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Battle at the Forest Wall

Tags: Bagurat,  Grishnakh,  Sachem,  Sudanir,  Haldir,  Formin,  Farak,  Grimbeorn

Short Summary: The armies of orcs and elves meet where Mirkwood forms a great forested barrier
Date (real-life): 2010-10-12
Scene Location: Cliff Bottom, Mirkwood
Date (in-game): Day 1 of March 3051
Time of Day: Evening
Weather: Raining
** Real time is: Tue Oct 12 18:24:57 2010, GMT -8 **
Elendor time is: Late Morning (1100) on Mersday, Day 1 of March 3051.
In the Spring sky, Tonight the moon will be new.

Cliff Bottom

    As an indefinite gametrail wends its indistinct snaking route through the forest from the north, it curls around the rounded belly of a boulder half embedded in the forest floor which marks the beginning of an outcrop that grows steadily in height as it angles towards the southeast. It's a fresh spring late morning.
    It is raining.

Obvious exits:
 Cave leads to Mine.
 North leads to Narrow path.

Grishnakh has arrived.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Long has the orc muster been plaguing the forest of Mirkwood, and ever and anon have they dared to move further north. Now, after finally crossing over the river which had previously barred their path, the orcs have set their course Eastward, seeking ever for the realm of the Firstborn of Greenwood.

This day, under the thick and gloomy canopy, the raucous voices and laughter of their vile kind can be heard bouncing from trunk to trunk over the pitter patter of rain. The clink and clatter of steel, and the tramping of iron-shod boots rises to assail the treetops with its dreadful racket: the Mordain and Morian horde marches onward.

And one of the creatures at the fore of the army stands short and robed. Instead of the crow-mask the shaman usually wears, Bagurat has replaced it with black markings that must be uruk blood upon her face.

Above in the trees, the elves flit from branch to branch in the first rain of spring, the pitter patter on the leaves all across the forest drowning out most other sounds and making the need for stealth almost laughable. They start at the high branches and move down to lower branches for a closer look, and closer vantage. They take their places of choice, covered in colors of the forest to blend into the trees. And then, with almost one motion as if cued from a single hand, the elves draw their bows, the strings and the wood creaking and straining in unison.

[Formin] Yet there are some who wait not for the army of orcs, but follow in their path. Not terribly quietly, this is true, but not as loudly as might be expected either. Here is a far cry from the comparatively safe ruts of the Old Forest Road, yet here it is that a party of dwarves steals north and east. They number perhaps two dozen in total, a mingled assortment of soldierly-looking fellows and those of a more civilian persuasion. Yet the path they follow hardly needs a scout's keen eye to follow - thousands of iron-shod footprints have pounded the muddy ground mercilessly.

At the fore is, unusually, no military dwarf, but Formin. The silversmith has of late been much seen passing to and fro between the dwarven camp and Mirkwood. And with word growing ever darker of the progress of the goblin army through the forest, it seems these dwarves have come to lend what aid they may. Whether they shall be swallowed by the forest and quickly forgotten, however, remains to be seen.

Since entering the forest last fall, the Morians have been culled by starvation, disease, orc sacrifice and fierce woodland battle. The remnants are thin, wiry and gaunt, all of which seems only to amplify their fierceness. At the head of their train is Sachem their king, looking well fed despite the fact he is hideous to behold even for an orc.

And among the forest-clad elves is Haldir, his grey cloak blending in nonetheless. Few of the Galadhrim are with him, though they, too, bend their bows.

     Approaching the front of the dwarven line is the Priest Farak, he is not dressed in his typical priestly robes of crimson, this day his robes are of black with silver trimmings, upon his arm he wears his battle warn shield, hanging at his hip is his jewel encrusted mace, nearing the Silversmith he bows his head and grins at the dwarf.

[Bagurat(#24847)] The creaking of wooden bows is mostly drowned out by the terrible amount of noise the uruk-hai make, but a few of the keener sensed tracker orcs upon the flanks would seem to discern something. Several ears twitch and ugly heads turn to glare into the forest with unfriendly eyes.

"Getting close, lads," voices Bagurat in twisted Common for the benefit of both orc kins present. "Soon there'll be leaf-ears aplenty for the altar and the pot." She runs a black tongue over her lips as if in anticipation.

[Formin] "Ye gods," Formin snorts at Farak's grin, though he grints at the priest as well. He shakes his head, spraying rainwater. "I'd no idea we'd be -swimming- to find our foes, eh? Certainly leave a muddy mess behind them don't they." As if as cue, his boot hits an especially slick patch of mud and the silversmith comes rather ungracefully to a kneeling position, though he makes every effort to make this move appear to have been deliberate. He clears his throat and heaves himself to both feet again, cocking his head to one side as he does so. "Seems to me..." he says, thoughtfully, "that trees don't make that metal tapping sort of noise I'm hearing when struck by rain. Mayhap I'm mistaken though, it's happened before."

