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Logs

Saving it for the Humans

Tags: Bal'Dyak,  Buugoc,  Hrodwyn,  Logoz,  Saereda

Short Summary: In which a motley band of Morian and Isendrim Orcs have a violent encounter with Hrodwyn and her group of King's Men.
Date (real-life): 2011-12-05
Scene Location: Dale-lands: South: West side of the Bridge
Date (in-game): August 9, 3054
Time of Day: Night
Weather: Summer, clear and warm

West side of the Bridge

You are standing near the west bank of the river Celduin. You can see the menacing forest of Mirkwood just a few miles distant. To the east is the river and past it the lands of the famous vintners of Dorwinion Wine. A road seems to run south along the river, and by its side stands a large signpost.

Obvious exits:
Small House, West, South, and East over the Bridge


[Logoz]
Night has come to the southern reaches of the kingdom of Brand, and the stars shine brightly in the heavens above; the tapestry of Varda keeping watch over the sleeping lands. Away to the west lies the forbidding wall of Mirkwood, while south and east there are only the grey smears of distant hills and rivers as they trail into the horizon.

And yet, while this vista might seem peaceful, there are those abroad this night who might seek to spoil the mood.

A dozen black shapes slink their way beneath the vigil of the stars, keeping to shadows where they may or elsewise cursing skyward in crude defiance. They are each a little less tall than a man, but most are brawny and bulky besides, and as they make their way along the crest of a hilltop they are revealed against the moon to be orcs. Foul wretches dug up from the Mountains of Mist, it would appear, and they hiss and chatter to one another in the vile tongue of the goblinkin.

[Hrodwyn]
Though it is night, not all men in the Barding kingdom are at rest. A small group of the King's Men is at vigil, kneeling in the grass with their eyes watching the troop of orcs from some distance. All are silent, and overall their breathing is heavy and almost restless.

Among these men is Lieutenant Hrodwyn, whose grey eyes survey the intruders without blinking. Unlike some of the other soldiers, her breaths come evenly with almost audible restraint, though her muscles are held tightly as her fingers tap on the pommel of her sword. Still, despite the relative nearness of the enemy, her overall expression is one of collected thought.

[Saereda]
Hissing through bared teeth as another of its kind draws too close, one broad shouldered specimen of an orc with tendrils of greasy black hair hanging in its eyes moves through the shadows with the others. The creature pauses, breathing the night air in deeply with a snort and a twitch of its inset nose.

Over one shoulder is thrown a roughly hewn sword, the pommel of which is wrapped in bits of leather and decorated with assorted teeth. Rusted and pitted from previous battles, it's still a wicked looking weapon with sharp points.


[Logoz]
Scouring the night with eyes made for the darkness, the other orcs nevertheless seem unaware of Hrodwyn's vigil nearby, and so it is that they seem to relax upon the hill-top, and many of them plonk themselves down to take a rest. One of the larger uruks, evidently a captain of some sort, barks at them with disgust, and kicks the nearest of the seated goblins full in the chest.

"Lazy scum!" he snarls at them in crude, broken Westron rather than the speech of the Morians. "You make me sick! Catching a breather? You don't see the lads with the White Hand stopping to rest their stinking bones, do yer?" He jerks a thumb in the direction of the greasy-haired orc.
"See? You wanna show me up in front of one of them??"

Muttering and snarling in turn the other goblins slowly regain their feet, and many sullen, resentful glares are sent to the one holding the roughly-hewn sword.


[Hrodwyn]
With a wave of their Lieutenant's hand, the Barding band begins to close the distance to the orcs, keeping low to the ground and pausing often to look and listen. The whole while, the men move cautiously, clearly trained to move over the fields of the southern part of the realm with little noise. Yet, they remain too far to strike even after covering some fifty meters.


[Saereda]
The greasy-haired orc's cracked lips part, revealing a set of prominent canines as he smirks in response to the resentful glares from the others. It's an expression that's quickly followed with a rude gesture with his left hand at a group that chooses to glare for too long.

A barking half laugh follows a moment later as one orc leaps forward at the insult, only to be pulled back by the pair behind him with quickly spoken warnings slipping between their yellowed teeth. One speaks, "Save it for the humans, whelp."

