fate. The uruk, however, has taken this time to regroup. He stands over Marin and drives his scimitar down to her midsection.
The crutch slams into the studded leather helmet. Braek's head swims in stars and fades in and out of the void. Shaking his head furiously for a second, he regains consciousness to feel the spir tip of the other human embed itself in between the folds of leather armor and into his stomach. Confused, by the new assailant, Braek lashes out in towards Dinenduin with his scimitar, now cover in red.
Trakarg's steps are hardly quick enough to bring him out of the charging bear's way, and as he lifts his own weapon to strike back, his right side is slashed by the other's claws. The grizzly tears through his black surcoat, yet fails to penetrate the thick, scaley skin which serves as the Olog's effective armour. With a low growl, the warlord brings his hammer down once more, the powerful blow aimed for his opponent's upper back.
Heartened by Stygius' successful attack, Ricker redoubles his, extending his axe to its maximum range and swinging in a long, disemboweling thrust toward Ragakmog. Again, the back of his mind is wondering how Styg manages to make up such cool and impressive battle cries...
Shagrat manages to bring his shaft up to deflect the blow. Then spitting towards Jaegar's eyes he swings the axe down towards Jaegar's legs.
attack jaeg
Though her tunic is not stained with blood, her own and that of the warg, Marin manages to roll out of the path of Grundash's scimitar...barely. She jumps to her feet and wastes not one moment in returning the assault of her assailant in like manner. Making a downward arc, her sword seeks the shoulder of Grundash's swordarm.
Furiously, the bear slips away from the vicious hammer. Pushing up with his rear legs, the creature seeks to lock his mighty forepaws about the shoulder of the troll... and, at the same time, to sink his teeth into the top of the shoulder, in the thick hunks of meat.
"Ye can go if ye want, elf." says the Chieftain. "This is my outpost, I built it with me own hands. A little more of me won't hurt it so much." this sentence is growled out, even as he takes advantage of the orc's attention to this new foe by trying to place the butt of his crutch in the orc's face.
Braek collapses to the ground, defeated by Cvalnir!
Braek's weapon "Curved Scimitar" falls to the ground...
His portly midsection seems ripe for a gutting, yet the stocky Jaegar moves his sword and feet deftly enough so that often enough only the man's cloak is touched. Ragged as it is, the cloak bears new holes from the beast's axe. But that hardly touches Jaegar's mind, for his eyes and sword seek out Shagrat's throat.
Ragakmog presses on Porle not feeling that the archer is out of the battle yet but merely trying to get range again for his deadly bow. Fails t oreact in time to a thrid opponent Stygius as the opponent's spear glances off his chian armor causing the Orc Captain to snarl in pain. Distarcted by the pain and the battle cry Ragakmog's shield fails t ohold of Ricker's axe as it gouges though his armour bitting his thigh. "SSSS" he hisses truning on Ricker and thrusting low, "DIE!"
Kroltar Wipes the sweat off his brow, although he hasn't even fought yet.
Dinenduin's unshielded chin is cut by the bloodied blade of Braek, prepending his fall by mere moments. The elf, despite his pain, manages a faint grin. "A hardy people, you Beornings! Lead on! You're my good luck charm on this fine day, Chieftan!" There he stands amidst the battle, nearly leaning upon his ashen spear's length, regaining some lost breath.
Kroltar cringes as n Uruk is sliced in twine.
Stygius raises his spear over his head, slamming it point-first down towards the orc's lower back from behind as the monster turns towards Ricker. "nyeng," he snarls, the sounds gurgling up from the back of his throat, "ez ezii!"
Porle is as Ragakmog guessed, the dark stain of turning away in batle weighs heavily on him. Soom, with one hand over the bloody mess of his side, he is back towards Ragakmog. A dire look in his light eyes as he slashes towards Ragakmog's belly.
The crutch cracks into as it thunders into Braek's skull. Cracking sounds can be heard from his neck, and he lands in a thump, his head at an ackward angle from his body.
"Not today, I think.", grunts Ricker as his opponent's spear swishes past his midsection. The stoic, deadly expression changes a bit; his lips start to curl up in an equally grim smile. The axe makes a bright wheel in the air, turning three hundred sixty degrees before driving back toward Rag's midsection.
Trakarg is relatively quick to follow the bear's movements, his hammer dropping low as it rises to stand. The beast's claws rend at his shoulder, this time drawing a thin gushing of black blood through the tattered and frayed surcoat which is now barely held together around the Olog's weighty frame. Hissing harshly behind the helm's iron mask, the Warlord attempts to draw away from the standing Grizzly's grasp as he shoves the spiked end of his weapon towards its exposed belly.
Shagrat ducks under the swinging sword and moves his hands about to postion his battle axe to attack at Jaegar's groin. With the pike facing forward now, he steps foward and thrusts.
The spikes of the warhammer rake the underbelly of the bear, but they do naught against the creature's thick skin. Teetering on back legs, but leaning heavily upon the troll, the bear follows his enemy as the foe backs away. Sharp teeth continue to maul the joint of the shoulder, in hopes of destroying the arm.
