Blood in a Rohirrim Camp

Arachias moves through the weeds, his wrists moving machinally as he parts each reed from his way. His beady red eyes glow with infernal passion as long drops of drool and foam spews layers onto the ground. With each step and movement a crunch shutters under his claw and foot, while the srabbling insects of the bank are smashed from his weight. The chill wind and rain of the storm, seem to make little difference to his passion for death and for blood, his brow lowered in continue focus as he moves.

Grishnakh stalks through the grass at the rear of the scattered company of skulking orcs. He has kept this position since leaving the fortress, with orders to Troglaaz to command this raid. The Teguk, commander of orcs, creeps with uncanny stealth. He is broad and heavy, squat, wearing heavy armor and a wide shield, but he moves with the skill and silence of a hunter.

West Bank of the Anduin, Below Rauros Falls

Near to the north, the roar of Rauros Falls can be heard. All along the northern horizon, the escarpment that marks the southern edge of the Emyn Muil rises up and spreads to the east and west, and the great falls plummit down directly north of you. To the west and south, the rolling, cool and damp plains of eastern Rohan sprall. The great river Anduin, just to your east, runs in almost a pure north-south orientation. Across it, there lays a brief beach and then the great Nindalf marsh and northern Ithilien.

Around you, the autumn before dawn is cool. The river flows by, swift and deep. A path leads northward towards Rauros Falls, another heads out onto the plains before disappearing, and a beaten area leads up to the water's edge--apparently this is a sometimes-used fording spot.

The night sky is cloud-filled and gloomy. The moon is above the horizon and in its new phase.

Contents:
Omok
Troglaaz
Boneclaw
Arachias

Obvious exits:
North, Fords of the Anduin, and West

Arachias gently unsheathes his blade, its black metal shinning in the crackling of the storms lightning and the burning brightness of the moon as it shifts behind the clouds. Holding it up, to the ready, his brow lowers further causing his eyes to strain in attention and caution. Slowly he continues his movement forward through the reeds of grass, the squeeshing of mud between his toes and feet.

Omok walks along side Archias. chewing on something. He looks fairly concerned about somethin.

The orcs trudge through the field in a wide, scattered line as they search the ground for any visible signs of enemy intrusion. Smaller, lightly-clad orcish scouts move at the ragged formation's extremities as they scan the dark lands all around the Mordain patrol. The larger, heavily-armored orcs march in a more concentrated cluster along the center of the group, their heavy axes and spears raised readily before them.

Boneclaw stumbles along with the rest of the Uruk, smelling the ground and air. His feet squish on the ground as he continues on. Suddenly, his head bobs up and his nostrils flare, he turns to Troglaaz and says, "Me Teguk, I found something." as he points to the ground and signals for Troglaaz to come over.

Grishnakh continues to move slowly at the rear of the group. His expression is hidden in the shadows of his heavy iron helmet, but his movements are slow and patient.

Arachias turns at the sudden outburt of Boneclaw and ducks down quickly into the grass, his flaring eyes looking over the horizon to see if any strawheads managed to hear the uruk. Then with caution he moves to a hunch again and tilts his head to look at Boneclaw and the teguk curiously, as if expecting new orders or news.

Troglaaz growls softly under his breath as he straightens to look up. Glancing quickly over the cluster of orcs around him, he hurries towards boneclaw, dropping to a low crouch as he examines the ground where Boneclaw points. "Well then..." He mutters softly, his black lips twisting to form a sneer. "Tracks!" He says, lifting his eyes to look westward over the field once more. "Quickly now, and quiet down you..." He says, motioning towards Boneclaw as he starts westward once more.

Omok scampers over to the track chewing on some weed.

Boneclaw looks to Troglaaz as he nears, and nods at his request, following him quietly.

Arachias hears the order in the wind and falls into the reeds of the grass, moving on his elbows and knees through the mud. His beady red eyes scan foward with an intense malice, while a wicked toothy grin creeps across his face. Long slendor drops of drool continue to fall from his lips, and froam from his tongue, but now the sweet smell of hooman and the slaying of strawheads drives his attention forward.

The group of orcs hurry their pace eagerly, as news of the findings spread quietly among them. Like shadows through the tall grasses of the fields, they scurry across the flat lands westward.

Troglaaz heads off into the plains to the west.

Troglaaz has left.

Arachias heads off into the plains to the west.

Arachias has left.

Boneclaw heads off into the plains to the west.

Boneclaw has left.

Omok heads off into the plains to the west.

Omok has left.

You head to the west.

Mouths of Entwash and the Anduin

You stand on a small path near the edge of the swamps of the Mouths of the Entwash. To the northeast you can see the Rauros Falls, where the waters of the Emyn Muil join the Mouths of the Entwash to form the Great River, Anduin. Past the river to the east you can spy the Nindalf, also known as the Wetwang, and beyond them you can sense the foreboding fear of the Dead Marshes.

Contents:
Omok
Boneclaw
Arachias
Troglaaz
Rathlan
Karyl
Hector
Morgan

Obvious exits:
West leads to East Emnet, Near Mouths of Entwash and the Anduin.
East leads to West Bank of the Anduin, Below Rauros Falls.
Southwest leads to Mouths of Entwash, North of Anorien.

Arachias comes quietly through the grass, his beady red eyes glowing in the dark night and pouring rain. Slowly insects crunch under his weight while the mud and grass gives parting to his course. His ears prick with attention, focusing on sounds and smells which care to drift his way.

Hector finally closes his eyes, whether or not hi finds sleep cannot be told by his ever placid face, masklike.

Grishnakh creeps along at the rear of the large and widespread company of orcs, moving with dreadful silence in the swaying, moonlit grasses.

Arachias droops of drool and strings of foam fall from his lips while sounds of night and smells from the riders tickle his nostrils and drive his blazing eyes with a passion for blood. The chill wind of the eve brings a tingle to his spine, and with another movement closer all sounds about the area seems to cease in deadly warning.

Morgan yawns slightly and shifts his weight as he leans on his spear. His eyes though, never seem to faulter as he gazes out towards the east. His eyes narrow slightly as he peers out into the night.

Several horses begin to stomp restlessly, a few tossing their heads with a whinney. About riders continue to sleep the sleep of the dead as the sentries keep silent watch upon the landscape.

Rathlan looks to the east, "the skies lightening a little now..not to long yet before the sun shines upon the riders again.." he says quietly to morgan.

The grass rustles gently in the wind and seems to twist as if alive. The pale moon shines down from its passes as the dark clouds bring relief with rain and thunder. Slowly from the crackle of a bolt the clang of armor almost can be heard in the distance, but disappears from the following of its thunder. A foul stench rises forth from the ground and a cold mist seems to spread over the nightly area.

