Battle in Osgiliath

Osgiliath: Western Ruins - Gondorian Garrison

Amidst the ruins of the former splendor that was Gondor's capital of old is a fully-operational battle camp. At least a dozen tents are scattered around the ruins of the city here, each flying a small pennon of the White Tree on a black field that flaps in the daytime breeze. Guards in similar livery patrol the area here, dressed at all times in shining silver mail and with Halberds on their shoulders.

The guards here seem very uneasy, though they try to hide it...their gazes cannot help but hover eastwards, to the black wall of the Ephel Duath and the dark land that those mountains enclose.

Contents:
Morigan
Llachhal
Helorondur
Ithilir
Elbarad

The deep, pulsing beat of wardrums erupts suddenly from the east, followed by the sound of hundreds of booted feet marching upon the broken pavement of the ruined city.

Elbarad looks over to say something to Llachhal, before the words can leave his lips the sudden crash of the war drums rend the air. Quickly leaping to his feet he shouts, "To arms!"

Ithilir rises quickly, and blowing a silver inlaid horn, draws his sword, and shouts, "Knights of Dol Amroth! To Arms!!!!!"

Soon, a black mass of bow-legged, shouting and screaming Uruks surges into view, blades and spears raised overhead as they charge eagerly through the rubble-strewn streets. A great band of large, mail-clad Uruk-hai advances amidst the orcish throng, their great axes and scimitars urging the smaller Uruks in front of them forward.

The sound of war drums fill the air as rank upon rank of the forces of Mordor march in.

Helorondur Drops his half-eaten breakfast unceremoniously. Without hesitation, he turns to Ithilir. "Sir Ithilir, we must mount. May I fetch your steed?"

Morigan, his face set with determination, readies his sword and shield in preparation for the assault.

Elbarad bends down and grabs his helm that lies at his feet by the wings and claps it on his head. With a eerily calm face his eye sweep over the oncoming ranks of foul vermin. A few orders are shouted as the men of Gondor form up into their ranks, racing the onslaught of the Mordain hoard.

Gruff orcish voices shout foul curses into the air as they hurry forward. The orcs at the front-most ranks are shoved roughly from behind by their eager, bloodthirsty allies, causing any remaining semblance of orderly ranks to disappear among the chaotic black mass.

Llachhal whistles once, twice, then is silent, moving to the edge of the garrison, already knocking an arrow as he moves. As he arrives there, he is joined by a number of similarly dressed men, grim, tall and grayed. All carry longbows, most of them ready to loose an arrow on command.

Ithilir looks quickly to Helorondur, and says, "Mount quickly, wait not for me, I will be fine." He turns to the West where already a small company of Knights are riding forward. One leads a great gray mare, and seeing Ithilir, the mare pulls at her reins sharply. She is released, and runs to Ithilir, who mounts quickly.

Elbarad finally draws his blade from it's sheath that has been resting on the log that he'd been sitting at eating his breakfast. Leaving the sheath behind he hurries forward to where his infantry is forming up.

Many uruk near the back bend down and draw bows and set arrows to them.

Helorondur sticks two fingers in his mouth, and emits a keening whistle which can be heard even above the sound of marching troops. A gray charger trots towards the squire, who hoists himself into the saddle with a bit of awkwardness.

A great, broad-shouldered Uruk-hai forces his way through the throng, the long-hafted axe in his hand raised overhead as he nears the front ranks. The black manners bearing the symbol of the eye fly above the black masses, their bearers urging the orcs forward with words of fear and promises of reward.

Helorondur sets his left arm within a steel heater-shield which bears the White Swan of Dol Amroth.

Helorondur sets his great helm on his head in a speedy, but dignified manner.

A general chant builds in the uruk ranks "KILL FOR DA EYE KILL FOR DA EYE".

As the orcs draw nearer the men of Minas Tirith fall into their practiced ranks. Officers shout and hurry the men into their places.

Now the chant is more like a scream as the uruks come ever closer "KILL FOR DA EYE KILL FOR DA EYE".