Unfazing is Jaegar's sword, rising each time as quickly as his first attack and dipping and arcing in defiance of the -hai's axe, ringed with the man's blood. This time, an arc of Jaegar's weapon sends the beast's attack safely clear and with as much as speed as his bulky arms can muster, a counterattack is leveled against Shagrat's side.
Ragakmog twists enough to keep Stygius'fatal spear thrust int oa glancing buttock blow. He leaps bakc clearing his belly from the path of Porle's swing while using the thick shaft of his spear to bat away Rickers axe attack. With a snarl at the coward who now turns to reattack him he twists his forearm to bring his spear thrust ot bear on his original foe Porle.
Shagrat drops to one knee and spins to his left, the sword passing harmlessly by. With his arms straining he brings the head of his axe around with him, the blade passing at knee height towards Jaegar
Cvalnir manages a weak smile at the elf's words. "And mayhaps an elf can be good for something, I saw how ye guarded me back. But there're still more goblins in me Wood, so I've work to do." The bloody crutch is shoved in the back of his belt, that hand to now be filled with a scimitar borrowed from the felled Braek. "He won't be needing this, I wager." Starting up his lope, he looks for a new foe to attack.
The warg-uruk curses as Marin rolls out of the way and his blade sinks deeply into the soft soil where her body just was. Wrenching his scimitar free takes more time than the uruk has. Turning his head, he sees the woman's blade coming down on his weapon arm. With no blade, to block the attack, the turns and uses his left arm as a shield. The woman's longsword easily slices through his arm. The lower half falls to the ground as black blood rushes freely from the open wound. With one last effort, he frees his weapon and runs off for the safety of the forest and the wargs that live there.
His slitted eyes flashing in pain and anger, Trakarg drives his booted feet squarely into the ground, making his stand against the bear which continues to tear at his shoulder. His left hand drops to grasp the warhammer's haft, even as drops of his thick black blood spill to the ground and hiss softly in the trampled earth and mud. With a desperate heave, the Olog Warlord shoves his weapon, his weight behind it, into the great bear's chest.
Porle is hit and hard. Air escapes, tainted with fresh blood from his throat. He staggers back great waves of fresh and raw pain running over him as he all but drops on the ground, the axe barely held in his fingers.
Clang! The sound of steel envelopes the man, Jaegar, and his wicked opponent. Jaegar's shield provides the block of Shagrat's speedy axe and the sudden joining of the two's steel provides the ear-ringing sound. Beginning to labor in his breathing, Jaegar grunts heavily as he swipes at the -hai's head, toward the wretched one red eye.
Stygius growls, spitting at the orc's back as it turns to attack another beorning. Holding his spear with one hand, he beats with the other on his chest, shouting at the beast, "eze-aalek i eze-fiizhag ASH, sughel sudnihyedh!", and for the first time since the battle started, following it up with a snarl in heavily-accented Common, "turn and fight me, you coward!" He grasps his spear tightly in both hands now, and jumps at the orc's back again, this time aiming towards the back of its throat.
One of the Beijabar's fists momentarily looses its lock on the shoulder of the troll, to sweep away the pain-causing hammer. Grinding his teeth into the shoulder, the bruin begins to let his weight drop back to the earth... with luck, dislocating the arm in the process.
Dinenduin takes up his spear at great lengths of pain, as his holding point for it seems to be much less than this mighty warrior which he follows. "Aye! Cleanse the yrch!" he cries, faintly so, ambling in an odd limp at this Chieftan's side.
Seeing that some goblin captain is holding a goodly number of his folk off, the now scimitar-wielding Chieftain makes his way towards Ragakmog and those of Beorn's folk fighting him. Coming up at the goblin's back, he awkwardly swings the scimitar at the goblin's neck.
Shagrat, having not risen completly to his feet is able to easily duck the sword. As it passes he places his feet underneath of himself and leaps forward with the pike of his battle axe pointing towards Jaegar's neck
In an attempt to keep Ragakmog from getting any kind of respite from attack, Ricker immediately follows up Stygius' attack with one of his own. His long-handled axe whooshes toward the uruk's shoulder, in an attempt to follow the Grizzly's strategy, and disable the arm.
Marin sneers and kicks at the lower arm of the uruk that now lies on the ground before her, liberated from the beast's body by her sword. She takes a moment to regain her breath and gauge her own wounds dealt by the warg. Ever conscious of the turmoil around her, however, she scans the crowd in anticipation of the next victim...
Trakarg twists his slashed, torn and bleeding shoulder away from the great bear as it 's great claw releases him. Free at last of the beast's jaw and claws, the Olog warlord stumbles backwards a step, over the fallen body of a large, black-clad Uruk warrior who lies bleeding in the muddy earth. With only the power of his massive left arm behind it, the troll beast swings his hammer in a low, wide arc, hoping to keep his opponent at bay.
Kroltar gathers some brush and begins rubbing stones over them. Suddenly, a spark lights, and a blazing flame erupts from the wood.
Dinenduin makes haste toward the stooping Uruk with light spear raised. In something of an awkward stab, he brings his weapon's tip down atop Ragakmog's better leg, apparently drained from the grueling battle. He stands a good four feet from the aging Chieftan's scimitar, now.