The Morians grumble and continue marching.

     Chuckling as the silversmith falls, the Priest says "We are drawing close to them Master Formin, I hear it too.." Reaching to his hip he wields his mace and grins saying "We will kill all that come before us.." patting the head of his mace he grins once again and says "May the Maker smile upon us this day.."

Grimbeorn has arrived.

     Chuckling as the silversmith falls, the Priest says "We are drawing close to them Master Formin, I hear it too.." Reaching to his hip he wields his mace and grins saying "We will kill all that come before us.." patting the head of his mace he grins once again and says "May the Maker smile upon us this day.."(repose)

Elf_army has connected.
Orc_army has connected.


Hundreds of bows loose arrows in the forest, a low swooshing sound like a passing wind overcomes even the pattering of raindrops, whispering through the leaves toward the advancing orc army. The elves throw back their covering cloaks, revealing slightly more visible clothing underneath, and reach for the next arrow, now firing as will and opportunity dictate.

Elf_army launches an arrow...
Elf_army's bowshot hits Orc_army, mildly wounding her.

[Formin] "Ah now, I certainly hope so!" Formin says, snorting again, his face slick with rainwater. "I do not get muddy for nothing, you know!" He reaches beneath his sodden cloak and unsheathes the red-handled short broadsword at his side, then pulls the road metal shield from his back. "Well, on we go then. I'm not standing here listening to the rain for my health, after all." And with that he plunges onward, following the trampled ground.

[Bagurat(#24847)] And quite suddenly the forest is alive with the twanging of bows and the whistle of arrows. A mighty cry goes up from the Mordain horde: a shout of both excitement and hateful anger as a handful are bit by Eldarin dart. Those who fall are mercilessly trampled by their fellows. The scouts at the sides and the rear are swiftly fumbling for their own gnarled bows, and a generous return volley is sent speeding for the tree branches.

[Combat(#13388)] Orc_army takes off Wooden Shield.
[Combat(#13388)] Orc_army wields Bow.

Orc_army launches an arrow...
Orc_army's bowshot hits Elf_army, mildly wounding him.

What few archers the Morians brought with them have long since been killed in battle. All except for the king himself who stows his axe and pulls out a bow. Readying it, he looks around for possible foes as the rest of the Morians look for cover.

[Combat(#13388)] Sachem wields Bow.

The orcish volley falls among the elves, though few fall. And Haldir draws his bow again, unhurt by the dark arrows; this time he aims at the orcish king, that only surviving archer of the Morians...

Haldir launches an arrow...
Haldir's bowshot hits Sachem, mildly wounding him.

Elves cry out as the first return volley is returned, a few of them falling from the trees, yet more of them injured, some too badly to continue. Fifteen, perhaps, if one had time to count. Some of the firstborn begin to fall back, while others take their next arrow and nock their bows again, now able to fire at will as opportunity presents. The rain of arrows is more sporadic, swishing through leaves with almost the same consistency as the falling rain. In the trees, the elves start singing once more, singing lament and victory in tandem.

Elf_army launches an arrow...
Elf_army's bowshot hits Orc_army, lightly wounding her.

Sachem ignores the sudden pain of being hit. He steadies himself and nocks an arrow, aiming carefully through the rain before letting go.

Sachem launches an arrow...
Sachem's bowshot hits Haldir, mildly wounding him.

[Formin] "There!" Formin says abruptly, after the dwarves have pressed on for some time. He halts, pausing to point ahead. Though it daylight, the rain and heavy trees of Mirkwood cast thick shadows upon the ground, but some distance ahead the ground appears to swarm with a thousand moving shadows, no natural movement of the forest itself. "Come! Listen to them, it sounds as if they have found the elves. Hah, well Master Farak, send up a prayer quicksmart if you would while we flank the slimy things, eh!"

The party of dwarves takes up a s jog, slogging through the mud as they went their way around to the north, attempting to come upon the goblin army's flank and also to gain a greater appreciation of the scene upon which they have stumbled.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Sporadic as it may be, the Firstborn's arrows succeed in smiting more of their foes; perhaps around twenty or so, though it is hard to tell with the chaotic mess of orcish bodies and stomping feet. Again, orcs' own bows are raised and their delivery released toward any signs of movement in the treetops above.

The witch-orc meanwhile, despite the rain of shafts from overhead, seems delightedly pleased with the handful or so of Elves that have toppled to the ground. Fingering the black scimitar in her claws, the shaman croons, "Yes, yes! Knock them from their perches."

Orc_army launches an arrow...
Orc_army's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.

[Combat(#13388)] Bagurat pulls a black scimitar from its sheath.

Sachem's arrow draws a scratch in the side of Haldir's face, but no more arrows are to cause elven grief for now: for now, they pull back among the branches.