Llachhal flashes a quick hand signal and the rangers split into two groups of 20, each readying an arrow, then loosing them at the closest rank of the orcs that is safe, about the 3rd or 4th row back. A volley arches up and then down again, into the middle of the orcs ranks.

Urged by their whip-wielding sergeants and the battlelust raging within them, the Mordain army charges across the streets. With an ear-splitting scream, the foremost orcs hurl themselves bodily into the first rank of human infantry. The ringing sound of steel clashing upon steel follows, as the black blades of Mordor meet the gleaming swords and spears of the Gondorian defenders.

Helorondur guides his mount towards the ranks of knighthood from Belfalas. Seeing Sir Ithilir close by, Helorondur salutes proudly. He fastens the straps of his helmet and prepares to charge.

Ithilir notes the placement of the Gondorian footmen, and orders the Knights to form a line just behind the center.

The line of men is driven back a pace as the weight of the orcs falls upon their shield wall. But the men of Minas Tirith are not dismayed, with resolve they bring their own weapons to bear upon the enemy. Shouting, "Gondor!" and "The Tree!" they grapple with the front ranks of the orcs.

Dozens of orcs fall in the first few seconds of fighting, as their companions drive them into the defending spears of the humans and the Ranger's keen darts rain upon their closely-packed ranks. The Uruk-hai unit, numbering nearly three dozen, starts forward through the dark masses, patiently approaching the front lines as their lesser allies are cut down and trampled by humans and orcs alike.

Mazog Gives a hand signal and the orcs let loss there bow sending a volley of arrows into the ranks of the footmen not caring if they hit there own men.

Morigan works his way to the front of the line, grunting with effort as he parries the blows with sword and shield.

Elbarad stands in the back of the line, waiting to see what commands will need to be given. Finally seeing the Uruk-Hai commit themselves he signals to Ithilir to loose the knight from their constraints.

More and more uruks keep coming into sight the reserves are not held back.

As the ranks of guardsmen and orcs meet with the clash of weapons, the Rangers stop shooting and move to flank each side of the orc's lines. Moving away from each other to the opposite sides, they stop to send another volley as soon as their position gives them a clear shot a any of the orc ranks. There is soon another volley arching up after the first.

Tornuck moves at the head of the Uruk-hai as they wade slowly through the black sea of their smaller allies, his lips twisted in a cruel, bloodthirsty sneer as he watches the blood of men and orcs spill ahead of him. The dark masses hurl themselves against the shield wall once more, hewing at the spears and any humans unfortunate enough to be within reach with renewed effort.

The Knights of Dol Amroth do what they can to strengthen the shield wall, filling gaps as they appear.

In an instant three men standing side by side are cut down. With a howl the orcs move in to fill the hole.

Helorondur strains his mount towards the shield wall...he watches, waiting to accost any Mordain vermin that break through the line.

a group of Uruks are enraged by some quick words mazog says and charge at the shield wall not caring if they die hopping to fall on their enemies dead or alive.

Already, the streets along the human's shield wall are littered by the dead and dying orcish bodies, making the footing difficult and dangerous. The flights of arrows have a terrible effect upon the orcish flanks, wounding and killing many as they attempt to push forward. Eager for blood and irritated by the constant flights of arrows, the orcs behind the front ranks continue to roughly push forward, forcing their allies into the spears and blades of the human defenders.

the Orcish archers turn their attention to the rangers and start letting arrows lose on them.

The Minas Tirith line begins to buckle as the men try to close up the hole on their left. The orcs who have opened the hole now have a way behind the shield wall.

The quickly growing numbers of wounded and dead orcs are easily replaced, as more and more of the dark Mordain surge forward, their metal-shod boots carelessly trampling their fallen fellows. With a great, resounding clash of blade upon shield, the great Uruk-hai crash into the center of the shield wall, their crushing weight and numbers threatening to break the defensive line.

Ithilir sees Elbarad's command, and raises his horn to his lips, blowing a single clear note. A moment later, a hole opens in the line of Footmen, and the Knights of Dol Amroth form a phalanx, and spears lowered, charge deeply into the attacking Uruk-Hai.

Morigan and other brave men of Dol Amroth rush to fill in the left side.