Bouncing off shield and raised sword, Shagrat's axe bloodies what's exposed of Jaegar's exposed face. From where his helmet does not cover, blood swells into the man's mouth. Promptily raging in pain and anger, the portly man spits what blood he can out of his mouth as he tries to fend off the -hai, swiping at his arm.
From the ground Tso'har looks over to the glazing eyes of another uruk. Dirt is kicked into the healers face from the battle, but for a second all is forgotten...for a lonely bone somehow has escaped the clutches of Tso'har and his pouches...and it lays now upon the ground by the fallen uruk here...the bone of revival and...and...more... With a start the beast raises himself from the ground and scrambles to the deathly injured. He offeres a silent prayer to The One as he forces his way over the few feet until over the body. A few swings ward of the closest enemies, while with one hand the giant uruk lifts the body over his shoulder, and settles him there. Forging through, his blade tasting occasionally, his body being beeaten too, he shrugs what he can off, for this uruk has been singles out. MAking headway where he can, the healer moves to a half-less-crowded aree, to lay the body down and struggle in his pouches for his medicines.
Kroltar stumbles around like a fool, repeating, "Eee! AAA! Commander! Commander! Don't let them hit you, commander!
The hammer slams, hard, into the front shoulder of the bear; bones grind, though they do not break, and some dark, soiled places appear from where the spikes had slammed home. Snarling, the bear drops back for a moment, watching his foe to see if he will have to chase him on a wounded leg, or if the troll wants to play some more.
Ragakmog hearing the war cries of Stygius with his good ear side steps the others charge for hsi back and throat. He cackles as one with a familar weapon, the scimitar stesp in front of him and swings short. Every backing from his opponets to take best advantage of his spear He whirls blocking Ricker's axe blow with hsi shield and giving Stygius his wish a thrust toward the man's gut. HE brings his shield up to ward off Dineduin's blow at the last minute.
All right. This is getting ridiculous. There are four Beornings and an elf fighting the same uruk. Ricker decides to attempt a slightly risky manuever, and thrusts his axe blade toward Ragakmog's misshapen skull, attempting to split it.
Stygius snorts, derisively, mocking the orc as he easily pushes the thrust out of the way, following up with a quick thrust of his own towards the orc's face, "ha'dhaz ilu ga'ezoi-kaun wa'waz? E???"
Porle steps back away from the fighting Ragakmog. He brings up his axe slowly continuing to back away, unable to summon the curage to strike again, distance is his new friend, and towards having more distance he heads.
Shagrat lands back on his feet and turns to face Jaegar, only to feel bite of steel on his arm. Losing his grasp in the slickness of the fresh blood, Shagrat is left holding his battle axe in his left arm again. Stepping forward he thrusts his battle axe up to the left to knock aside the blade in attempt to grapple with Jaeger
Enough of this. No, seriously this time. Ricker swears as he misses again, and disengages from his current melee to survey the rest of the battle. He does this just in time to catch the grip of orcish reinforcements.....
The unexpected impact of Trakarg's hammer blow sends a shock up his powerful left arm, the Olog grunting deeply with exertion. His right hand, covered partly in his own thick black blood drops to grip the weapon's thick haft as it once again is drawn back for a strike. The Olog siezes the opportunity granted to him by his opponent's hesitation to lunge forward and swing his heavy hammer out in a wide arc aimed for the Grizzly's head once again.
Still trying this heavy scimitar he's taken from the fallen orc, Cvalnir waves it above his head again, wounded arm still clinging to his even more wounded chest. Seeing that this orc is still evading all the blows of his kinfolk, the Chieftain, more inclined to use the battle axe than this scimitar, decides to try the same motions there. The scimitar is brought in a wild overhead arc, trying to just cleave the goblin from head to stomach.
Into the battle is a new warrior, staff raised and a look on her face that would leave most men stepping back in a hurry. "
Blood rushes down and momentarily settles on what's left of Jagear's lower lip and his now disfigured chin. Still spitting blood and curses at the beast in front of him, Jaegar raises his shield and the immediate impact sends the portly man a step back. Trying to regain his footing, the man arcs his sword out in front of him, fending off the relentless Shagrat.
Kroltar throws flaming branches into the fury, hoping to catch an elf or two
Ragakmog dances as if in some sort of twisted orcean ballet dodging Ricker's head blow and Stygius' spear thrust. His body contorting witha speed uncommon to uruk kind. He is too busy to be concerened withthe escaping archer his frist of 5 oppponents. HE lifts his shield to ward off Cva;mir's blade but the blow si forceful and Ragakmog grimaces in pain. His shield still high leaves an opening for Dinenduin's spear to lick in and taste his orc flesh. The elf now has his full attnetion and he turns on the white demon and thrusts at the ancient foe.
A new horde of black Mordains rush into view, about a dozen in strength, howling their thirsty screams for blood. At their head run the sergeants Yhaark and Grakanta, waving their blades wildly and howling like rabid beasts.