Morgan nods.. his eyes still gazing as he grips his spear.. he wispers to Rathlan.. "Somethings wrong... can you feel it?"

Rathlan looks to the horses uneasily, being a breeder, "somethings making them restless.." he says with quiet worry...

Morgan nods slowly... "Maby you should wake Hector..."

Arachias hears the wispers of the hoomans not far from his postion and with caution motioness those near him to stop. His beady red eyes glare from the grass, scanning the area as if night was day for their dark iris'. Slowly he tries to take in an image of soldier near by, following sounds which may give him hints.

Again another crackle of lightning and thunder shatters the dark air, and for a moment the faint forms of figures within the grass seems to come to life. Then again all is quiet, except for the pounding rain and its thrashing of steep puddles below.

Toward the head of the company of slow dark shapes in the grass, a burly sergeant turns slightly and gestures briefly with one hand. Other heavily- armed orcs nod and move forward, fanning out in a row as they slowly approach the campsite. Scouts among the stealthy group spread out even further than before, bows held ready...

Morgan turns to Rathlan. "Go wake Hector. Hurry." His voice is urgent now as he brings his spear to the ready. His eyes scanning the grass nearby.

Rathlan begins to back away slowly towards the center of the camp..

Troglaaz pages Boneclaw, Grishnakh, and Arachias: What's happened so far?

Within the camp, men toss restlessly in their sleep, the uneasy air of approaching danger troubling their unconcious minds. The sense of incroaching doom is stronger in the men that are not awake to fight it.

The sun flashes brightly on the horizon. Night gives way to morning.

Hector's eyes flash open as his greystallion neighs loudly, stomping the ground next to him. Raising to an elbow the scout seems to be listening, his eyes following Rathlan as he approaches.

Grishnakh watches all with a critical eye. Low to the ground and silent, he is likely to be the last detected of all the orcs. He notes the silent orders of the sergeant, and the slow response of the other orcs as they approach the camp.

Morgan begins to slowly back towards the camp so as to not get cut off from the others. His eyes still searching in the slowly growing light.

Troglaaz moves quickly through the tall grasses near the path, a small cluster of large, heavily armed Uruks gathered around him. The orcs creep silently towards the Rohirrim encampment, the thunder and rain drowning out any sounds they could inadvertedly produce.

Arachias smacks his lips as the water floods over them, letting his drool and frothing foam mix with its solution. His knees continue to squish the mud below him and as the moves forward his the grass parts from his way. With a short turn of his heavy head he spots the Teguk and the direction at which he's started to move, without hesitation he too begins a gradual course towards the center of the encampment's area. After some steady observation of his travel he places his blade at the ready and awaits to see if the moment of ambush will come.

Boneclaw stays close to the ground, and listens closely. The tall grass around him sways in the wind. His eyes search the camp, looking for any sign of movement, they glow fire red in the darkness of night.

Hector eyes flicker to Dunbane for a few moments, watching the grey paw at the ground almost nervously. Pulling himself to his feet with his red spear, Hector glances to the sentrys. Walking to Rathlan he covers the distance quickly and silently, his face unreadable in the early light.

Morgan continues to back slowly closer to the camp as his eyes search the ground with the help of the comming light. His grip on his spear tightening as his other hand grips his shield.

Troglaaz's dark eyes narrow as he looks over his shoulder towards the few orcs still left behind him. His mailed grip shifts eagerly around the black hilt of his crooked scimitar as he stalks forward, his body bent down to a low crouch. His long left arm darts towards the right, fingers outstretched as he wordlessly orders a group of orcs to begin circling the camp in that direction.

Rathlan continues backing up, going towards the center of the encampment in silence, down a 'street' made by the arrangement of the troops still sleeping.

Arachias see's the motions of the Teguk's fingers and nods his heavy head, resuming his course at a steady pace he ensures the group with him comes about and surrounds the segement they have been assigned. His beady red eyes scan the dim dawn of the clouded and rainy day, as long drops of drool and foam continue to sweeten his appetite for flesh.

Boneclaw sees Troglaaz' motion and follows th others, circling the camp ever so slowly, as not to be noticed.

Hector comes to a halt next to Rathlan, his eyes reaching out across the still shadowy landscape. Turning he speaks very quietly to the sentry, "Something is amiss? What have you seen?"

Rathlan shakes his head slightly, "Nothing sure sir, but the silence tells all..danger approaches as surely as the dawn." he says quietly in response, still focusing out into the edges.

An old veteran rider suddenly springs up from where he sleeps, crying out, "Danger!", but no one else stirs. The warrior peers into the rain but sees nothing in the darkness.

The silent raiders are within a spear throw of the Rohirrim's camp now, their crouching shadows creeping swiftly through the tall grass. Troglaaz and a group of over a dozen orcs remain directly west of the humans as they approach, their mud-blackened weapons and dark garb blending in well with the shadows around them. Lifting his gaze towards the slowly-brightening sky, the Teguk frowns angrily, his eyes narrowing as he looks towards the rising sun.

Hector nods silently, his expression nuetral. Suddenly turning back to the camp he raises his voice, ice on the edges, "Up spears. Awake! Awake!, Up spears!"

Morgan turns as he hears his commanders words and quickens his pace back towards the camp. His eyes still searching to the west..

Groggily the camp arises, spears clutched in hands as they do, but the riders, plagued by uneasy sleep, are slow to come to full alertness. They peer, bleary-eyed, into the rain.

Rathlan sees the dark froms clearly in that first flash of clear morning, and turning towards the encampment lets out a cry, "Aware men of rohan, the night has betrayed us and our enemies are upon us!"

Troglaaz emits a loud snarl as he hears the human's cry, his blade rising overhead to point forward. Springing forward through the grass, he screams out, "Forward, Mordor! Kill!"

Arachias at the signal of Teguk, he springs up from the reeds of grass, his voice howling into the dawn of the dreary day. Long streams of drool and spit bridge his gapping mouth as his tusks point toward in his charge. His brows remains lowered in fiery rage as his bright glowing eyes casting an infernal glow in the dim light. His sword is quickly raised as he enters the camp, and with a dark wicked growl he releases foam and spittle upon those near him as he slashes the sleeping across the chest.

The cluster of orcs around Troglaaz are quick to follow, their axes and scimitars raised overhead as they eagerly charge the camp's defenses. Gruff shouts and curses are heard, as the black Uruks of Mordor hurl their spears and fire black-fletched darts from their bows.

As the first rider falls to the ground from the orcish attack, the rest of the Rohirrim suddenly spring into wakefulness, brought on by the reality of the encroaching doom now upon them. With spear and sword they organize themselves into a true defense, in an attempt to push the few leaders, and hold back the orcs at the trench.