Helorondur trots his horse towards a knot of uruks who have sprung free on the wrong side of the shield wall. A hoarse cries fill the air, coming from his, lungs. "Drink, Anlach! Sate your thirst!" He swings his long blade at one of the carrion, and catches him in the shoulder.

As many men from Dol Amroth rush head long over to the left side Elbarad has to restrain even more of the reserves from rushing over there.

The eager Uruk-hai charge headlong into the opening hole of the human defenders, foolishly running headlong into the knight's charge. Many are cut down and trampled in the first short moment, as their fellows attempt to fight their way out of the self-imposed trap.

As the orcish archers turns their arrows on the woodsman, they seem to slip sideways and disappear into cover of the ruins. Closer to the enemy, but sheltered by the fallen stone. Several of their number fall, and are snatched up quickly, taken into the safety of the stones by their brethren. Within a few moments, a different kind of volley is loosed. This one is aimed by each archer, each woodsman picking a target and loosing their arrows as each would. The rain of arrows continues, each man reaching back for another arrow as soon as his last is gone. The concentrate on the flanks, seeking to force those on the edges towards the center.

Tornuck wisely restrains himself from following the surge of the eager Uruks, his axe rising and falling rapidly as he attempts to cut through the masses towards the defensive line's weakened flank. Angered orcish archers return the ranger's fire in irregular volleys, as the chaos and excitement of battle breaks down Mordain discipline.

Helorondur presses the advantage gained by the knight's charge. He wields Anlach quickly and accurately, taking out several enemies who can't use their weapons effectively due the press of bodies.

Elbarad orders his men in the center to pull back a few paces, hoping to draw the enemy more deeply between the flanks. Giving the illusion of safety from the swarm of arrows.

A large cluster of spear-wielding orcs manages to gather at the center of the masses, their weapons raised before them as they attempt to stop the knight's charge before they can gain momentum. Tornuck snarls angrily, his heavy axe-head splitting a human's shield as he pushes into the enemy ranks. His slow movement carries him gradually near the weak point on the defensive line's left flank, where he eagerly pushes forward as the orcs around him attempt to widen the hole.

Mazog starts picking up spears from the fallen and throwing them at the shield wall and the knights

It becomes a trend many orcs start picking spears up and launching them at their enemies soon the shields in the shield wall have about one or two spears in them a piece.

The Gondor center has moved back about 20 feet when Elbarad notices that the hole on the left that he'd thought closed has opened again. With a shout to the commander of his last reserves he orders them to try to close the breach. The officer nods to Elbarad and says to Serin, "Come on lad! Let's show them that us sailors can fight as well!"

The foremost orcs charge forward as the center of the human line backs away, many orcs falling to the thrown spears and darts of their allies as well as the slashing and thrusting weapons of the humans.

Helorondur turns from his current opponent in surprise as a spear glances off his shield, gouging a deep hole in it. The crouching uruk afore him uses the distraction to take a wide swipe at Helorondur's legs. The blow glances off the Squire's chainmail, which begins to glisten red as the bruising wound makes itself know.

Llachhal calmly watches the orcs in front of him, raising to loose his arrow at those orcs closest to the fighting, yet not yet engaged. A flight if arrows arched corectly fall among the ruined stones the woodsmen use for cover and a number of them fall to the orcish arrows, too wounded to fight more that day. The smaller number closes around Llach's position as a few of their number move their wounded back further. The dead are left where they have fallen. Llach whistles and their aim changes slightly to try to pick off the larger orcs that are unengaged so far.

Springing from his vantage point past the wall, Serin approaches the battle, preparing his weapon and joining the fray.

Serin pulls a large silver blade from his sheath. The sword rings out in the stillness of the air as it sparkles in the light. Serin holds it high aloft with both hands and wields it in cold defiance.

Morigan and the men of Dol Amroth fight with fierce determination, The Gondor reserves add their strength to the warrior of Dol Amroth, and together they slowly push the Orcs back.