The hammer flies past the grizzly's head, just short of his nostrils. Leaping with his still-uninjured back legs, the beast sets his jaws to intercept the left arm of the troll at the lower point, and do to it what he did to the first arm.
Trickles of black smoke begin to waft up from the small fires that some of the orcs have started. Spiraling upwards the smoke dances about as the fires begin to lick at new fuel, stuggling to grow and multiply.
Shagrat stumbles backwards again, fresh blood spilling onto the ground about him. With limb right arm hangin by his side he backs off for am moment, feebly swinging his battle axe in front of him.
attack jae
With one eye upon the raging battle, the healer moves swiftly before life pases from the body before him. With nimble hands for such a large uruk Tso'har draws this and that from his pouch, bone powder and bandages, and the mixtures of other things on hand, the impromtu attempt begins, for The One will be pleased with this one.
Stygius growls, the animalistic sound rolling out from deep in his throat, and rearranges his grip on his spear, thrusting it straight at the orc's side while the beast is distracted. "fa'shalhevet!" he spits, falling back into his incomprehensible native tongue.
From the old forrest road a few sounds emerge, then into sight bursts uruk re-inforcements, led by two burly warriors wielding cruel looking scimitars. The small party numbers some dozen burly warriors, all well trained, and gibbering for the blood of there enemies. Grakanta, near the front of the party, quickly drops his war-banner into a subordinates hands, and glances around for where his scimitar will be the most needed. Spotting his Teguk being swamped by the enemy, he lunges in, bellowing in Uruk, as he tries to relieve the pressure on him. The rest of the uruk settle into the methodical hack and slash of combat with their foes.
Kerthio leaps over a low bush from the south, her cloak flicking idley in the breeze as she sails through the air, a blood painted bow gripped tightly in her hand, long black dart nocked to its slender gut string. Moments after she arrives at the scene of the battle a dozen other orcs garbed in similar attire and bearing the mark of healers crash through the brush, bows held ready and eyes fixed intently upon the enemies lining the field. Kerthio at the front of the pack ducks down into a defensive crouch, bow held ready to fire. She lets off a volley at a human closing in behind one of her companions, another healer who stalks the field silently with a burning rage guiding him as he attempts to stem the loss of life from the mordain forces.
Yhaark's slitted evil eyes flick and dart across the raging tides of battle, reveling in the sound of screams and the delicious aroma of blood freshly spilled. The grizzled Logaz snarls and leaps into the fray, his deadly blade thrashing through the throng. Spotting a nearby human female, the sergeant looses a horrific war cry and leaps at her with murderous rage...
Dinenduin stumbles back upon heavy heels, his armor nearly ruined, with two great holes upon the stiffened leather. "Agh! Chieftan, soon I fall!" he moans, spear barely grasped within his slender fingers. It clatters about as an oar to an unmanned rung, yet eventually pounds into the ground as a makeshift crutch, with which he shrinks backward once more with.
Trakarg's booming roar, though muffled partly by the thick iron of his mask, rises above the surrounding din of battle as his strike against the great Grizzly is avoided. His towering form draws a step back to the right, narrowly avoding his opponent's quick counter attack even as the hammer in his grip rises overhead. The weapon's pointed end is driven down swiftly towards the terrible bear's snapping jaws, the effort drawing a deep, pained groan from the Olog Warlord.
Reacting to the swing of Yhaark as if it were passing through water rather than air is Brighid, her grin growing as the lust for battle over-takes her. Her staff glides out then, its lazy arc still blurring through the air to cut at the gut of Yhaark.
Grakanta howls wit bloodlust, desperate to sink his blade into the flesh of those who are before him. His wickedly curved scimitar flashes slightly, as he loosens his wrist, his mad, rolling eyes searching for the nearest fresh meat. Laughing almost maniacally, he throws himself at one of the hated elf-women (Marin) whose own hands holds sharp steel.
The jaws of the bear do not move, but his last good forepaw does. Slapping the descending weapon aside, the beast turns his teeth to the sensitive undearm thus exposed...
Coughing now, Jaegar rumbles forward as he curses the -hai still standing before him. The man's thick wrists are revealed anew as he raises his sword away from his body and swings with what force he can muster, bearing the heavy shield and an uneven smile, partially obscured by a blood-soaked lower lip. Jaegar's sword comes arcing toward Shagrat's one good hand.
Marin's laugh gathers where Grakanta's falls and his scimitar glances off her shield and she is thrown back to the tumult. Wasting no time, she pulls the same shield close to her and lunges forward with a thrust at the uruk's gut.
Marin attacks Grakanta with her Longsword, but Grakanta parries the attack with his shield!
Not responding to Brighid's call 'til now, the Chieftain replies, "
Shagrat stumbles backwards as his battle axe tumbles from his hand. Landing with a solid thump, he bellows out in pain. As his blood soaks the earth around him, he flips over and struggles to his feet, moving away from Jaegar
Yhaark's savage scream is crushed out of him as Brighid's heavy staff slams into his guts, knocking the wind out of him. The sergeant goes tumbling away, but is soon back on his feet, hissing in fury. Far worse hurt has he endured in his pain-filled life, and the sharp agony in his stomach only serves to fuel his rage. With a shriek he comes again at Brighid, his thirsty blade slashing at her flesh.