[Logoz]
"Save it for the humans indeed," snarls the goblin leader with a trace of relish at the animosity, and hie own fangs gnash and clash together as he swaggers about the group. "Soon as we find some, that is. Ain't seen another village worth razing in a few nights now, and I'm beginning to wonder if these Northmen hide in holes in the ground like long-beards..."

But then one of the quieter Morian orcs is sniffing and squinting down the hillside, and he raises his fist for attention. "Can't see 'em, no, but my nose never lies, and I tells yer I can smell 'em, at least..."

The uruk captain glares at the scout, but does shuffle over as though to investigate.


[Hrodwyn]
While the Goblins continue to talk, the Bardings have divided into three groups and managed to sneak within the furthest range of their bows at night. Slinking down towards the ground, several of the soldiers prepare to fire arrows and aim carefully at the orcs. Hrodwyn is among those that do so, taking a deep breath as she nocks the arrow and pulls her bowstring back.

Then, almost simultaneously, several arrows are let loose towards the orcs. For her part, the Lieutenant's arrow darts towards the Orc captain.


[Buugoc]
     Approaching the Orcs is another small contingent of the foul folks, perhaps ten of the creatures slowly move forward, moving as silently as their crooked legs will carry them. At their front and breathing a bit heavily is the Gothshaka Buggoc, the his hand rests upon the hilt of his blade as his yellow eyes watch the events unfold before him.
 
     As arrows fly through the night sky he drops the the ground, in an ugly looking bellyflop type motion, as he drops so too does his contingent of Orcs, weapons drawn and arrows notched, waiting.


[Saereda]
Easing his way to the edge of the hillside, the larger Isengard orc with the rough sword breathes in deeply followed by a snarl "Yesss..." He hisses, "Man flesh. Dinner." Poignant words indeed for a hungry, restless orc. The two others follow not far behind, sniffing the air as well.

 However, the question about whether humans are actually there or not is answered relatively effectively as one of the large orc's followers takes an arrow in neck and with a gurgling sound hits the ground, clutching wildly at his bleeding neck. With a hiss at the surprise, the large orc hits the ground with a curse, and the other follows in short order as the arrows whizz by.


[Logoz]
The uruk captain whirls about in anger as the arrow speeds out of the dark, and with a fierce bellow he cries out in command. "Tricksy little worms!" he curses, stamping about and beating the ground with a heavy mace. "Cowardly little curs! Find them, lads! Rip them to pieces! Tear out their throats and paint yer blades with blood!"

And with that he too goes on the attack, snarling and growling his way down the hillside as his group fan out in search of Hrodwyn's party. Spying the Bardings at last the Morian scouts charge the enemy, hoping to overcome with savagery what their stature might not grant.


[Hrodwyn]
In rapid course, the Dale-landers with bows unleash a second volley of arrows at the orcs while the other soliders draw their swords and ready their shields, bodies and demeanor steeled for battle. So far, the whole ambush appears rehearsed, as if it were a standard military drill.

Kneeling alongside some of the archers, Hrodwyn's second shot is sent towards one of the charging scouts and she drops the bow and draws her blade as soon as the arrow leaves her control. Once her longsword is out, she remains in place beside five members of the Barding band; some distance away, the other six are also preparing to face any orcs charging that way.


[Buugoc]
     As more arrows fly the second group of Orcs, the group led by the Gothshaka continue to lay upon the ground, two of which are literally pinned to the ground being struck with arrows. After a moment arrows are notched and a volley is returned, with arrows flying high into the sky in a massive arc, little aim but enough to send the message.


[Saereda]
Looking back at the other Isengard orc that isn't bleeding out already, the big one with the rough sword points down the hill with his chin as the Morian's take the initial charge. With a toothy grin at his compatriot the other orc palms an axe that hangs at his side and gives a knowing grins.

The pair of them pause only long enough to avoid being an obvious target for second volley of arrows. Then with a twin roar of pure savagery they rise from the ground digging their toes in as they charge down the hill towards the bardings.