The continual harassment from the Ranger's lethal darts enrages the Mordain warriors even further, as many of them fall before reaching the front lines of the black mass. Tornuck's heavy blade rises, it's dark blade hovering overhead for a second before crashing down upon the helm of an unfortunate Gondorian soldier. The orcs around the line's gap push forward ever more fiercely, urged by the sight of red blood and the broken human bodies around them.

Helorondur realizes he is in danger of being surrounded. He gives ground slowly and dearly, making his way towards the men of Dol Amroth. He fights fiercely, but his mount fights even more so, dispatching many an unwary uruk with his hooves.

A large, mace wielding Uruk pushing through the defensive line's gap is suddenly struck heavily by a young man's gleaming sword blade, which cuts a deep gash into his already scarred face. The large Uruk falls to his knees, only to be smashed down by the axe of a fellow orc as the dark mass behind him surges eagerly forward. Tornuck's axe rises and falls almost rhythmically as he attempts to cut down the human's barring his passage, his filthy fangs revealed in a cruel, animal sneer.

Elbarad now leads his men forward in the center. For the first time Angring is dipped into the well of black bodies before him, it comes out tainted with the blood of the foe. Slowly, against the great press of weight the center begins to push back regaining ground step by slow step.

Llachhal glances towards the gap on his side and the orc trying to break through. Yet he dare not aim so close to his own side. He cannot see those of his brothers that flank the other side of the orc ranks, but there is the sign of the green fletched arrows arcing down singly at a chosen target. He focuses his aim on those behind the orcs trying to push out through the gap, trying to slow their forward push with fallen bodies. Yet there are a few less arrows loosed from his side, at least and not a great number to begin with.

Helorondur Senses, rather than sees the slow surge of the Minas Tirith guards. He redoubles his attack, crying the gallant war cry of his forefathers. "Amroth for Gondor!"

Morigan takes up the cry, and the men of Dol Amroth take it up with him. "Amroth for Gondor!"

Rushing through the left, and following close to Morigan, Serin heads straightforward into a large fray of orcs. Swinging violently through the air, they murderously attack his allies. Stopping suddenly, Serin raises his sword, joining the battle cry, "For Gondor" Bent by the tumult of his heart, Serin takes his blade close to his shoulder, readying for the word from Morigan to smash into their ranks.

Two mail-clad, spear wielding orcs are trampled by the kicking hooves of a great steed as they attempt to knock down it's rider. The same mount is cut down several seconds later, as a great, axe-wielding Uruk-hai slashes the brave animal's right hind leg from behind. A stout, spear wielding human is suddenly struck aside the head by a club wielding orc, dropping him to the ground where he is mercilessly trampled by the advancing dark mass. The green-flatted arrows of the human ranger's cause much harm to the rushing orcs, though the fallen Mordain are quickly replaced by their numerous fellows. A fierce cry continues to rise over the cries of the wounded and clashing of steel, shouted in unison by the black masses, "MORDOR!"

Elbarad is now in the fore of his segment of the line, his greatsword striking down orcs before they can get inside it's range to attack him. Still their progress is slow, slowed by both the litter of the field and by the sheer mass of the foe before them.

The Knights of Dol Amroth push forward at the Uruk's coming through the hole, and slowly force them back, allowing the Footmen of Gondor to reinforce their line, and fill in the gap. The Knights then retreat, and continue to offer their strength at whatever points the line begins to weaken.

Morigan points his dripping sword at the ranks of Orcs. "Press on, my brothers!"

A squat, leather-clad orc forces his way through the press of bodies towards Elbarad, his scimitar flying in a wide, overhead slash towards the human's shoulders. Several other orcs follow through the gap, but are quickly cut down by the desperate fighting of the brave Gondorian soldiers. The Orcish host's advance has come to a dead halt at the right side of their ranks, and in the center, the Knight's charge has done much to cut down and scatter their numbers. Still, the orcs surge forward from behind, their numbers seemingly endless as they pursue the blood and flesh of their fallen enemies.

Helorondur dismounts fluidly as his steed is cut down from underneath. He looses all his bearings as the horizon disappears, clouded by the frantic movements of orcs and men. Enraged with the loss of his horse, he lashes out at the nearest uruk, severing the flesh of his left leg.