Ragakmog twits to avoid Stygius' spear and twists his ankle some in so doing. Too pressed to persue the elf he ets Dinenduin disnegage. Left with Stygius the bravest of his many foes today he lets loose a laugh to the sky and charges the man spear leading.
Kerthio looks up across the field and sees a lone human standing aprat from the rest, she smiles slightly as she draws the black wood of her arrow back, stretching the gut strinbg to its limit, eyes narrowing as the raven feathers which fletch its tail whisper across her face like blood. Her finger hardly move as the string is released, launching the arrow towards Ricker. She watches the missile flicker up into the air and down towards her target.
Kerthio launches an arrow...
The healess Brighid again steps aside from the blow of Yhaark, and her far more infamous weapon sweeps out just as her staff lashed out at the maggot's face. "Bah, you maggots can't even keep a blade straight, much less swing it, unless the air be your enemy!"
Grakanta smiles as his scimitar rings of the elfs shield, and quickly maneuvers his own defense in the way of the return blow. Watching the longsword glance harmlessly off the re-eye painted surface, he tries to twist into another attack, spitting curses out of his mouth at regular intervals 'Foul spawn' he taunts in crude Westron 'What can a such a puny creature do against someone like MEE!' As he roars the last word he slices his curved blade in toward the elf's chest.
Grakanta attacks Marin with his Scimitar, but Marin parries the attack with her Longsword!
Trakarg's weapon so easily knocked aside by the bear's great paw, he is thrown slightly forward and off balance by the unsuccessful blow's momemtum. The Grizzly's jaws find their target, tearing away a small section of tough, scaley flesh from the Olog warlord's underarm. Black blood hisses and smokes as it drips to down the injured giant's arm and to the muddy ground beneath his blocky, booted feet. Anger and anguish are released by the Olog warrior as he roars out words in his master's dark tongue, "
Catching on some old leaves and grass, a once tiny dying fire suddenly darts across the ground. Its flames licking at the heels of orcs and humans alike. Spreading out across the ground the flames reach only inches off the ground, but as it nears a wall it starts a pile of brush on fire. The red tongues explode in the dryness and soar along the walls towards the sky.
Ricker grimly faces the charge of uruk, attempting to single one out for laying into with his axe. So many choices... Ah HA! As the arrow flies past his head, the Beorning smith crows and begins to run toward Kerthio. Whatever smile is on his face vanishes, as he puts his mind and body to the task of reaching her before she can shishkabob him....
Dinenduin gladly does take this assistance from his newest friend, hooking an arm about his hoary neck whilst wincing. "Oh! And if I do depart, tell fair Rhuarc that I loved him!" He snorts forth a weak chortle, to which turns a cough, and a groan, all as this pair scrambles off the field of war.
Clinging the flat of his sword to his bloodied shield in a loud clanging noise, Jaegar bellows out in an elated voice that for the briefest of moments, rises above all else, "Crawl back to the darkness, beast, and may the sun's light make you recall the pain!" His arms rise in victory and even his bloodied sword seems to shine in the day's light.
Porle took a long while, his ragged steps carrying his far into the back lines of the beornings. The villagers fighting like guard dogs against the rapid rats of the outpost. Groaning, he grasps the loose skin on his belly and pulls it up lessening the bleeding as he winces in deep pain.
Yhaark hisses as he brings his stout shield up to deflect the woman's blow. "Skai! You talk much, human, but when I cut your tongue out of your severed skull you shall not have much to say!" He roars and attacks again, this time trying to get under her guard and cut deep into the arteries of the legs.
Stygius attempts to side-step the orc's charge, but trips over the haphazardly-spread out body of a fallen enemy, falling backwards towards the ground - which although it prevents the short man from being impaled, the enemy's spear still knocks against his metal helmet, confounding the man's already-serious problem of gravity. Luckily, the impact with the ground isn't as hard as it could be - due to the various soft orcish body parts scattered around, and he rebounds quickly, thrusting upwards with a grunt towards the inward side of Ragakmog's legs, obviously out for true pain.
The bear limps forward a step, but his right shoulder is hurt too badly for the chase. He settles back on his forelegs, and snarls at the departing troll. "
"You wouldn't know how to find a skull, the way ye swing that thing!" shouts back the healess, blocking the blade of Yhaark with a wide grin. If anything, she is enjoying this battle more than anyone else, and the speed of her staff seems to grow with each attack, now aiming to put the maggot on his arse with a sweep of his feet.
Marin stops the scimitar short with her elven wrought blade and pushes it away. The sound of the uruk's glancing blow still ringing in her ears only incites her anger further and she uses the momentum from her parry to make a wide arc and come against her opponents side with the slicing edge. If she understands his Westron babble, she shows no sign of it.
Ragakmog sidesteps the spear thrust to his privates but catches a bit of the blade on his leg in any case. With his foe nearly prone he towers over him continuing his laugh as he thrusts down on the haspless man.