     Halting alongside the silversmith, the Priest looks to the company of Dwarves and says "The Maker has made us strong and given us the fortitude to defeat all of our enemies. May he look down upon us this day with favorable eyes!" Raising his mace he says "May we crush our enemies!!!" and with that he lowers his mace and looks to the silversmith with fire in his eyes and says "We will crush them!"

Alongside the dwarves comes a massive bruin, bane of goblin ambitions in these parts, fierce light in its eyes. It lopes along with the dwarven approach, roaring its challenge into the forest.

Many of the elves suddenly drop from their branches to the ground, the Mordain arrows cutting through the trailing hair. Others dodge but fail, taking only flesh wounds. On the ground, squads of elves take a stance, shoulder to shoulder. "You will not take our hill!" some are heard to cry in the common tongue, though for most, the singing only grows louder. Arrow after arrow sails west, sharpened arrowheads seeking out the flesh of orcs and goblins.

Elf_army launches an arrow...
Elf_army's bowshot hits Orc_army, mildly wounding her.

[Formin] "I beg your pardon," Formin replies to Farak, drawing himself up as if mildly offended as he looks at the priest. "But I intend to -stab- mine, if it's all the same to you!" And then his face splits into a devlish grin and he jabs out with the point of his blade to make his point, cackling.

And with the coming of a mighty roar behind them, the dwarves seem keen to announce themselves likewise. Suddanly cries of BARUK KHAZAD! and KHAZAD AI-MENU! echo through the heavy downpour of rain. The battlecries break out to the north of the horde, though they may be heard by the sharp-eared elves on the hill. The ground may not tremble beneath the feet of a mere two dozen dwarves, but certainly the clamber of armor, clank of blades, and cry of challenge that issues from the suddenly charging dwarves will do little to hearten those unfortunate enough to find themselves on the far northern edge of the horde.

The bear, too, charges with the dwarven army, keeping pace with them for a moment, then just launching itself into the orc army, heedless of the danger.

 The orcish army is moving quickly to close the gaps and join in melee, certainly more their style than arrow launching. In the very back of the horde is the vorazg and his own elite group of black clad monsters, 100 strong. The ferocious black guard of barad-dur. The commander seems content to leave the movments of the army to the skill of his captains, he himself, still wounded from his arrival in the woods. His armor has been repaired, but the wicked scimitar he holds remains coated in blood that is now a dark reddish brown hue.
 His face breaks into a scowl at the sounds of the screaming bear man. Gingerly feeling his cracked ribs, Grishnakh spits. Without a word the burly uruk-hai makes his way to the northern flanks, skirting to the rear of the lines. behind him comes the black guard, wielding scimitars and war hammers.

Haldir joins his elven kin in the line, his hood falling to bare his head. One last arrow leaves his bow ere he forsakes it for a sword: it flies into the orcish horde.

[Combat(#13388)] Haldir wields Longsword.
[Combat(#13388)] Haldir puts on Studded Leather Shield.

     The Dwarves Priest, along with the other dwarves crashes into the Orc Army, smashing his shield into any that draw near him, whilst he swings his priestly mace, swinging it over and over at any foul creature that comes within range.

Handing off his bow to a snaga-squire, Sachem pulls free his battle axe and starts toward the elf army, leading the surge of Morians forward into the melee.

[Combat(#13388)] Sachem releases a large, broad bladed battle-axe from its restrains, grasping its haft tightly with his hands.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Indeed the dwarven cries and roaring of the bear are heard, and earn many a cursing from the orcish army. Those suddenly finding themselves set upon by these newcomers, whirl about quickly, weapons ready, in defense. A growling cheer does go up however at the arrival of their Vorazg commander.

Ten or so more uruks are bested beneath the arrows, but more surge forth to take their place. Goblin darts are fired in exchange, but the majority of the creatures bear no bows, and instead bring steel to bear. Jeering only in repsonse to the elven song and words of defiance, the Mordain, like the Morians, advance upon the squads of Firstborn now on the forest floor.

Orc_army launches an arrow...
Orc_army's bowshot hits Elf_army, lightly wounding him.

Catching sight of the orcish commander, the bear does not seem to hold back. In fact, it turns its course deliberately to head to the oncoming challenge, another roar tearing through the forest.

[Formin] "Khazad ai-menu!" cries the old silversmith Formin as he crashes into the northern edge of the horde with his fellow dwarves. One small orc falls, just as another takes his place, snarling at Formin. "Aha! Don't know what that means?" Formin growls, still cackling madly as the orc parries a thrust of the short broadsword. "It means--that I--am upon--you!" Every few words are punctuated by a hack from Formin's blade. Somewhere, a scimitar slips beneath the dwarf's defenses on his blind left side, scoring a long cut along the outside of his left shoulder.