Boneclaw hears the cry of his Teguk, and lets out his own battle cry as he charges through the grass. His scimitar raised high, swinging furiously. His glowing red eyes fix on the running humans.

Hector casts back his cloak, his armor shining beneath in the dawns grey light. Rushing forward the Redspear already spin in his hands as he comes to the narrow trench before the camp, his voice strong, "Rally Eorlings! Up Eorlings! Rally to the Redspear!"

Arachias turns at the signal of Teguk, he springs up from the reeds of grass, his voice howling into the dawn of the dreary day. Long streams of drool and spit bridge his gapping mouth as his tusks point toward the camp in his charge. His brows remains lowered in fiery rage as his bright glowing eyes cast an infernal glow in the dim light. His sword is quickly raised as he enters the camp, and with a dark wicked growl he releases foam and spittle upon those near him as he dashes down into the trench and back out.

Rathlan follows right beside hector, charging with his captain.

Brennen wakes with the rest of the riders and rallies to the call of Hector, grabbing a spear and shield reday to defend the camp.

The black figures surge towards the Rohirrim from the east, north and south, barely detained as they leap over or climb across the trenches surrounding the camp. The clash of steel upon steel rings loudly, as the first wave of orcs crashes into the still-forming, defensive line of men. Troglaaz snarls ferally as he jogs forward among his orcs, his dark eyes flashing in rage and excitement.

Grishnakh follows the charging orcs, but at a distance. He remains in the shadows, apart from the sudden confusion and violence.

Hector works his spear in measured thrusts, keepingall but the most bold of the enemy from attempting the crossing. Few wish to meet his marble face and cold eyes as he spins his weapon in its deadly arc, coming away with black blood.

Rathlan thrusts hardly at those risking to charge at hector as they come up out of the trench, trying to catch them in the face with his own spear.

Morgan stands on the west side of the camp near to Hector. His sheild attempting to parry blows as he thrusts his spear forward at those who would come near, trying to give the other riders time to organize themselves.

Somehow the Rohir lines manage to hold, perhaps the blinding daylight the only thing keeping the orcs from overwhelming the camp in the first minute. Fiercely the riders meet the enemy, shouting their battle cries the rally to for the Redspear, fighting on against certain destruction.

Brennen parries the orcish attacks with his shield trying to slow their advance. Brennen uses the length of his spear to his advantage across the trench, not able to score any lethal hits but preventing the approaching orcs from crossing.

The riders rally around the stone face of he of the Redspear, forming their strongest defense anchored about the Maegisterwigend. The Rohirrim fight visciously against the black beasts of Mordor, for they defend their homeland here, as wet and unpleasant as it may be.

The bloodthirsty snarls and growls of the Mordain rise loudly into the night as they clash with the Rohirrim defenders. Blades rise and fall repeatedly, crashing down against metal shield, wooden haft and flesh, orcish and human alike as the fighting intensifies. The orcs fight fiercely and hurriedly, as the light from the rising sun threatens to turn the battle against their favour.

Grishnakh begins to jog southward as the ambush becomes a battle. Still he does not come into the fight; instead he jogs around, heading for the far side of it, a lone black figure easily lost in the shadows.

Rathlan stabs violently down and into the face of an orc charging straight at he and hector, the impact driving the blade in all the way up to the wings of the spear, and then he yanks it back and on guard.

Arachias merges with the fighting soliders, his eyes blazing with infernal rage as drool and spittle fling forth from his lips. His brows lower as he swings his blade against the clashing of the defender, pushing them back with his fellow men.

Troglaaz and his black orcs are across the trenches, their screams and curses as loud as the ringing of steel all around them. The Teguk's blade crashes down on a brave human's shield before one of the smaller, lightly clad orcs manages to force the point of his spear through the man's mail coat. Snarling excitedly, he forces past the falling man and screams triumphantly.

The ground grows wet with blood both red and black, bodies and gore starting to fill the shallow trench that holds the orcs narrowly at bay. Riders who hours before grumbled at the extra digging now say silent prayers that the meager defense prove enough.

Morgan blocks an orcish swing with his shield. Throwing it back, he creats an opening which he quickly exploits driving his spear into a gap in the orcs armor. The press of orcs forces him back though and one slides his sword in for Morgan's stomach, which Morgan bearly deflects, knocking it aside with his shield but recieving a shallow slash across the cheast for his efforts.

Grishnakh continues to jog unseen around southward, until he is on the far western side of the entrenched and embattled camp. Then he begins to move in, eastward toward the camp... slowly and toward the horses of the Rohirrim, silent in the rainfall.

Hector slides his spear from the shoulder of an orc and more lay at his feet. For the moment the orcs seem to shrink from him and the Maegisterwigend uses the respite immediatly. As the lines bend and break before the onslaught of Troglaaz and his guard the scout is suddenly upon them. Seeking out the greatbeasts with his cold eyes and bitter spear.

From the west a furtive splashing is heard through the water and mud of the swamp. Voices..human voices..can be heard shouting battle cries in Rohirric, but the voices are few, too few.

Rathlan follows behind hector reclessly, insuring the deaths of any he falls and felling some of his own.

Arachias growls, his beady red eyes flashing in the heat of battle. Quickly he swings in arches letting his sharp blade slash into the flesh of his opponents. As they return their swings he dashes and jumps about, letting their spears form small wounds about his flesh, but saving himself from serious injury. With another loud bellow, he howls into the chilled, raining air and continues to charge forward with his peers.

DuRoch pushes his way through the throng of fighting Uruks to take a flanking position on the left of Troglaaz.

Karyl wields Spear.

Rathlan falls back into the main encampment, losing the redspear in his mad dash into the orcs, he takes one of the orcs from behind as he returns, sparing a man that was being sore pressed, and then gains the main body of the humans again.

Hector sidesteps the swing just in time to avoid disembowlment. His own weapon makes a wide arc, spinning before him like a quarterstaff before he unleashes an overhand thrust at the beasts chest.

Boneclaw rushes into the thick of the fray, scimitar flying and cracking down into the flesh of the unlucky human. Boneclaws cries out as he hacks and slashes

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear, but Troglaaz parries the attack with his Scimitar!

Arachias spots the Morgan as the mists of the muddy swamp swirl about him. Slowly he bats his beady red eyes and all sounds about his mind dims as his iris' cast the deathly reflection of his opponent. In a howl and shatter of drool he makes his way towards Morgan, his scimitar raised and ready to strike in an arch.

Morgan tries to hold the line encouraging the others but is being forced back along with the rest. Desperatly he tries to hold back the foul press, his shield parrying scimitar as his spear thrusts and sweeps to keep them at bay, ocationaly finding it's mark.

The cries and screams from the West grow louder as their creators draw nearer. The sight of a small group of flaxen-haired riders, perhaps half a dozen in number, can be seen in the distance, and pushing their horses to close faster. The leader calls out a challenge, raising his glittering sword above his head as he nears.