Kerthio snarls as the drt misses the human, her eyes glow angrily as she stoops and pulls another from her quiver. She draws it back, sighting carefully along the shaft this time as she pulls the taut string back to her ear, not moving in the slightest even when one of the fletched feathers cuts lightly into the side of her cheek. She stands, her eyes still focused intently along the arrow at the humans chest and lets the string slip past her fingers with and audible *TWANG* as the string goes loose, possibly too loose. She ignores the arrows flight as she quickly restrings the bow, making sure of the strength and tightness.
Kerthio launches an arrow...
Yhaark yelps as his feet vanish from beneath him, smashed aside by Brighid's attack, and he collapses in a painful heap. Quick as a viper he regains himself with a scream of pain and rage and frustration. "Huumaan!" he screams, his scimitar flashing, singing with the strength and speed that his arms wield it with, trying to overwhelm Brighid by sheer power...
Stygius barely rolls out of the way of the direct thrust, the spear's edge just cutting a thin, not-so-deep line across his back. Using his spear to push himself to his feet, he steps up towards his opponent, with a quick jab directly towards its lower belly, snarling.
Grakanta grunts slightly as his eyes open a little wide as the elven-wrought blade evades his guard to slice a small way through the ring mail on his side, and a foul, deep black blood begins to seep out of the wound, seeming to coagulate and stop almost instantaneously. 'You will pay for that, Elflet' he warns, his scimitar waving menacingly in the air in front of him 'Every wound on me I shall inflict upon you even worse' Seeming to ignore the slight pain in his side, his curved blade once again flicks through the air toward Marin, seeking blood to wet itself on.
A crow of good cheer from Ricker as Kerth's arrow /again/ misses. He holds his axe murderously in his right hand, and holds his shield in front of him to guard against further missiles. The smith is perhaps thirty feet away from his future opponent, giving her time for one more shot...
The healess laughs as she is hit, and though the blow leaves her a wound to wear later, it apparently does not leave her dismayed. "Ahh, so ye aren't just a foul-smelling ape? I'm amazed you can move and talk at once!" she taunts, staff flaring out once more, this time again seeking the face of Yhaark.
Orange and red flicker about as the walls begin to catch a fire. Black smoke soars into the sky, twisting about the columans of smoke darken the air, strangling those caught with in it.
Both arms torn and bleeding, Trakarg draws back and away from his fierce opponent, his cruel, angry eyes locked upon the creature's own. "
Ragakmog is begining ot gorw weary at the great effort of fighting multiple foes and naow with one brave fote he lootses his asense of timcing and battle grace as Stkygius rips his mid section with his spear/. hearing the order 7ot fal l south he takesa last stab at his downed sfoe and themn movets off enoguh to let Stygius stand and persue if he should so choose.ygius
Yhaark stumbles backwards, his nose crushed by the blow. Snorting black blood, he blinks and shakes his head, trying to clear out the flashing lights in his eyes. He stares at Brighid for a long moment, blood streaming down his hideous face, then, heeding the call of his Warlord, turns and flees the battle, loping away from this woman whom he has begun to fear.
With a quick jump backward, a moment of grace amid the darkness of battle, Marin avoids the scimitar once again. Her face scrunches slightly as the smell of smoke finally betrays the fire to her senses and she mumbles something incoherent under her breath. Levelling a steely gaze on her assailant she attacks again, her steel singing through the heavy air.
Kerthio growls angrily as she lifts her bow again, her second missile having missed its mark. The human, pelting towards her with sheild outstretched presents a difficult shot, but just enough of him is visible to make a mark possible. She aims at the slight point above his neck where neither his shield no armour manage to cover. She draws the black messenger back and sends its whistling at the human, the sound made by loose fletching on the arrow, something she mist talk angrily to the head fletcher about. She quickly draws another arrow and nocks it, doubting she'll have time to use it if this first does not hit.
Leaving the elf's side, the man says grimly, "Ye'll live to do it yerself, elf, but for now, I've more fighting of me own to do." Seeing Brighid get hit though, he makes more haste, saying back to Dinenduin, "Don't ye worry none, I'll come back and get ye after this tussle." Yanking the scimitar from his belt, he starts back to the battle. Brighid more than has things under control, however, so he goes to bail Stygius out, again.
Sitting by the gates, the fierce grizzly defends the exit for any Beornings who happened to have noticed the blazes raging among the outpost. Though he does not move upon his wounded leg, he does keep the path clear with long swipes of his thick claws.
The orc's last stab catches Stygius on the side, still not much more than a superficial flesh wound, but the pain of all the small cuts together seems to be draining on the short man. He chases after the orc for a few steps, shoving his spear point-first at its back, and then stepping back and out of the way, trying to calm his rapid breathing and clear the sweat from his eyes.
The healess snorts as the orcs tries to flee, and darts after him, fast as a deer through the wood, though the smoke is growing somewhat thicker in the air. It takes little vision to swing her staff through the space occupied by Yhaark's head. "Ye can't even figure out where the battle is, you are running the wrong way!" she taunts loudly.