     Facing off with a rather ugly looking orc is the Dwarven Priest, looking him over a moment he shouts "Come closer? Let me fix your face!" and with that he swings his mace at the face of the foul Orc. Catching him upon the tip of the nose the Orc screeches and hacks at the priest with his axe, catching the priest shield.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Her dark knuckles paling slightly from the grip on her scimitar, Bagurat slips forward along with the head of the Mordain force as it begins it charge toward the Firstborn. "Such an elven stink," she scowls disdainfully to herself, wrinkling her nose. "Makes me sick."

The elves fall to more mordain arrows, some in the trees and some on the ground showing serious wounds, requiring companions to help them to safety. Still, the result is terrible. Easily thirty five elves are eliminated from the fray, one way or another. Those on the ground fall back slowly, then faster, shooting at the enemy then turning to retreat then stopping to fire again in leap frog fashion, while in the trees their kin follow, assisting where they may either in saving those who can be saved, or shooting at those who pose an easy target. "Fall back!" an elf calls from the trees in the common tongue, and the elves do so even faster, moving toward the base of a tall cliff.

 And as Grishnakh and his guard reach a spot where they may plunge into the fray. And they do, with particular brutality. Grishnakh himself lets loose a feral scream and swats an enemy aside. He too seems intent to make his way towards the beijabar, though there are more than a couple in his path. the vorazg seems not to mind, his scimitar quickly becoming coated in new fresh crimson blood, globs flying off the tip and raining through the dark woods.
 The din of steel on steel in amazing. The individual sounds lost in an outrageous clamor that sounds more as a constant never ending single CLANG. Even then, one can make out certain sounds. A blood filled gurgle to the right. A scream of a dying comrade to the left. The grunts and howls of creatures in pain. Chaos dominates the front lines. Only those with an eye in the rear can make out the whole picture.

It is with one hand holding a longsword and one twined in the collar of a bleeding Elf that Haldir retreats towards the solid side of the rock face, lashing out with the slender blade at any orc, Mordain or Morian, that would come near.

Added to the din and the clash of steel is somethign entirely else: Orc bodies flying through the air, thrown there by the charge of the bear, who seems to bulldoze rather than fight his way through the orc attackers.

The Morians have little discipline as all of the great orc soldiers of past regimes have been killed off over time in the recent strife. Rather, the unwashed masses of snagas and low-level minions looking to rise up in whatever fashion they can, follow the lead of Sachem. The orc king himself notes the familiar face of an Elf and smiles a cruel smile of incoming pain and suffering. "Leaf-ear!" He strides at Haldir among the retreating ranks of Elves and attacks with his wicked battle axe.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but he misses by an arm's length.

[Formin] Though hardy folk, the blood of the dwarves is not long in running. Perhaps they are aware of their likely fate, being so few here upon the north edge of a vast horde. Battlecries become grunts and cries of pain as blood is drawn, followed by growls as blades seek to lash out upon the offending attackers. For the most part this small party manages to remain a cohesive whole, though gradually the line of Durin's folk is thinning as the dwarves become caught in the heat of battle and spread.

The Morian king's axe falls upon Haldir, but it clips only the flaxen ends of his hair. Staring coldly at Sachem, the Galadhrim marchwarden does not retaliate, but instead ducks aside, hurrying the injured elf in front of him.

[Bagurat(#24847)] "Ha," snorts the witch-orc, still pressing along with the others of the Mordain and Morian horde that pursue, "look at them run! Keep on little rats, and show us where your pretty little homes are." Like a snake, Bagurat lunges with her black blade, sweeping the edge out for any of the Elves that might be in range. And the other orcs about do likewise, determindely and maliciously following the Eldarin retreat toward the base of the cliff. The sailing of arrows is replaced with the clang of swords.

 Grishnakh suddenly finds himself with no more elves to hack at. in fact he finds himself under assault from flying bodies of his own minions. Ducking as a badly mutilated orc soars by, his eyebrows raise. Grimbeorn is there, just in front of him, and he looks pissed! Without anbother being in between himself and the bear, the vorazg launches himself forward with an animalistic war cry. All those in the immediate area seem happy to allow these two a tiny bit of space. The battle flows all around them, but it is only grimbeorn that the commander sees. The scimitar slices towards the bear, whistling it's fury!

Grishnakh attacks Grimbeorn with his Scimitar and badly wounds him!

     The Dwarven Priest grins and takes another swing at the fould orc, this time catching him in the side of the head, sending the foul beast to the ground with have his skull caved in. Grinning the Priest is then assaulted from the side by another orc, whose blade catches his shield shoulder, cutting a deep gash. Grunting he swings his mace to push back the orc.

Sachem grunts as his hack is dodged. The orc's disfigured face is a disgusting mess of runny, half-dead flesh in the rain as he pokes at Haldir's retreating legs and then slices at the back of the Elf's left calf to slow down Haldir's retreat and force him into battle.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but Haldir parries the attack with his shield!