[Logoz]
And the rush of the first group gains quickly upon the ranks of the Bardings; their arrows felling two of the brutes where they stand, and a third picks up a limp as he howls and hobbles away to feel sorry for himself. But the rest remain unhindered, and with snarls and growls their storm breaks upon the line of Northmen; hacking and slashing for all they are worth.


[Buugoc]
     Hopping to his feet the Gothshaka draws his crude scimitar and makes a mad dash for his enemies! Running as quickly as his mangled legs will carry him he screeches at the top of his lungs, a sound that is a mix of pain, pleasure, and a dying cat. Weapon and shield at the ready he heads for the closest man, his yellow eyes looking at nothing else.
 
     The Gothshaka's contingent of Orcs stay back, deciding to continue firing arrows instead of rushing the group of men.


[Hrodwyn]
Fortunately for the Bardings, the arrows loosed into the sky by Buugoc's group mostly fly wide -- except for one that flits right past a soldier's ear before piercing the ground with great force so that the shaft remains standing upright at a slight angle. This soldier who barely dodged death lowers his sword a moment, eyes reflecting a new found fear just before the rushing orcs fall upon the Bardings.

Taking a long breath as the orcs approach, Hrodwyn shouts the order to hold for both groups of men and the soldiers, save the one momentary stunned with fear, brace themselves for the charge, blocking as they might and seeking to press the attack as possible. The solider gripped by fear, too distracted by his own emotions, is the first among the Dale-landers to fall to an orc sword.

As the fight begins to rage, Hrodwyn herself dodges the attack launched by one charging orc only to see Buugoc running towards the fight in a frenzy. Hefting her own weapon, she runs to meet him.


[Buugoc]
     As Hrodwyn rushes towards him, Buugoc grins his toothy grin and lets out his screeching shout once again, licking his cracked and bleeding lips he leaps forward, swinging his crude scimitar in a downwards strike, the blade aimed for his enemies shoulder whilst his shield is held high ready to deflect a possible blow.


[Saereda]
Large sword and axe swinging to their individual timings, the two Isengard orcs howl with glee as they fill holes in the Morian line each one engaging a Northman with all the lust of battle sparkling in their flashing yellow eyes. The one with the sword kicks out with armored boots at the shins of the humans closest to him, snarling as he works to parry blows.

The other wielding the axe snarls and grunts unhappily as he fails to block one of the human's blows, and takes a nasty gash just above his nose. Licking at the trickle of blood that seeps down, he spins his axe with renewed malice as he takes aim at that same Northman's head, more than willing to trade blow for blow.


[Hrodwyn]
With a quietly fell expression on her face, Lieutenant Hrodwyn of the King's Men engages the Gothshaka Buugoc, blocking the orc's first attack with the side of her longsword. Pivoting from this parry, she presses her own attack with controlled ferocity, swinging her weapon to attack her enemy's head. All the while, her eyes seem aglow, driven by a focused energy.


[Buugoc]
     Balrog be praised!!! For the the only thing that keeps the Gothshaka's head intact is the use of his helmet, screeching in pain as the blade smashes into his head he lunges sideways while reaching up to touch the blood that is pouring down the side of his face from beneath his helm. Laughing aloud he screeches once again and then lunges forward thrusting his crude scimitar at the woman's throat.
 Out in the back away from the fighting the Gothshaka's Orcs once again send forth a volley of arrows, the projectiles fly high into the sky before plummeting towards the earth in the general vasinaty of the men.


[Logoz]
Perhaps the latter of the Isengarders has his work cut out for him, for Hrodwyn of Karath has brought no measly farm-hands to battle with her. Instead the lieutenant's party is made of up soldiers trained well at Thrush Hill, and the Northman targeted by the axe-wielding orc ducks deftly beneath the strike, and with a long knife appearing in his hands he darts forward in the blink of an eye; the blade slashing in a bid to open up his foul foe's belly.

And as for the one wielding the roughly hewn sword? There is an answer to his rampage, and even as one man sinks with gritted teeth as his shins are smashed, a second steps forward with a mighty hammer to offer challenge. Up it swings in search of the uruk's jaw, hoping perhaps to make a swift end of him.