"DAMN!", swears Ricker as the arrow removes the entire bottom half of his right ear. That was almost too close for comfort, but the smith's not really thinking about that as he hefts his axe and makes it sing. The weapon swishes through the air toward Kerthio, vaguely toward her midsection.
Grakanta growls as Marins blade once again impacts on his heavy shield. This time, however, the impact is jarring. Gritting his teeth, he swings his blade out in front of him, aiming at the elusive elf women who he is beginning to fear. After this swing he retreats back a few steps, but whether as a plan or in fear is yet unknown. Taking the time to glance around, his eyes take in the raging fires all around him, and he gives a viscious grin at the sight.
Trakarg's tall, ominous form is soon concealed from sight by the choking smoke emitted by the surrounding buildings as they burn. The Warlord moves slowly on northwards, leaving a distinct trail of thick black blood in the trampled mud behind him.
An orc is thrown against the firy walls. Flames leap across his body, setting him ablaze. Hollering in pain at the burning of his skin he runs through the crowd waving his arms. The smell of burning flesh drifts through the air, merging with the smell of burnted wood as the orc races through the crowds.
Ragakmog's troops rally with him falling back as commanded to the southgate. performing a hodling action for those harder pressed behind them. Ragakmog smiles as if happy that Stygius had the will to persue him even under an orderly with drawl. His foes spear glances off his shield and catches him in the shoulder. The smoke begins ot fill the courtyard here and obscure vision. Ragakmog thrusts at Stygius leering as he does.
This gaunt elven warrior does raise a lesser hand to his departing companion, though obscured by darkened phantoms of smoke. "Take care, aged man! Do take care!" With his brows slanted in determination, Dinenduin swiftly hobbles forth to the great beast stalwart of the Beorning woodsmen.
<
Awaiting Ragakmog's troops at the south gate is the aforementioned grizzly bear. Though wounded sorely by the warhammer of the troll, he is still a match for the foul orcs... limping into the fight, he snaps at the apparent leader with his stern jaws.
Marin seems to have done this before. Her elusive sidestepping of Grakanta's blade merely another step in the dance. The slight retreat of Grakanta leaves her more room to maneuver before her next attack and she turns once to gather power in her swing before she aims her blade with arm fully extended at Grakanta's midsection.
The Chieftain presses Ragakmog and his crew further towards the gate, which just happens to be where the great silvertipo Bruin is. As the bear latches onto Ragakmog with his jaws, the Chieftain swings the scimitar around to try and catch the orc-captain's neck.
Ragakmog is traked by the bears claws across the shoulder and ragakmog drives his spear in answer to the attack trying ot push off the beast and pass for he knows this creature only too well recognising its scent and the pain of its claws instantly.
Kerthio growls angrily in both pain and pure fury as she is forced backwards by an axe swiping past her, leaving a deep gash in its passing, her bow falling loosely from her hands onto the ground. She screams and hatred as her eyes go flat and she aim a sharp kick at the humans arm which is tense from holding the axe as it swung out viciously at the shamaness moments earlier.
The bear moves slowly with a wounded shoulder, but he shows a stern grudge in his eyes. The spear sinks into the fatty flesh on the outside of his arm, barely elicitng blood. With flashing eyes, the bruin's teeth seek a new home in the orc's throat.
The fires send columns of thick black smoke rising into the air. Seeing the tide turn against their allies, the wargs of the Mirkwood begin howling to each other, a signal for retreat. One by one, they disengage from the melee and lope into the forest. Melting into the shadows. Yet a few of their numbers lie dead on the battlefield.
Grakanta howls in agony as the elfs blade evades his guard once again, this time penetrating fully through mail and ragged undercloth, to pierce a good 3 inches into his lower belly. Pulling himself back, he gasps a little, flailing in desperation at the elf women as he prepares for an escape attempt. The fires continue to roar, and all around the place uruks are being chopped to pieces by powerful warriors, and Grakanta doesnt fancy staying around to fight those who tore apart his superiors.
Yhaark growls and agilely ducks Brighid's swing, rolling away from the human and coming up running. "The Eye take you, woman! We shall meet again!" he calls back to her, bolting for the gates and the safety of the forest beyond, following the wargs into the merciful shadows, away from the Sun and those that love it.
Ragakmog calls out "
Through the roaring flames a fleeing orc runs. Being spurned on by the fire raging across his back the orc races towards the exit, his path cutting across that of the mighty bear and his teguk. As his flesh begins to drip from his bones he tries to fling himself past the bear, his horrid voice shrieking in pain and aggony as he burns alive.
Kerthio's kick narrowly misses Ricker's axe, but it /does/ prevent him from continueing his drive against her. The lanky Beorning smith then notices the other uruk with bows around his opponent. He weighs the odds, and swings one last time toward Kerth's head.
Fleeing north sends Ragakmog right at Cvalnir, who whales away with his stolen scimitar again, spinning on his good foot swinging it in yet another jerky rake at the goblin's neck.
The healess keeps chasing Yhaark, no sign of her slowing is shown, as her feet can match her foe once more. This time, her attack is more wild, as she lets fury fill her more fully. "Die, you murderous coward!" she growls.
Keeping his hold on the fleeing uruk, the bruin snarls and uses his claws on the creature.