The bear does a sudden backpedal, but a moment too late as suddenly its own blood mingles with taht already on the ground from elves adn dwarves and men. The bear staggers to one side, but its determination remains and it lunges forward, seeking the orc commander's sword arm with its raking claws.

Grimbeorn attacks Grishnakh with his Beijabar Fists, but he misses by an arm's length.

The elves who reach the base of the cliffs are significantly thinned out, either through injury or from taking to the trees in their flight. And indeed, the elves on the ground at the base of the cliff seem cornered indeed, for to the sides of the cliff, thick briars and vines choke the trees so tightly, their tangled weavings so thick as to seem as a living wall, impenetrable to body, or in some places even hand. Backs to the cliff wall, the spear-wielding elves are forced to stand, shouting cries of battle, courage and loyalty. "For Amon Thranduil!" "For Greenwood the Great!" "For Thranduil!" Now the battle truly gets bloody, as those nearest the cliff try to scale it to make their escape, spearmen protecting their backs, and elves still in the trees raining their arrows incessantly.

[Combat(#13388)] Elf_army unwields Longbow.
[Combat(#13388)] Elf_army wields Spear.

Elf_army attacks Orc_army with his Spear, but he misses by a hair.

     The Dwarven company continues to fight, moving into a wedge formation, pressing the attack. Though they move slowly, and a few of the stout fellows have fallen the dwarves fight with a new found fury. Be it for their fallen comrades or the lust for battle they all hold.
     The Dwarven Priest again attacks another orc, crushing his chest with his mace, though he is once again hit in the shoulder by an orc blade.

The axe of the king swings low, but it meets only the solid leather of Haldir's shield. They are near to the briers now, and the Elf tosses his injured kin one-handedly toward the trees. It is now that the marchwarden turns on Sachem, attacking the hideous-faced orc with the longsword...

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.

Mara has arrived.

 Grishnakh's blade strikes true, and he howls with glee. he just barely gets his arm away again in time to not have it severely torn apart by those nasty claws. he sidesteps and looks at his foe with a rememberance of pain. His next attack is far more measured as he keeps stepping in a circle, left foot leading. he drops lower, in a squat. His shield is held over his head and his razor sharp blade swipes in from the right, aimed for the bear's knees.

Grishnakh attacks Grimbeorn with his Scimitar and severely wounds him!

Sachem howls at the leaf-ear's futile gesture. Stepping in past the missed sword-stroke, the orc chops brutally at Haldir's shoulder, his hands choked up the haft of his axe for the infighting of the moment!

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but he misses by a long shot.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Like wolves upon sheep the uruk horde clamors for the foot of the cliff, and there is much gleeful hooting and taunting sent toward the Elves they have cornered there. They strike forward anew with vile purpose, scimitars and other orcish weaponry slicing through the air, and clangs and yells as they meet with the spear-wielding defenders. "Your soul I claim for the Master, lucky one," Bagurat sneers to one of the closer Firstborn, swinging her own blade for his side.

The loss in orcish numbers has grown quite noticable, beset as they are by the added assault of the dwarves and Grimbeorn. More than fifty litter the ground, unmoving in pools of black blood. But still there is a sizeable tide.

[Combat(#13388)] Orc_army wields Scimitar.

Orc_army attacks Elf_army with her Scimitar and mildly wounds him!

     The Dwarves are fighting hard, pushing the foul Orcs with their battle hardened wedge formation, the stout dwarves are hacking away at their enemies, falling many of the ugly creatures. As the Dwarves push on there furry grows even more fierce, though there numbers are starting to shrink.

The Great Bear, it would seem, does not shine on these woods tonight. The orc commander strikes true once more, and dark blood flies through darker wood, the blow just missing completely crippling the bear. But not by much. Staggering at the ferocity of the blow, the bear takes one last swipe at the orc commander, aiming for its neck, yet the blow rather desperate.

Grimbeorn attacks Grishnakh with his Beijabar Fists and badly wounds him!

The elves hold the line bravely, while their bretheren scale the cliffside, light steps and familiar handholds making the task simple, if slow. The elves who fall now are most certainly doomed, few of these having anywhere to retreat. But, left little choice, the army holds fast, buying time with flesh and blood and pain. In the trees, the song turns sorrowful. Tensions rise. But on the ground, the stalwart elves leap forward against the press of the attackers, parrying thrusts and taking what advantage they can of the longer reach of their weapons.

Elf_army attacks Orc_army with his Spear and moderately wounds her!

His own teeth bared in a humorless smile, Haldir steps within the axe-swing, his longsword driving toward Sachem's neck. For his kin are falling beside him, and he must rid them of this threat.

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

Sachem's head snaps to one side, but the sword does not penetrate his collar. Grinning at Haldir, he uses the butt of his haft to punch at the Elf's face and get Haldir to back off.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe and badly wounds him!