Grishnakh appears before Brennen quite suddenly as the warrior rushes to defend the eastern end of camp. Brennen finds himself not faced with a second company of troops, but with what seems to be a lone orc: heavily armed, squat and short but powerful, and glaring from the shadows of a heavy helm. His pale eyes are bright with frustration.

Bunji crouches down grasping his axe tightly in his hands, cautiously he enters his first battle.

Troglaaz's scimitar flashes back instinctively, his broad body darting deftly aside as he parries the human's thrusting spear. "Filthy strawhead!" He spits out mockingly, as he swings his black blade in a quick backhanded slash at the man's right side.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by a long shot.

Morgan spots the charging orc just in time raising his shield to block the blow with his spear-hand adding it's support to the anticipated shock of the impact.

Hectors expression is blank, neither fear nor anger betraying his marble features. As the scimitar swings by the rider twirls his spear first one way then reverses it, his movements holding a deadly grace as the butt of the redspear streaks at his foes knees.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear, but Troglaaz parries the attack with his Scimitar!

The dark orcs push furiously at the human's defensive line, seeking to end the combat before the light from the brightening sky becomes unbearable. A tightly packed cluster of large, spear wielding orcs rushes the camp's eastern flank, threatening to break a gap in the Rohirrim defense.

Powerful muscles propell the black scimitar weilded by DuRoch. He cries in a gutteral tongue as each blow rings from armor adn helm.

Bunji Spots a human across the battle. HIs eyes churning red he approaches Rathlan as he brandishes his ax

Arachias feels the clash of his scimitar upon the shield of Morgan and as they meet but a few inches apart his foul breath reaches out of his mouth and douses him with spittle and foam. A wicked grin creep ever so brightly over his face as his thick tongue lashes out and smacks his crusted tusks. In a force to push against the now held sturdy warrior, he digs his feet into the ground and thuds againsts his body.

Brennen surprised by the sight of one lone orc, in so bold of a maneuver, launches a quick thrust with his weapon in an attempt to end this skirmish quickly. But, the weapon goes wide of the mark as he drasticly misjudged the prowess of the orc he faces. A look of fear flushes his face as he knows that this foe is too much for him to handle, and then resolve knowing that he must hold this beast.

Rathlan sees the orc coming at him and drops his spear level at bunji, left foot back and planted firmly to hold the spear firm.

The human lines begin to disentigrate as vicious battles break out all about the camp grounds. Slowly the humans are pushed back towards the center of camp, desperitly trying to hold together lest the tide sweep them all away.

Bunji starts to charge towards Rathlan, seeing him prepare his spear, Bunji raises his axe and steps to the left ready to chop the human down the middle

Morgan feels the preassure of the orc building against his arms and, knowing that he could not win a test of strength with this foe, deftly moves to the side angeling his shield as his spear comes around and up. His intent to use the orcs own momentum against him.

Troglaaz's slitted eyes watch Hector's weapon cautiously, his own blade swaying from side to side as he attempts to match the human's movements. Surprisingly quickly, for an orc his size, he darts towards Hector's right side, his weapon dipping down swiftly to knock away the man's attack before rising to slash at his stomach.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but Hector parries the attack with his Spear!

Grishnakh snarls angrily as his tall young opponent takes the initiative. Whether he makes a strong defense or not, it will delay the planned gutting of the horses. The squat orc shrugs off Brennen's thrust, sidestepping easily and hardly moving his shield as he wards the blow away. He carries a long, heavy scimitar, but its curved blade moves with ease. Two quick snapping blows dart in at Brennen's legs.

Rathlan sweeps his spear at bunji's legs even as he steps to the right a pace to avoid the downward chopping axe.

Hector steps smoothly away, pausing to peer at his oponent with a glint of respect in his eyes. All around the battle hangs in the balance as again the spear spins in the scouts hands, seeking out Trolgaaz's head this time.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear and lightly wounds him!

The dark Mordain warriors break off into smaller groups as they attempt to divide the human forces and swamp them with their superior numbers. The footing becomes increasingly more difficult, as more humans and orcs are cut down and trampled to the ground.

Bunji tries to jump the sweeping spear, but catches his left heel. Falling in a heap he deftly rolls to his right while defensivly holding his axe above him.

The half dozen mounted Rohirrim close. The leader strikes his sword at the lone orc's back as he charges pass, the blow ill-aimed, and moves one to the main battle lines. A red-haired rider follows close behind the leader, and of the other four, three move into the general delay, and one falls back to help his unmounted kinsman with the lone creature behind the lines.

A sharp hiss issues from Troglaaz's black lips as the human's quick blade strikes the side of his heavy helmet, producing a soft, ringing sound. Dropping to a low crouch, his left fist rests against the soft ground as he swings his crooked blade upwards towards the man's weapon arm.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by a long shot.

Morgan feels the preassure of the orc building against his arms and, knowing that he could not win a test of strength with this foe, deftly moves to the side angeling his shield as his spear comes around and up. His intent to use the orcs own momentum against him.

Brennen has to defend his legs from the attack that came faster than he has ever seen. In an attempt to do so, he throws his shield down to keep his legs attached. The force of the blow sends a shock through his arm. The pain prevents a counter attack as he tries to remain standing. Brennen gives ground to the orc.

A small group of spear wielding orcs rush forward to cut off the newly arrived group of human riders, their weapons raised high as they attempt to knock down the approaching riders.

Hector retrieves his arm just in time to keep it being shorn off. Again stepping back ge seems to take in the status of the battle in a glance, raising his voice he cries out as loud as his lungs in his tongue.

Bunji continuing to roll out of the way of the approaching humans, he growls in pain as the sharp roocks and sudden kicks land on his unprotected arms and legs

DuRoch presses forward, draggign several dissenting warriors with him. "Into it lads! Don't let them break!"

Grishnakh snarls again and shoves, his heavy iron-bound shield slamming forcefully at the tall man. But already he is following with his sword, chopping at Brennen's right arm and forehead with quick, expert strokes.

The orcs are bourne down by the charge of the mounted riders. Unorganized and unmounted, the black beasts cannot keep the riders from the lines, though yet another rider stays behind to finish up the remanants.

Hector says something unintelligible.

Arachias feels the sudden slip of that which is solid cave beneath him as Morgan steps aside, his mind floods with thoughts at how vunerable he is and in an attempt to match wits with his opponent he drops to the ground with his momentum, rolling into a boll so as to seperate himself a few feet from his opponent. As he spins around and stands up, he see's that he was fortuntate to miss the spear direct puncture, but suddenly takes notice a deep scratch on his left arm. With a lower of his brows he howls again and moves towards Morgan, his scimitar ready to strike against his chest.