[Hrodwyn]
Hrodwyn sidesteps Buugoc's thrust...but only barely. Without taking time to reflect on the near miss, the Lieutenant, though not fully on balance, takes the opportunity to attack the orc's flank with her sword, swinging the weapon briskly with both hands forcefully holding the grip. All the while, she remains quiet, except for the inevitable grunts of physical effort.


[Buugoc]
     Sidestepping the Gothshaka screeches once again, not out of joy for blocking the attack but for the arrow that narrowly missed his foot that now protrudes from the ground. Lunging forward he hisses "add you ears to mine collection." swinging his blade in a sideways attacks at the woman's face he continues to hiss.


[Hrodwyn]
Dodging the Gothshaka's attack once again, Hrodwyn eyes the orc warily, perhaps in response to his words. But, even while eyeing her opponent, she does not pause, shifting her weight and once again pressing the attack with her own blade. Skillfully turning the weapon, she slashes quickly with it at her enemy's side.


[Saereda]
Indeed, the Isengard orc with the axe is perhaps a little outclassed. There's no question in its mind when it misses the initial attack on the soldier, but there is a brief moment of confusion as the orc's expression contorts into a scowl when the soldier's head isn't quite where he thinks it should be on the return swing of his axe. The blade whooshes harmlessly over the soldier once more before he feels the sting of the soldier's long knife. The creature's face contorts with pain, and he pulls back, immediately bringing the axe down on his sneaky attacker, but not without taking a nasty, deep gash to the stomach.

The one wielding the sword laughs in amusement as the one human sinks to the ground, and it's with a snarl that he meets the next challenger catching the blow of the hammer with a downwards parry of his sword. Stepping back then with a hop, he disengages his weapon and swings the sword up and around, looking to slice up the soldier's dominant hand.


[Buugoc]
     Trying to sidestep the attack the Gothshaka trips over one of the protruding arrows and catches the blade in his side, screaming in pain he grabs at the gash and curses at his broken chainmail. Adjusting his shield he again presses the attack, swinging his blade at the woman's face saying "Your nose will be mines!!!"


[Hrodwyn]
Hrodwyn's face remains intact in the aftermath of Buugoc's attack, which fortunately misses her entirely. Another rapid slash follows, made again with the same consistent intensity and strength as her previous attacks. This time, the sword's target is again her opponent's side -- the same one which was previously injured.


[Buugoc]
     Backstepping with a quickness the Gothshaka grins and says "Your wee nose look good on a chain.." laughing aloud he lunges forward and swings his blade at the woman's face once again obviously trying to remove her face with the tip of his blade.
Buugoc attacks Hrodwyn with his Scimitar, but Hrodwyn parries the attack with her Longsword!


[Logoz]
As the axe-blade of the first Isengarder clatters down in search of blood, the King's Man may be glad of the fine mail forged in the north, doubtless aided by the skill of Dwarven smiths, for the blade is turned aside by finely-wrought rings, though the force is enough to send him crashing to the ground. The wind is squeezed from his lungs as he lands, and though he rolls over on to his back, even as he raises his knife it is a paltry comparison to the mighty axe of the orc.

In the meanwhile, the hammer-bearer grunts as his blow is sidestepped, and with cat-like footwork he offers the same; his hand snatched backward, even as the crude scimitar slices the air close by. "For the King!" he roars and closes the distance between himself and his foe; punching out the head of his weapon in a bid to crush the vile brute's nose.


[Hrodwyn]
Hrodwyn parries the Gothshaka's scimitar attack with the side of her own blade and pushes back harshly against her opponent's sword so as to give herself room. Taking the iniative, she then presses forward, swinging her own blade again in a smooth arc that may portend further harm to Buugoc's head. As she does she, she gives an aggressive shout.


[Buugoc]
     The woman's blade again smashes into the Gothshaka's helm, rattling his head he screeches once again and then goes into a furry, swinging his blade in a massive downwards strike still trying to remove her nose!


[Hrodwyn]
While Buugoc fails to get Hrodwyn's nose, he does get a weighty hit on her armored shoulder. The hit is solid and the meeting of blade and armor results in a loud noise verifying the event. Cringing but still standing, the Lieutenant survives this blow, though her shoulder seems to sag for the present time -- and she quickly seeks vengeance with her own powerful blade-sweep.