 Alas for grishnakh! his meager defense is hardly an obstacle for the enraged bear. The shield is almost torn from his grasp, yet this helps him to at least try and get his feet properly under him. Only to have Grimbeorn smash him back down. The mithril upon his head is probably the only thing that saves the orc from his doom. Still the blow is heavy and a massive chunk of flesh is torn from his neck and shoulder. Black blood sprays high into the air then oozes out with no heed to grishnakh's need for it to stay in. Just barely maintaining a foothold, the orc scampers back, swinging his blade wildly in front of him.

Grishnakh attacks Grimbeorn with his Scimitar and badly wounds him!

Another slash of the orc commander's bloody blade slides thorugh the bear, drawing blood and a howl of rage and pain. Half blind from it all, the bear rampages forward now, and if his charge happens to trample Grishnakh in the process, claws slashing out in front of all in the bear's way, so be it.

Grimbeorn attacks Grishnakh with his Beijabar Fists, but Grishnakh parries the attack with his shield!

[Bagurat(#24847)] Hideous snarls of wrath and pain answer the onset of the spearmen, and slowly but surely a good chunk of uruk-soldiers are put out of the battle; perhaps fifty or so more are added to the piles of the slain. But it does not deter their comrades, who renew their blows with added fury.

Bagurat steals back a pace then as a leaping Elf lands a strike to her side, easily tearing through black fabric and biting beneath. The shaman's gaze flits from side to side venomously, and the Eldarin lament earns a scowling of distaste. She tugs at one ear as though to block it out.

Orc_army attacks Elf_army with her Scimitar and moderately wounds him!

[Formin] Already mud-splattered and bloody, Formin hits the ground with a splash of rain and mud and blood alike, winded by the blow of an orc's club but moments before. He gives a sharp cough, yet even then the point of his short blade flies upward, catching his attacker deep in the groin. For his part, the silversmith is well wearied beyond taunting comments by now and he only rolls to his side, heaving himself up from the mud. He limps badly upon his left leg and his elbow bleeds freely from a cut that must surely go to the bone. Yet stand he does still.

"Come on, lads!" cries Formin, his voice rough now from the blow to his chest. "We'll not be felled by this black mass!" The wedge of dwarves pushes forward still, plowing a small but bloody path through the northern part of the horde. But what is their objective? It becomes clear now, for the wedge draws closer and closer to the eastern edge of the horde, fighting to join the beleagured, trapped elves at the cliff's bottom.

 Grishnakh's wild swinging halts as he continues to scramble back and gets just a little distance between him and the bear man. As grimbeorn charges forward the orc slams his shield up and digs his iron shod boots into the steaming earth below. CRACK! The lidless eye, colored crudely in crimson on his shield is split asunder! The sheer power of the attack flings the large orc back, into the air and lands him fully ten feet away, crashing hard into one of his own.
 Dazed and on the ground, Grishnakh is swiftly swallowed up by the hordes of orcs still standing. he'll be lucky if he isn't trampled to death by his own men. Through dizzy eyes the vorazg attempts to keep watch on the ferocious beast from between the legs of his comrades. Half his shield remains secured to his left arm, the other half of the eye now lies on the field. An omen?

Haldir's jaw gives with an unpleasant snap, the blow throwing him toward the brambles. Nevertheless, he holds his sword steady, the other hand seeking support in the close-twined brambles.

The renewed fury of the goblin army causes the elves to groan, seemingly as one. Orc blades hew into elf armor, elf spears deflect away the stabs and thrusts of the attackers to save limb and vitals, but cut the defenders all the same. Elves still retreat up the cliff face, while those who remain below suffer for the increasing lack of support.

Elf_army attacks Orc_army with his Spear and lightly wounds her!

The bear does not seem to wish to renew the attack on the orc commander, and is in no shape to take on the orc hordes surrounding him. Instead, it must limp off into the woods, trailing blood behind itself, no longer able to do battle.

Sachem takes up his axe in both hands and closes in for the kill. "Over the fire you'll be tonight!" the orc calls as he chops relentlessly at the Elf's sword, waiting for a clean opening.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but he misses by a mile.

The axe does not make a clean kill of Haldir, nor a messy kill. It sweeps only air; the Elf's head is lowered and he glares at Sachem with milennia of practiced loathing. Then the sword jabs up towards the orc's neck again.

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Longsword, but Sachem parries the attack with his Battle Axe!

[Formin] The dwarves' main saving grace thus far is that the majority of the horde seems not to have noticed them, so small a group at the very edge of the army. Even the bellowed dwarven battlecries are easily lost amidst the clash and clang of battle and the rush of the falling rain above. Yet now they push to the very fore of the battle, and now - they have broken through! Indeed, the short figures of the dwarves join the tall, elegant figures of the much pressed elves at the bottom of the cliff. For now, at least, dwarven blades lend some protection to the elves' northern flank.