The mounted Rohirrim near Brennen thrusts his spear at the orc just as it moves in with its sword, attempting to catch it off guard and drive it low.

Grishnakh says, "Curse you, fool of a child. I'll eat your heart if you keep me from those animals!"

Bunji finally given space to regain his foooting leaps up into a crouch, his eyes glaring and his axe held ready to strike

Brennen takes the shield right in the chest as the riders come to his aid. The force of the blow and the simple strength of the lone orc send Brennen off of his feet as he is bull rushed into the ground. His spear and shield desperately parrying the blows of the powerful force that sent him to the ground.

Grishnakh hears the muted thudding of hooves only at the last second as he presses the attack on Brennen. Stepping aside and glancing up, he ducks in time to avoid a thrusting spear, and then the riders are past as they ride into the main battle.

Troglaaz presses forward towards Hector, his black lips curling to form a bloodthirsty sneer as he growls angrily. His body drops to crouch almost to the ground, the squat orc using his left arm for support as he springs forward. The Teguk's black blade slashes across the air horizontally, the backhanded attack clearly meant to split the human's stomach open.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by a handspan.

Morgan brings his sheild around once more to block the scimitar but, having seen the orcs evasion, anticipates more skill than a simple slash so he brings it up and against the orcs arm.. trying to force it up and wide as his spear dives low for his legs. All the while taking a slow step back towards the horses.

Bunji finding that he has rolled off from the group of uruks sees that he is cut off. Raising his axe above his head and yelling through his yellow teeth charges back through the humans to try and make it back to friendlier grounds

Warriors growl and curse before DuRoch. WIth a kick of his boot and a flip of his blade, he is able to inspire his troops to fight with a renewed vigor.

Bunji making quick deadly arcs of steel before him, dives under a swinging sword to take off the arm of the dealer of the blow.

Brennen scrambles to his feet and places himself back between the lone orc and the horses, as the orc was distracted by the charging riders.

Boneclaw attacks a human with a downward swing and slashes at him. The human reacts with a slash at his leg, and Boneclaw grunts. Boneclaw looksa t him and says, "Now yu pay!" as he cuts into the mans skull. The man falls to the ground and collapses. Boneclaw lifts his body with one hand and lets out a battle roar.

Arachias's infernal eyes glow brightly as his fleshy brows remain lowered in darkened gaze. Slowly he feels the sting of Morgan's spear enter the skin of his leg and without a wince moves down to grab the spear with his open hand. Again his scimitar clashes with the sheild, and in correct assumption his attempt for an undergutted move is avoided. Slowly he lets his opponent see his face and with a freightful growl he opens his mouth letting forth his fowl stench and sticky drool. His tusks move down to angle at Morgan's cheeks and dart forward in their collision as if to scratch his skin.

Hector somehow manages to avoid the slash, slowly backing towards the center of camp now as he raises his weapon to ward of the enemy. Feigning first one way then the other the scout finally lances out with his weapon targeted upon his foes stomach.

Hector furiously attacks Troglaaz with his Spear and lightly wounds him!

Grishnakh looks over at Brennen again. His eyes gleam pale within the shadows of his helmet, and he hisses a sudden string of loud and foul speech... " CAPTAINS! Pull the orcs north and south, but stay in with the Strawheads. Don't let their horsemen charge without hitting their own!"

The leader of the mounted force slams into the orcish lines and pushes them back through sheer momentum. His sword crashes down upon orcish heads and sends some of the more cowardly howling and fleeing from his blows. Riding at his side, the copper haired spearman fends off blows aimed at his commander, and the pair soon break to the other side of the orcish lines, and turn to flank them. A few orcs lay dead in their wake, but the hole is soon closed and rear lines turn to face the cut off pair.

Morgan's eyes grow wider as he looks down the throught of this large orc. He backs up slowly, his shield pressing against the orcs weapon arm in an atempt to hold it out of the way as he tries to yank his spear free of his grasp, twisting it in the prosses...

The mounted Rohirrim fighting in the rear thrusts his spear again at Grishnakh, trying to drive the creature back and give his kinsman time to rise.

Bunji suddenly finds one lone human standing between him and the disorganzed ranks of orcs. Howling in frustration he charges at the human. The lone human swings at the charging uruk, the sword slicing through the left arm of the orc, but failing to stop the charge. Bunji bowls into the human his axe forgotten, he relies only on his long g nails and sharp teeth to kill the human.

Grishnakh glares at Brennen. "As for you..." He lets the sentence end there, and lunges forward with a vicious slash at the tall man's face.

Troglaaz pushes forward, his blade raised defensively before him as he follows Hector towards the center of the beleaguered encampent. The spear's quick thrust catches him offguard, with his scimitar raised overhead to strike. Twisting his body sideways, he manages to avoid the worst of the blow, which tears into the black cloth of his surcoat but glances off the steel mail behind it. Darting forward, he swings his scimitar downwards towards the man's right shoulder.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar and lightly wounds him!

Brennen puts a hard look on his face and vows, "You will die before I let you reach those horses." Then Grishnakh lunges, Brennen plants his spear at the last second, knowing the maneuver will leave him open, but hoping that the orc will impale himself with his momentum.

Arachias growls wickedly as the spear twists his hand and shears his flesh. As Morgan's sheild tries to push him away he howl a defeaning sound, so eerie and ill that the very fog seems to quiver. Then again he lowers his beady red eyes to face the hooman in front of him, wetting his spear with his thick, black, oily blood. After a few moments of cackling he releases the damaging spear and tries to shove its owver back in surpise.

Bunji grapples with the human, weapons forgotten, they roll on the ground using the only tools that were born with. Suddenly Bunji finds an opening and opens his mouth wide, his hideous teeth going straight for the jugular. Hot blood sprays over his face as he sucks out the life of the weakly fighting human.

Hector blanches slightly as he is caught off guard, the black sword cutting into his armor and drawing blood. Sidestepping to gain an angle, the rider swings his weapon end over end, bringing the tip down towards the back of Troglaaz legs hoping to take the beast in the vulnerable spot behind the knee.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear and lightly wounds him!

The fiercely fighting orcs of Mordor howl wildly as the intensity of the battle around them increases. Many of them rush the newly arrived Rohirrim, their spears thrusting forcefully towards the riders even as scimitars and axes hack at the mounts' legs.

The orcish lines draw back a bit as the mounted Rohirrim first rush in, but soon the golden-haired riders must pull back again under the sheer force of numbers..though a few deserters can already be seen slinking eastwards away from the calvary charge.

Morgan tumbles back, his own momentum against him this time. He tries franticly to bring his shield back around for another parry as he struggles to regain his fotting, his spear sweeping in front of him in an attempt to keep the orc back. The only saving grace being that his movement is in the direction of the horses.