Llachhal glances at the contents of his quiver with dismay, and is not alone among the archers flanking each side. What seemed a goodish amount of arrows before the battle now seems to drop dangerously low. Each chooses a target even more carefully, trying their best to make each shot count, to make up for the few arrows being loosed. They keep their targets to those spots where the orcs push the hardest.

Elbarad brings his blade up and deflects the scimitar of the attacking orc. Perhaps a little too easily he does this. Because instead of deflecting cleanly the scimitar gouges into his leg. More angry at himself for his laziness Elbarad none-the-less takes it out upon the short orc. With a mighty two handed chop the Commander cleaves the orc from skull to groin.

Behold, the battle is come. Days spent watching for the storm has given way to a vicious duel. Upon the ranks of the black enemy, the Uruk attack in vigor and hate. Their demon eyes bending cruelly upon the men of Gondor. Flesh and bone strive in desperate toils to amend their onslaught. One such as these too comes into the fray. His greatsword gashing in wide cleaving arcs. The small group of orcs prodding the dead and falling suddenly let out a shriek, as the fires of a silver blade smashes through their hides. Looking on over their broken bodies, there stands Serin. His face casts the powers of an unceasing vengeance. Turning and facing the direction of a mountain of evil. He approaches a mighty orc forty yards afar.

Morigan parries with his shield, deflecting an orcs heavy blow, and counter- attacks with his own sword, lopping of the arm of a snarling Orc.

The great, black banner of Mordor flies over the advancing throng of dark orcs, the scarlet red Eye glaring out across the battlefield towards the holding human ranks. Slowly yet steadily, the orcish standard bearer pushes forward through the ranks, the massive black flag advancing towards the brave defenders like a fearsome specter among it's spawned devils. The orc's assault is renewed by the magnificent sight, and they hurl their weapons and themselves against the unyielding human shield wall. The thinning rain of the rangers' arrows upon the dark masses seems to have little effect now, as the black beasts' anger and battlerage rises to a fever pitch.

Helorondur's sword rises and falls as if composed in a dance of beauty, though grim it may be. Singled off against a huge, chainmailed, axe wielding Uruk-Hai, Helorondur uses every ounce of his courage and training to protect himself. He and the Uruk trade innumerable blows, each grunting hoarsely in exertion. Neither's companions dare to interrupt the spectacle.

Admitting no entrances of the enemy, Serin and a group of others fiercely attack the coming villains as the try to sneak pass the wall of soldiers.

Helorondur's weariness and that of his giant opponent begin to tell. Their traded strokes slice the air a but more raggedly, a bit less cleanly. Both suck air into their lungs greedily, fighting with their own bodies to breath. Finally, Helorondur draws the uruk with a faint. A look of frustration and knowing crosses the visage of the orc, intelligible even in with his perverse features. Helorondur's sword transfixes the beast squarely though belly. "A low moan escapes the orc's mouth as his life expires.

The woodsman left flanking the sides, use their last arrows carefully, bolstered slightly by those of the dead or wounded of their number. Each shot is aim, then checked again before being loosed at the orc ranks.

The pounding of the wardrums grows louder and faster as the orcs of Mordor renew their assault on the solid defensive line. Their enraged, desperate fighting manages to hold off the seemingly unavoidable defeat for moments longer, as the scarlet blood of the Gondorians spills to the broken ground. Suddenly, the great black banner of Mordor falls into the milling throng, it's bearer struck down by a single, green-fletched arrow. Screams of hate and dismay rise from the throats of the black Uruks as they are pushed back and cut down by the brave humans, the black masses slowly beginning to draw away from the defensive lines.

Morigan sensing victory, the soldiers of Dol Amroth fight with renewed strength.

Helorondur stares unbelievingly at the dissipating forces of the enemy. His surcoat is stained red with blood, both his own and those of his victims. His sword hangs idle in his reddened hands, his shield disfigured beyond recognition. But his voice remains clear and noble: "Flee, dark rabble, before your betters! Gondor and Amroth!" He makes common cause with the foot soldiers of Dol Amroth, advancing in stride with these gallant warriors.