 Nor does Grishnakh have any desire to chase down the bear. Not for now at least. Blood trickles down his forehead from under his helmet, getting into his eyes, blurring already compromised vision. The shoulder wound bubbles with every heartbeat, draining more life from the commander. The orc leans over and vomits horribly, blood, bile, and stewed elf retched upon the cold ground. when he finishes, blood now streams freely from his right ear as well. Someone, seeming so far away, seizes the commander, hefting him to his feet. Dizzy and cold, grishnakh allows himself to be helped from the field, disapearing behind enemy lines.

Sachem hars as his axe parries the sword and he attempts to drive his axehead down the blade's length. "This time you die!"

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but Haldir parries the attack with his Longsword!

[Bagurat(#24847)] Those of the orcs able to press on are forced to manuever over their dead fellows, though in general this means simply crushing over them heedlessly with their iron boots. The more badly wounded creatures shrink back, their heads turning about to seek better cover. The soldiers healthy enough -- or stubbornly foolish enough -- continue their stand against their foes at the cliff base.

The appearance of the dwarves does not go unnoticed, and Bagurat, among others, greets them with a fresh hissing. Still clutching at the wound at her side, the witch-orc slips sideways, her steel now seeking the flesh of the new arrivals to the fore of the fight.

Orc_army attacks Elf_army with her Scimitar, but she misses by a handspan.

With the fine symmetry of his face bashed awry, Haldir is mute: merely shaking his head, he flicks his wrist to catch the axe upon his hilt. Then he heaves upward, trying to throw off the blade and its bearing arm, and so slash at where arm meets torso.

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Longsword, but Sachem parries the attack with his Battle Axe!

[Formin] The shadows lengthen, the gray of the rainswept skies turning first to a slate gray, then to a stricken black, as if even the skies recognize the terrible suffering that continues below. All the while the rain continues to hammer against both armies. It soaks the ground, making the mud half a foot deep in places and even leaving hollows so full of water that they threaten to swallow up any who fall into them. And everywhere does the mud and the water run red or black.

Sachem parries again. His grotesque face is alive as he uses the Elf for his cruel sport. "More, more! Leaf-ear, try harder!" He hacks again at Haldir's side more to taunt the Elf in a nonverbal fashion than to do any premeditated harm.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but he misses by a handspan.

The elf army holds its ground, losing little now, and taking heart in its success, even in these dire circumstances. And then...the worst: The dim light of sunset, washed in the unceasing rain, disappears, leaving the elves plunged into starless night. Grimly they hold their ground, even trying to take a little back. "Amon Thranduil! Amon Thranduil!" they shout as if to rally.

Elf_army attacks Orc_army with his Spear, but Orc_army parries the attack with her Scimitar!

[Formin] The red hilt of Formin's short blade is painted black as it crashes into the brow of a charging uruk, bone crumpling beneath it. Then up and over does the silversmith's blade swing, catching enother of the vile beasts across the shoulder in a savage hacking blow. His face, so often sarcastic, taunting, or laughing, is drawn and weary now.

The dwarves hold the northern part of the base of the cliff, blades and hammers flying recklessly and savagely, but there is not a one among them who has not been wounded in some way. Even now, another of their number falls, bringing the total that now stands to just two thirds of their original company.

Shadows fall across Haldir's face as the light fails, but the eyes of the Eldar have long been used to darkness, and to the creatures that creep from the dark. Bright gaze blazing, the marchwarden wields the longsword two-handed, swinging it down towards Sachem's brow.

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!

     The Dwarven Priest Farak is now covered in an assortment of small wounds, his shield shoulder is an open gash, still bleeding. His right knee has be stuck and oozes blood, blood trickles from beneath his helm covering his face. But still the priest fights on, swinging his mace looking almost savage from the blood that covers the dwarf.

The glancing blow off Sachem's helmet leaves the orc slightly stunned, but the effect lasts but a moment. The coppery taste of blood from his nose reaches his lips and he licks. The taste seems to rouse him even further and he laughs all the more. "Good, good!" He backs up a step and waves Haldir to step toward him. "Keep coming, lad, keep coming!" The king snarls then and lunges at Haldir's midsection, leading with his axe in a nasty swipe.

Sachem attacks Haldir with his Battle Axe, but he misses by a handspan.

[Bagurat(#24847)] And while the descent of night might dishearten their foes, the surviving force of uruks are spurred into malicious determination by it. Many are their slain and yet they hold positions as best they may in the rain and mud, and against the defenders of Mirkwood.

New taunts and cheers rise up, and among them, in between slashing and ducking, Bagurat shouts out in growled Common, "See, wretched fools? Night comes, and it brings your death. Begone now, lest that befall you, or lest I curse you myself!"

Orc_army attacks Elf_army with her Scimitar and moderately wounds him!