Bunji sits up on the dead human's body, raising his bloody arms towards the sky, he throws back his head and howls in delight as the blood drips down his chin to pool on the corpse's cold face.

Troglaaz falls to one knee as the human's speartip bites into the back of his leg, a painful snarl issuing from his twisted lips. Spinning quickly towards the man, he brings his own blade sweeping across in a wide arch meant to force the human back.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by a handspan.

The riders of the camp battle their way to the horses, step by step making their way as the tide of foes comes ever forward. Desperatly they try to keep the orcs in front of them, forming a hollow box as the step ever closer to the horses and the hope of survival.

Arachias's heavy head lowers as he grins a toothy smile, his red eyes glowing brighter from their forges from the darkness. Quietly he watches Morgan todder back and raise his spear, and with caution begins to approach him. He lumbers forward, his scimitar at his side and then suddnely his brows lower again in a mad howl and he raises his scimitar up in a quick dash, slashing towards the hoomans neck.

The commander of the mounted men and his flankman try to move around the force of orcs, but are cut off by a line of eager-faced creatures, mouths grinning and throats thirsting for human blood. The commander shouts something out, unintelligible in the din of combat, and charges headlong into the approaching orcs, sword glittering down to drink black blood.

Hector pulls back his spear tip, turning laterally and saving himself from the orcs blade. With all his strength the rider swings the shaft and butt of his spear towards the kneeling orcs head, trying to smash the foul beasts face.

Grishnakh isn't distracted or drawn in by Brennen's sudden planting of the spear--what else does a practiced fighter do with one, after all? He sidesteps with surprising agility, pushing the spear off with a turn of his shield as he swings with a hard, fast chop of his scimitar.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear and mildly wounds him!

Bunji finally stands up, stoops once again to get his sword. Then placing his right foot on the corpses' ches he draws back his axe and his axe arcs down swiftly to remove the head of the fallen human. With a wick grin, Bunji bends down and picks up the head by the hair and holds it high in the air.

The dark orcs surge forward, keeping the pressure on the withdrawing humans. Many of the orcs near the back ranks rush around the chaotic fray, attempting to circle the camp to reach the horses before the Rohirrim have a chance to escape.

Morgan is caught off guard by the suddeness of Arachias' attack and finds his shield in the wrong place to deflect it. His spear being his only resort he wips it around it front of him and manages to save his neck but winces as he feels the blad bite into his shield shoulder leaving a fair-sized gash. He regains his footing however and manages to bring his shield arm up again weakly as his spear returns to a position in front of him.

Grishnakh spares an instant to glance about him at the slowly dawning field. He utters a loud, angry shout. " Gut the horses! Don't let them escape!"

Grishnakh says in Morbeth, "TROGLAAZ! Teguk, control your troops, curse you!"

Troglaaz's head dips quickly as he drops to a low crouch, the human's swinging spear glancing off the top of his heavy helmet. Snarling in frustration, the large Uruk-hai springs forward to his feet, charging directly towards the human. At the last second, he turns in his steps towards Hector's right side, his blade flashing as it sweeps downwards at the Rohirrim's legs.

Brennen throws his shield up to block the wicked slice, taking the most of its momentum away, but the weapon manages a week slash below his shoulder. Seeing an openning in the middle of the orc with his shield deflecting away his spear and his sword attacking the shield side, Brennen kicks out into the orcs chest as hard as he can planting his foot in the orcs chest.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but Hector parries the attack with his shield!

And the rider's spear is there, stopping the chop of Grishnakh's scimitar. The rider shoves his shield into the orc's face, trying to drive it back.

Arachias grunts and jumps back as his blade hits the soulder of his opponent, his neck crouches almost mechanically as he growls darkly, his eyes glowing with his voice. Again he lowers his scimitar and begins to walk circuluarly around the hooman, his own leg and unarmed hand releasing their dark blood upon the ground. A wicked and sadistic smile creeps across his face and with another dash he swings his scimitar, this time towards the legs.

A loud THWACK sounds as the small buckler strapped to Hectors arm intercepts the blow. Again Hector takes a few slow steps back, using his spear to fend off his foe. A simple thrust lances out this time, aimed at the orcs chest to keep him at bay.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear and moderately wounds him!

DuRoch shoves more Uruks towards the horses at the command of Grishnakh. "At it boys! We can't dissappoint now!"

A small group of orcs, just over half a dozen, reach the Rohirrim horses, their voices raised in eager shouts as they raise blades.

Bunji taking the severed head ties it by its hair to his belt. Finding that he is once again back in the ranks of uruks howls his war cry and shrugs off his wounds.

Troglaaz pushes forward, his scimitar raised eagerly overhead as he rushes Hector. The man's sudden spear thrust evades his slow attempt to parry, striking the center of his broad chest. Several steel rings break and split apart, allowing the keen speartip to cut into his flesh. Growling loudly from the sharp pain, Troglaaz stumbles back, swinging his scimitar horizontally to keep his opponent back.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by an arm's length.

And just as the orcs raise their blades on the horses, a single rider charges them down. The one left behind to deal with the spearmen now bears down on those threatening the steeds, slaying one outright in his first charge and knocking two others down. The Eorling quickly wheels and charges back at them.

Morgan watches the orc intently moving with him so as not to get cut off from the horses. This time though he is ready as the orc charges in once more. Morgan swings the butt of his spear low and in the direction of the swing as he steps in the opposite direction, parrying the blade and then bringing the point of the spear down for the orcs cheast as he attempts to overballance his foe.

Grishnakh shrugs back slightly, taking only a fraction of Brennen's kick to his armored chest. The force of it is enough to throw the orc off-balance for a moment, but not more--he proves to be even heavier than he appears.

The horses begin to neigh loudly at the nearness of the orcs. Iron shod feet begin to kick in warning as the steeds gather closer together, even moving towards their masters deep in battle.

Heedless of the charging rider upon them, one of the orcs near the horses raises his long-hafted axe overhead, where it seems to hover for a split- second before slashing down to cut into the side of a great steed. The two other, still-standing orcs nearby scramble away from the rider, darting in and among the horses as they take quick stabs and slashes at the animals' legs and sides.

Arachias's eyes seem to pop from his disfigured head as the spear stabs his left side. His mouth drops in suprise as a wheeze comes from deep within his gut, then followed by large, thick, drops of yellow drool upon the spear. After a moment his eyes adjust to the pain and with a great snarl he shoves the spear from his body and swings his blade down towards the already wounded shoulder.

As the first horse falls vvictim to an orc blade, the rest seem to go mad. Deadly hooves flash in the morning sun breaking bones and heads as the dash about.