[Buugoc]
     The Woman's blade strikes true, but not due to the Gothshaka not trying to block the blow. Getting his blade up to block the attack, the woman's powerful blow crushes his crude weapon shattering it and then continuing to strike him in the shoulder. Screeching in pain and in anger he throws the handle of his broken blade at her face and then tries to flee, trying to run away, or to at least get near his companions.


[Saereda]
The Isengard orc with the rough axe is bleeding profusely from the wound to his stomach, but that isn't going to stop him - at least not until blood loss really starts to work it's way into that head of his. All he is right now is damn angry, and he takes the opportunity afforded to him when the King's Man hits the ground, pressing the attack with another jarring downwards, rage induced swing of the axe. He's going for the King's man's neck, and there's little finesse to the predictable, pained movement.

The questionably smarter sword wielding orc, barely dodges the hammer blow to the face with an inartistic backwards pedal, the heavy weapon swooshing just inches in front of his nose. With an answering roar to the human's shout, he renews his attack, stringy hair flying up around his face as he swings the sword up and then downwards anew - this time at his hammer wielding foe's knees.


[Hrodwyn]
Hrodwyn takes a scimitar handle on the face, flinching backwards and blindly swinging her sword in Buugoc's general direction even though the orc is already gone. When she recovers, she already has a black eye and the beginning contours of an oddly shaped bruise appear on her forehead. Muttering something dark, she grips her sword again and looks about, clearly searching about the battlefield, but she does not immediately begin to move anywhere.


[Logoz]
Alas for the knife-wielder beneath the axe-bearing orc's wrath, for even as he tries to roll aside he is caught in the neck by the ferocity of the blow. Away tumbles his head, sliced clean away, and his Northman blood stains the blade of the vicious brute's weapon.In the meanwhile, however, the hammer-bearer fares better, and even with the ribbons that his adversary makes of the air between them he is able to evade harm. A kinsman of Karath, the noble Warrior House, his skill belies years spent learning the craft of battle, and the man's eyes narrow as he watches the dance of the orc's feet. Choosing his moment with care, lolling he hammer around in his wrist, he suddenly launches his weapon in a viper's strike; it's heavy head lashing out in a bid to dent the uruk's skull.

[Buugoc]

     As the Gothshaka limps away, he holds the wound on his side and curses under his breath, after a long long moment he makes it to his contingent of Orcs. Ripping a dagger from his belt he approaches the nearest archer and buries the blade in the poor creatures throat! With blood squirting from the wound and covering the Gothshaka, the dying Orc's last pleads for live are nothing more then the gurgled sound of a beast drowning upon its own blood. Leaving the dagger in his throat he picks up the creatures massive two handed battle axe and storms off.


[Saereda]
With a triumphant roar, the copiously bleeding orc gives a vicious kick to his opponents prone body, lifting his axe and snarling as it notices the tide of battle begining to turn. It edges away from the front line, a grimy hand pressed firmly against its belly as it breathes deeply, rage shining in its eyes as it eyes flick back towards Mirkwood.

As for the sword wielding orc, this time he isn't fast enough, and the blow of the kinsman's hammer lands squarely on the orc's temple. It's a strike that not only sends the orc flying but also sends the huge blade tumbling away as well to land point up in the ground. If he was the smarter one, it's too late to know now because this time the big orc doesn't get up again.


[Logoz]
And the kinsman, seeing his foe fall, suddenly lets his knees sag, for the battle-lust leaves his limbs at once as the goblin-kin retreat. Leaning upon his hammer for support the man seems to feel no eation at the sight of the fallen orcs, only a grim scowl at the stench of death. Indeed, as he picks his way through the slain his eyes fall upon more than one of his fellows lying still, and he comes to stand by Hrodwyn's side.

"What now, sir? Have we the time to pull our fallen away, or need we speed to Iach Celduin?"


[Bal'Dyak]
    Baaaaroooooooom thump thump. Baaaaroooooooooom thump thump. The call of bass and crude horn rasps anger across the battlefield. A rumbling call of crude Westron words sounds in time with pound of drum:

Earth it quakes, boots they shakes,
Blades, blades, steel blades we swingin'!
Stain yer pants, ya wanna dance?
Death, death, cold death we bringin'!