The elves gives as good as they get...or get less than they have been, depending on the point of view. But then again, still more of the firstborn fall to the Mordain scythe. With the added advantage of night, the tide seems to turn against the elves, as now the orc army presses in further, until the elves pressed to the cliff are forced to split into two separate groups. There is no choice but to turn and try to flee up the wall.

[Formin] Formin huffs as he skirts away from a flying axe, quickly then wading in to bring his own blade to bear upon his attacker. Yet the wearied silversmith's voice lifts as well. "A curse from a nothing god! Read--" he pauses to drive the tip of his sword at his foe's throat "--you may, but your master is nought but smoke on the wind!" It seems he has heard Bagurat's threat and indeed, he can see the she-witch at a distance, even as he battles the orcs in front of her.

Haldir merely glances at Sachem with unveiled hatred, leaning back into the brambles to dodge the swing. And then his kin are up, fleeing from the horde that has washed up to the rock face. He follows them, punching out one last time to distract the orc from his own flight.

[Combat(#13388)] Haldir unwields Longsword.

Haldir attacks Sachem with his Bare Hands, but he misses by a long shot.

[Bagurat(#24847)] Even as the elves begin a retreat, fresh mocking hoots and howls pursue them -- but not many orcs. A great number of them lay motionless in the mud, and others still are sorely injured. Others of the orcs press agaisnt the dwarves now who remain.

The witch-orc snorts for a second time, now turning her unmasked face to find the dwarven speaker. There is a blank frown, and then a sign of recognition as her yellowed glare falls on Formin? Yes, perhaps. "You shall see soon enough how real He is, don't you worry. May His smoke choke you, and His fire scorch you."

"Fly, my monkeys, fly! FLY!" Sachem laughs heartily as he mentions a creature hs'e never seen before and probably only heard of from snatches of conversation between his betters overheard. "Cowards! Only slaves run! Better to die on your feet!" The orc-king raises his axe lustily and raises a yell. The Morians around him join in at their victory as their immediate vicinity is conquered!

[Formin] And then the dwarves are, well, not terribly well off. That is, even worse off than they have been. When finally the beleaguered elves at the base of the cliff break and scramble to climb the sheer face to their comrades above, there are not a few of the dwarves who give their allies a disbelieving look. And quite a few more pull faces that communicate rather succinctly, Oh Yeah Right.

Yet what are a handful of dwarves against a horde of uruks? Annoying perhaps, but ultimately little more than an irritation. "Fall back!" gasps Formin, winded for a second time by a flying club, though he remains standing this time. The dwarves begin to beat a slow and difficult retreat, fighting their way north again, away from the sheer cliff and the vines that grasp its sides. Some tug on wounded comrades, while others battle to protect their rear. To Bagurat's further threat, Formin returns only a disgusted, "Bah!" as his sword flies to shield his fleeing company.

The last of the elves (living) are making their way up the rock face, wounded stragglers struggling to do what the hale and hearty manage easily. In fact, some of those who have gone up before skim back down to give their kin a helping hand. The elves at the top look down at the army, shooting few arrows as once again, many have run out. "You'll never scale this cliff!" one calls down. "May as well go home and tell the Dark One you failed!" Behind him, in the darkness, comes the sound of chopping axes.

One archer, at least, moves to cover the slow retreat of the Dwarves: white-fletched arrows, sharp and slender-shaven, rain down upon those that assail the bearded folk.

Sachem assesses his wounds for a moment while his fellows continue to celebrate.

[Combat Function Library(#15)] Sachem examines the injuries on his own person.

[Bagurat(#24847)] The Morian's cries of triumph are added to by those of their Eastern cousins, and there is a loud racket of stomping and clanging of steel. A few more are bitten by Eldarin archery, but it does little to quell them now. The fleeing dwarves for the most part are left alone, mainly beset by cheering insults.

The field of 'victory' is not a pretty one. Blood, red and black, graces the ground and mixes in the mud. Bodies, some whole (though for how long?), and others slashed beyond recognition, are everywhere. And an order goes out, that the conquerers will set camp here, and the fallen will be put to use: no doubt dinner, or a pleasant rital ceremony of evil purpose.

Orc_army has disconnected.

[Formin] A chipped and jagged scimitar catching Formin just at the base of his neck, where his chainmail hauberk offers no protection. The force of the blow drives the smith to one knee and brings a cry of pain from him, though his shield thrusts out and topples his attacker at the knees. Down drives the tip of his short broadsword, but Formin is flagging now. It is only with the aid of one of his fellows that he is brought to both feet again, muddied and bloodied beyond recognition.

Three more dwarves are left behind, but the rest stumble into the sodden darkness of Mirkwood. So disoriented and battered, who knows where their hasty withdrawal will take them in this accursed forest.

Elf_army has disconnected.

Date added: 2010-10-13 02:46:03    Hits: 158
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