Bunji stepping around a thrusted spear, quickly delivers a swift death to the spear bearer

Hector takes a smaller step this time as the scimitar speeds by, again lancing out quickly with his weapon ere his opponent can recover he hopes.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear, but he misses by a mile.

The large, axe wielding orc is struck solidly in the side by one of the horse's flailing hooves, sending him sprawling painfully to the ground where he is trampled by another one of the great steeds.

Grishnakh lashes out at Brennen with growing rage and impatience as he regains his footing. His curved sword falls heavily at Brennen's head and shoulders.

The charging rider moves away from the nearly stampeding horses, who neatly take care of the orcs amoung them. He turns instead to help his fellows with the lone orc in the rear, who seems to be causing so many troubles.

Troglaaz darts sideways, twisting his body to avoid the human's quick thrust. His voice rises over the noise of the battle as he calls out in a gruff voice, " The horses, lads! The horses!" Quickly stepping to his right, he thrusts the long, curving blade towards the human's side.

Morgan is left with nothing to parry with. His spear out of position down low and in the way of his shield arm. Having no other option he decides to go with the blow, letting it slice down his left shoulder as he drops and rolls to his right, unfortunatly, away from the horses. After his roll he attempts to scamble back to his feet, unable to lift his shield arm as the blood pours from it, he hefts his spear in one hand.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar and lightly wounds him!

Brennen ,barely able to regain his spear when Grishnakh was momentarily stunned, he wasn't able to attack back but with his grip regained along with his balance, a quick sidestep and the use of his shield to parry gives him a chance to strike lunging once with his spear.

The riders' commander and his flankman burst through the ranks of orcs, leaving at least a dozen orcs on the ground, never to rise again. But they are not without wounds, for blood runs freely over the metal armor of the commander from a wound in his weapon shoulder, and his flankman's speararm bears numerous scrapes and cuts.

Arachias growls and grabs with his tattered hand his bloody side and in a wheeze of delight spins about towards Morgan. Slowly his large feet take him backwards towards the neight horses as his glowing red eyes focus on the bleeding human before him. A dark chuckle comes deep from his gut and then with a back jab he punctures the neck of the steaming horse behind him. Knowing he has left himself upon as he makes his move, he turns his head watching to see how the attack will comee and how he can perhaps avoid the greatest punishment.

Several small orcs near the horses from behind the encampment, maintaining their distance from the animals' flailing hooves as they begin to fire black-fletched arrows into the tightly-packed group of steeds.

Hector again is struck by the orcish blade, a shallow wound drips blood from his side now. Glancing behind him, Hector sees his men nearing the picket of horses at last, though still deeply caught up in battle. Turning back quickly the scout holds his spear before him in a lower crouch, seeming to be thinking quickly and deviding his concentration from his foe. He launches a light thrust to gain himself time.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear, but Troglaaz parries the attack with his Scimitar!

Troglaaz's black blade turns deftly in his wrist, knocking aside his opponent's quick strike. Stepping forward and towards the man's right side, he swings his own weapon in a quick slash at the man's right shoulder.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by an arm's length.

The horses do not stay tightly packed as the first dart bites into a side. They break and run in every direction, some charging and running down the archers, and others breaking full away from the fighting, and yet others, wild eyed, running headlong into the melee, scattering orcs before their wild teeth and hooves.

Grishnakh shoves Brennen's latest thrust away, as he did the others, countering with a quick slash around and down at the man's leg. But already he glances around and steps back defensively as a rider approaches ever closer.

Morgan growls determindly and now goes on the offencive. He moves forward quickly, though not at a run and as he nears the disgusting orc makes a sweep with his spear down low for his feet before jerking it back up in the direction of Arachias' upper cheast, the aim going for the heart. Thought he is weary and cannot get much force behinf the blow he is driven by his love for his home and his horses into a near frenzy.

As the Rohirrim mounts break apart and run off wildly, clusters of lightly- clad, bow and spear-wielding orcs break off from the main fray, hurriedly pursuing the steeds. Several of the horses are cut down as they enter the chaotic melee, by heavy orcish axes and sharp Mordain spears.

Hector hears the commotion behind him and turns his head again. Seeing the chaos the uis ensuing he curses as horses stream into the melee seeking escape, soom seeking their masters. Backing away more quickly this time the rider seems to ignore his foe, raising his voice, "Now! TO the horses! Mount everyone, mount!:

Brennen avoids the new attack from Grishnakh and throughs his arms with his spear and shield into pushing the orc away trying to find a chance to get to his horse.

The horses do not go down meekly. Many an orc that dares to approach shall never raise his axe again, arms and legs mangled by the powerful hooves of the Rohirric steeds. Still more of the smaller, and probably wiser, orcs, slink off eastwards away from the fighting, saving their own hides.

Troglaaz takes the sudden opportunity to rush Hector as the human's attention is placed elsewhere. Dropping nearly to the ground in a crouch, he darts forward, his scimitar swinging in a wide, low arch to cut at the man's lower legs.

Troglaaz furiously attacks Hector with his Scimitar and lightly wounds him!

The disapline of the riders does not disapear altogether, yet quickly they break off and stream to any mount nearby, pulling themselves onto their backs with the skill of generations. Some fall ere they can reach their companions, and the battle rages on as the horses and riders gather into a tight knot attracting still more horses and riders.

Grishnakh lets out an angry shout. He lifts his blade to assail Brennen again, but the charge of two Rohirrim draw his attention. His shield moves quickly, deflecting the first spear with a CLANG of metal on metal. He twists in time to duck the second spear, and brings his sword up in a quick slice that draws blood in a long gash in the hindquarters of the second horseman's mount.

Arachias growls as moves to the left, letting his scale armor take the blow of the spear and cutting into his flesh. He growls and in quick retaliation moves his spear up again chuckling darkly, "You need no arm strawhead!" he says in a dark guttural tone with a wheeze. Sweats rolls off his brow as he swings violently again at the gushing shoulder, his blade heavy in its arch as his own blood soils his opponnents weapon.

DuRoch pushes at his lads. "You'll not be runnin today boys! Stand where ye are!"

Grishnakh shouts again as he turns to face the riders. " TROGLAAZ! TROGLAAZ! Why are you not blocking their escape??"

Brennen pushes Grishnakh with all his strength into the waiting riders, hoping to aide his commrades with this formidable foe even in the slightest way before he bolts for a dappled grey mare.

With a deft show of horsemanship, and the sheer strength of Rohirric steeds, the rider of the cut steed turns nearly completely around in his saddle and visciously slams his spear at Grishnakh's shoulder, with no defense now in sight sa the orc recovers from his landed blow.

Black darts are fired into the gathering cluster of Rohirrim, striking down orcs as well as humans in the chaotic fray. Some of the mounts are cut down as by black Mordain blades as they attempt to flee from or join the melee.