Ragakmog collapses to the ground, defeated by Grizzly_Bear!
The healer archers turn around to see a human behind them, angrily several arrows are sighted upon him, strings drawn back as the almost semicircle of uruk archers grins horribly. Kerthio recovers from another gash recieved from the human's axe and launches herself backwards out of the way of her archers fire and the humans reach.
As hip bones crunch Ragakmog passes out from the pain of the bears vice like jaws.
The commands from up high, literaly and with rank, the healer Tso'har palms his scimitar again and lifts the dead-weighted body of Braek with the other, shrugging him over the shoulders his not-forgotten companion once always occupied. Inhaling the stench and embers floating in the easy breeze that strokes the flames like a mother cat washing its young, engulfing all in sight, and the lumbering form of the bOne Reader struggles its way over fallen and around those struggling still.
Marin dips to one side to easily miss Grakanta's hasty swing. She leaps after him, even as the foul creature draws away, swinging more aggresively now, paying less mind to her own defensives at the anticipation of bringing another beast down.
As the archers draw a bead on Ricker, he's a bit slow to comprehend it. As he does, however, he re-weighs the odds, and finds them /not/ to be in his favor. He leaps backward in an almost identical manuever to Kerthio's except for one variation. He throws his axe as he begins his retreat, then turns to run....
Yhaark shrieks as the woman smashes him again with her staff, sending him crashing to the earth. "Aarrr!" he screams and staggers upwards, a little slower this time. He crouches in front of Brighid like a trapped animal, full of fear and hate. He hesitates, feints an attack towards her legs, then runs for all his wretched worth, his hobnailed boots churning the ground as he turns and flees north.
Grizzly_Bear lets the limp body of the uruk drop, and turns upon his bodyguard. He is slowed by his injuries, though... only three of them fall to his initial assault.
Grakanta growls as takes another stinging cut, and fear begins to show in his red orbs. Still backing away, he lashes out once more, and even as he does, he takes to his heels, running away from the cursed elven women who hurt him so sore, and running from his master Ragakmog, who is still in the paws of the huge Grizzly. Seeing him drop, he screams in ecstasy, his hated master forever gone. His jubilation is only tempered by the elf who he has left behind him.
the Healers follow the humans movements, their trained eyes watching his weaving intensly until at the right moment as a man they release trheir darts towards the humans open back.
For a moment, Brighid steps forward, dark murder in her eyes, but fury does not rule her mind, like her maggot foes, and so she stops, turning to find another foe worth fighting. She calls out, however, to her man, after she dispatches a lone straggler, "
ragakmog's lads under threat of bear let him play with the three he has destriyed and make for the north gat3e leaving thier master;s body.
The first section of wall to have gone in flames begins to lean inwards as the base is turned to ash. Then with a loud crash it tumbles to the ground, collapsing on the bodies of orcs and humans. Sparks and dust fly into the air, burning ash rains down upon those still in the area.
The Grizzly playing with the orcs who didn't leave their master's body, Cvalnir heeds Brighid's advice and makes quick work of Ragakmog. The stolen scimitar flashes one more time, as he swings it at the Captain's neck, severing the head. Then the scimitar is dropped in favor of the head, which is to be carried off as a trophy. Putting the crutch back under his good arm, the bleeding Chieftain starts hobbling as quickly as possible for the southern gate.
Marin sidesteps out of the way of Grakanta's blade, a cruel smile upturning her lips as he turns to flee. Though she does not give chase, she swings her blade once more at his retreating back to leave a reminder.
The fires blaze hotter now, raging to the very sky. The air grows thin as the blaze steals the breath, and fighting grows ever harder.
As the last uruks begin to run, Gratanka is the last of them to evacuate, slinging his shield over his back as he turns. Luckily for him, the last strike of the elf women glances off the shield on his back. Not stopping to worry about his good fortune, he takes to his heels, moving with extreme nimbleness despite his heavy armor, and many wounds.
Dinenduin eventually makes it to the safety of this mighty grizzly of towering heights, coughing and wheezing from the bleeding of his ribs, and the smoke which he breathes in tandem. "Hoh! Ho-hah!" coughs forth the gasping elf, probably meaning to make a remark, yet failing miserably.
Halting, the Chieftain remembers something, and he stops his hobbling, going back to get Dinenduin, grisly trophy in hand. "Come on, elf!" he calls out, "The battle's over. Now get before ye go up like the rest of the outpost."
The healess wastes no time, moving to stand by Cvalnir, her eyes wary, hunting for another to strike down. "I think the coward maggots are fleeing. Let's get back, and I'll have at these wounds myself."
Orcish arrows fly through the air toward Ricker as he runs (belatedly) back toward the Grizzly and the other fleeing Beornings. Three black-feathered arrows suddenly grow from his back, eliciting a scream of agony from the smith. He continues to sprint, though he's rapidly losing blood, and barely makes it before slamming into the furry side of the bear and collapsing.
Marin lowers her sword and shield as she watches the backs of the uruk's fly. Blade still in hand, she raises the back of her hand to wipe her brow. She moves to join her allies.