Fat and steaming with stink of Uruk sweat the war-drummer Shavyak leads the call and response. The Fighting Uruk-Hai have marched swiftly south to rejoin their Morian alliance from patrols to the north. Here battle has been found, and the Raven Captain Bal'Dyak takes to a frenzied run in jingle and crash of heavy armor - seeking to break the remaining northmen. The score of equally armored and heavily equipped warriors of hidden caves from far south matches his pace, bursting into cacophony of battle cry and bloodlust.


[Hrodwyn]
"It is time to retreat," answers Hrodwyn while looking into the distance in the general direction of the loud orc reinforcements. "I regret that we must do so, but we cannot defeat a new enemy force. We will take a retreat to the hidden scouting outpost a mile distant for now...as I do not see any other nearby hiding place."


[Saereda]
Following the movement of the Morian's back into the woods, the remaining Isengard orc lifts its head, sniffling the air and then grinning broadly at the sound of the deep horn across the battlefield. Wheezing deeply as the creature finally starts feeling the effects of its belly wound, he stumbles forward with a broad grin and a howling, triumphant laugh.


[Logoz]
Nodding grimly to this, the other soldier stoops to recover the knife of his fallen comrade, and closes his hand about the dead fingers for a long moment. "Farewell, my friend," he says softly, as one might declare an oath, ere he is rising anew, and turns to follow the Barding retreat.
Away they go, swift as they may, until the hiding place swallows them up and they are gone.


[Bal'Dyak]
The wood-cutter lusts for the battle-axe waiting at his back, but a war-drummer's victory comes with the spoils. The stench of death-throes fills his nostrils, a feast that doesn't move eats best - and so he continues driving his compatriots with boom and doom:

Drums and bums, sticks and heads,
We don't need no stinkin' breads!
Gimme bones and all yer thrones
Clash and bash and eat the deads!

    Rising quickly over crest of hill, a practiced bent line mimicking the point of an arrow, the trained and blessed warriors of Angrenost find synchronous step, and voice. "HAROOOP" they yell back to their drummer, raising jagged broadswords as one - crash and smash their gear in cruel musical step.

The merciless approach breaks into a relentless noise - their leader has stopped without signal. "AGAIN! Parshnickerin' JUMBWATZ i missed it AGAIN!" howls the frustrated leader. The Fighting Uruk-Hai fall as stones, one upon each other - and Bal'Dyak the barber retreats alone abandoning his shield with defiance.


[Saereda]
Breaking from the Morian host to join his brethren, the Isengard orc fresh from the battle thumps shoulders with the closest one and can't help but grin widely as he addresses no one in particular, "There be man meat down there, boys. But you might have to search for the head." With a roaring laugh the still bleeding creature, boastfully comments, "Just popped right on off with one good swing."


[Bal'Dyak]
The fury of rhythm beat into Shavyak's drum fails in an instant as hungry eyes wilt to see his brood-mates withdrawal. The grip Bal'Dyak maintains upon sword-hilt thirsts. "Yar, go and get it," he snarls at the braggart, passing within the lazy circle of banter, "Pop right off and get it." His sword swings upwards and back-hand - silencing the offender, now freed from its voice.

    The helmeted black skinned Uruk head rolls to a rest amidst his failed troop, yet rising from their collision in confusion of infighting and insult. "You hit MY foot, told ya no grog BEFORE the fightin," barks one to the next. The opposite Uruk spares comment and strikes deep with point of sword to the weakness in another loud-mouth's gut. "Go on, pull it out - teeth'll bite ya backwards," he responds finally, using leverage of steel tipped boot to force the body into spasms.

    Bal'Dyak furiously hits the drummer upon mighty bicep with shake of head and trust of camaraderie, "So's it taste better when I knows it died from ME. Witch cursed me she did." The fat wood-cutter of Hammer Clan drools with tilted head and finds no lyrics, meandering into the corpses. The Raven Captain continues west towards the camp.


Date added: 2011-12-06 03:08:23    Hits: 92
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