Grishnakh grunts and surges forward as if into the thrust of the enraged Rohirrim warrior. A twist of his shoulders and a shove of his shield, and the spear is warded off long enough for the orc's scimitar to lash up for the rider's abdomen.

Hector is caught unawares as the blade crashes into his legs , cutting through armor and toppling him backwards. The riders arms flail blindly behind him and suddly his fall is stopped, his grey mount nestled up against his back saving him. The look of surprise on Hector's face is the first sign of emotion he has shown in the battle, and using only his arms he manages to yank himself upwards to his mount.

Morgan feels his opponents weapon bite deep into his armpit and gasps in pain. His face turns to a snarl though and he holds the spear between his arm and his side as he brings his own spear up again thrusts it with all the strength he has left towards Arachias' cheast seaking to bury it so deep it will never again be removed.

In a desperate attack, the silver haired commander of the newly arrived riders and his flankman charge towards the orcish archers. The commander's sword is raised high above his head, and he screams in clear Westron, "Helmlingas!" as he closes with the creatures, unmindful of the few arrows that are turned on him, some even landing marks.

Troglaaz screams at the top of his lungs as he rushes towards Hector, " Cut down their mounts, maggots!" His scimitar sweeps down from above his head towards the human as he mounts the gray steed.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by a long shot.

Arachias growls darkly as the spear plugnes deep into his side, spurting forth a turrent of black oily blood. His removes his hand from one of his other wounds and then grabs the spear snarling and releasing his putrid breath upon the scowling hooman before him. With a wheeze and obvious exhaustion of both warrior he rams his scimitar purposely into Morgan's sheild and pushes the spear from his body staggering back a few feet into the now absent horses. His neck lowers in a crouch and tilts from side to side cracking from stiffness. Then he raises his blade and focus' on Morgan, trying to deterime his next attack, ready for the assault with his distance.

Brennen vaults onto the horse and hefts his spear looking to charge in again with the formidalbe Grishankh, but Brennen has to take too long scuring an orc trying to kill another horse that he becomes too far removed from the hated Grish.

Hector swings himself firmly onto Dunbane's back, his speed surprising and perhaps causing the blade to miss. Around him riders begin to gather, some two to a horse, some finding mounts as they flock closer. Now the rider turns his icy eyes back to Troglaaz, an aura of winter about him as he expertly guides his horse forward to spear his foe.

Hector attacks Troglaaz with his Spear, but he misses by a mile.

A small group of orcs breaks away from the fray, hurrying towards Grishnakh and the riders attacking him. Their spears and axes fly overhead as they rush in, gruff, bloodthirsty shouts issuing from their lips.

Grishnakh grunts and begins to twist around, but the horseman's sudden thrust slams ringingly against his metal helm. The short orc goes into a crouch and shakes his head, groggy for a moment from the impact.

Morgan stumbles back and nearly falls to the ground, only his determination keeping him up as his left arm hangs completely useless. He prepares himself to face once more this vial creature when he feels a strong supportive force on his side. Looking up he sees his cheastnut steed standing next to him, it's head tossing as it looks for any sighns of attack. Quickly Morgan forget's the orc and tries to mount his steed.

The last of the riders left alive manage to mount and now the Rohir blows start to fly again, in anger at the loses of their comrades and steeds no doubt. Fighting as they have for years untold the weary Rohir begin to make an impact, striking down their enemies as they look to their leader for instruction.

Troglaaz twists his body and drops lower in his crouch, the human's spear passing just inches above his left shoulder. " The horses! Bring down the horses!" He calls out, darting back a step and slashing angrily at the steed's right foreleg.

Seeing the great orc down, the two riders do not press the attack, but ride towards their commander, who has turned from slain archers and fleeing snagas to join the now mounted Rohirrim defense.

Brennen sees his companion struggling to mount and charges Arachias to defend the mounting Morgan. His spear leveled.

Arachias watches Morgan mount his horse and growl deeply as he gallops away. The rain pours down upon his exhauted body, wetting his gushing wounds and vomiting blood. With a heavy sigh he turns to servery the corpse ridden battlefield and the dead horses below his feet. Silently he makes his way across the field to meet his fellow garrison and to continue the fighting in their masses, his fiery eyes still glowing with vigor and energy.

The orcs' fighting grows fiercer, as they begin to concentrate on bringing down the Rohirrim mounts. Orcish spears thrust upwards towards riders, as axes and scimitars slash wildly at steeds' legs.

Hectors mount raises his leg as the blade approaches, kicking at the blade as though it were a foe. The weapon cuts into Dunbane's foot but the shoe deflects the worst of it, and the steed barely limps as his master forces him back a few steps. Seeing his people mounted, the rider raises his spear and points to the west, "With me Eorlings! Let us be gone from this place. Helm!"

Hector dashes forward past his enemy, running down any that dare stand before him as the riders stream behind him.

The silver haired commander raises his sword over his head, dripping with black orcish blood. "Helmlingas! Eorlingas! The creatures take this miserable land..but for only a day. We shall return with the sun and cleanse our land!" He and his flankman organize a small rear vanguard for the retreating Rohirrim, and a few more orcs fall before the Eorlingas are fully away.

Brennen uses his mount with deft skill and tramples two orcs with the mare's hooves. Brennen rides out beside Morgan on his wounded shield side, trying to protect them both and making sure that they both live through this bloody day. Morgan and Brennen ride out following Hector and the rest of the riders.

Grishnakh rises fully, finally, his head clearing of dizziness. He watches the Rohirrim scramble for their horses, and it is clear that many will escape.

DuRoch kicks the bodies that litter the ground.

Troglaaz springs towards Hector's passing mount, an angry snarl echoing from behind the facemask of his heavy helmet. His mailed right arm darts upwards and across, bringing his scimitar in a wide sweep towards the rider's side.

Troglaaz attacks Hector with his Scimitar, but he misses by an arm's length.

The enraged, howling orcs pursue the retreating horsemen for a short distance, weapons waving fiercely overhead. Here and there, a few of the bow-wielding orcs let loose the arrows they have left at the Rohirrim riders while they are still within range.

Mounted now, some Rohirrim lay spears aside and draw out short bows, and a few wheel around to loose volleys into the pursuing orcs in return, ever moving, hard to hit, while their own arrows move in, erratically, but with the massing of orcs, most find marks. When pursuit slows, the riders rejoin the retreating lines.

Hector's mount springs over an orc body, rapidly making his escape as blades swing by all about. The remaineder of his force is close at hand, the horses quickly outdistancing any pursuit. Not far from the campsight Hector slows, motioning for the others to continue. His face as blank as slate yet cold anger in his eyes as his people go by, a good many less than came to this place.