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Tags: Gloin,  Bluyak,  Gunnk,  Tolo,  Oskar

Short Summary: Some Dwarves find that exiting Mirkwood might not be quite as easy as they'd hoped.
Date (real-life): 2014-02-20
Scene Location: Western Edge of Mirkwood, Old Forest Road
Date (in-game): March 3061
Time of Day: Evening
Western Edge of Mirkwood, Old Forest Road

You stand at the edge of the dark, great forest, once called Greenwood the Great, now Mirkwood the dark and fearful. Fallen leaves crunch beneath your feet as you move, searching for the way.

It is hard to tell, but apparently a road cuts to the east and west here.

The day is overcast and gloomy.

Obvious exits:
NorthWest, West, South, North, and East


Erebor Time & Weather Service

** Real time is: Thu Feb 20 14:37:58 2014, GMT -8 **

Elendor time is: Early Night (2100) on Trewsday, Day 27 of March 3061.

In the Spring sky, The full moon rides among the stars fair unto a shimmering ship.


Dusk descends slowly on Mirkwood. Away to the west, a red sun sinks behind the jagged teeth of the Misties in bloody spectacle; beneath the eaves of the forest itself the shadows are already creeping. Here at the forest edge the trees may be sparse, but their boughs are filled with unexplained creaks and rustles. And off to the east ... can that distant rumbling really be the wagon-wheels?

It is. Many wagons, and moving with some urgency too - well, would /you/ wish to spend any more time in Mirkwood after dark than absolutely necessary? As the caravan draws closer, sharp ears would pick out the steady thud of hoofbeats and the whicker of ponies, with the low mutter of deep Dwarven voices providing an uneasy counterpoint.Months, they have been on the road. Oh, they left Esgaroth when the winter snows were falling, but the way has not been easy. Even in winter this forest is treacherous: twice it was snow that blocked their way, but once the far more solid obstacle of a mass of fallen trees tumbled across the road by a vicious storm. A fortnight it took to clear, and at that point the caravan forged on simply because it would have required even more effort to go back. Add to that several detours: time spent paying their respects to the dead at a certain overgrown tomb, time spent examining the road for signs of other recent travellers ... you get the idea.

Now, with the end of the forest almost in sight, the Dwarves are in a hurry. Oh, they have scouts out - inbred suspicion goes a long way - but no doubt they, too, are thinking of seeing the open sky again (and of food and a pipe). Gloin rides in the first wagon and he's certainly impatient. "If I have to spend one more night suffering these damn tree-roots-" he grumbles, fingering an axe beside him on the wagon-board.

High in the branches above the road, a contingent of Uruk-Hai and some borrowed scouts from a kingdom of lesser sized creatures lie in wait. The ever bolder Uruk-Hai of the southern mountains are ever craftier too - ready upon large platforms connected by rope bridges and vines for swinging by the nimbler less burdened archers. Their physical nature may be twisted from their original forms, they may be crude and uneducated, but they cannot escape certain commonalities with their greatest of enemies, the elves.

Throughout the weeks of their wait, they have seen no travelers. The whistles signaling an approach come quickly and excitedly, and lazy boredom shifts eagerly to attentive watchfulness in their assigned positions. From archers and stone-throwers above, to heavy-set engineers with various implements tucked along the road, the fifty beasts here present collectively drool for gold and flesh.


With the orange glow of the setting sun causing an overabundance of shade, there stands the Captain the Wolf Riders, the Orc of Stone himself, standing with his back against a larger tree, his cat like eyes nodding off, all together embracing the shade as he awaits the daily demise of the sun.

Abruptly the small head of the Uruk snaps upward toward the sound of a low pitched whistle. The sudden sound of creaking movement and low whispers around him causes a smirk to flash across his face. With a deep but happy sigh, he reaches downward toward his small crude shaped shield and attaches it to his left forearm, his right hand struggling slightly with the buckles as tension builds in the air. With his shield attached firmly to his forearm, he begins to lightly swing it in the air, catching invisible arrows, deflecting invisible strikes from his too-be opponents. Satisfied, he grabs his right hand behind him on the other side of the tree, and grips firmly the worn shaft of his blood dried spear.

The Dwarves look forward along the road. Those weary souls assigned as rearguard look back along the ruts into the stuffy darkness, knowing full well that any rustling their ears detect is probably one of those wretched black squirrels, worthless even for eating. They do /not/ look up - noone could accuse Dwarf-kind of a commonality with Elves!

The Dwarven wagons all look the same. Presumably some of them hold personal belongings and tools, others supplies or else goods to trade, yet others store of coin to work its magic in the hands of their merchants - but which are which? Logic must be the guide here.

One of the Dwarves stomping along at the head of the group, a brown-bearded fellow clad in leather augmented by a corselet of rings (perhaps he's a scout?) reports to Gloin now, "Thought I heard something up ahead. Birds?"

Gloin's bushy brows draw together and he peers dubiously into the gloom. Perhaps out there in the unforested world, birds are still singing. "Go and check it out," he orders, twitching at the reins to encourage his pony, a sturdy piebald, to speed up their plodding pace.

Suddenly, some way behind, a curse sounds. One of the wagons from the middle of the train is bogged down, its wheel stuck so deeply in a rut that it's unlikely to shift any time soon. Further back, more curses follow, along with the creaking of wheels and unhappy whinnying of ponies as half a caravan is forced to halt.

"Is this a kill 'em all and feast on the bones sorta commotion to be?" inquires a mid-ranking member of the Raven scouts to Bluyak, the winged-sword and field captain on this raiding party. The lithe leader looks down to the shorter companion answering, "We did not bring either the strength in numbers nor the foolhardy battalions of the Wolf. Fear. A skirmish. Theft. These be our aims."

"I shall remind the footmen and the engineers," the underling responds in whisper matching Bluyak's own. "I'll handle the engineers, I have a special plan in mind," the Captain adds. Carefully, quietly, they descend from the platform creeping towards the road with moss-wrapped boots, their gear carefully quieted with padding.

The commotion moving in and around the thicket of woods has indeed confirmed the suspicion of the Wolf Rider Captain. The smirk on his sadistic sewn together face has grown to an ever widening grin as he reaches over to a low protruding branch and grabs a hold of his black metal helm hanging off it. The movement up ahead of the raven scouts, is all the non-verbal communication he needs as the uruk slowly slinks forward, pressing firmly against every tree he passes, his short sword dangling from his hip, his spear still pressed firmly in his hand, he approaches the outskirts of the road and dons his metal helmet. Peering up a head and into the road he starts to make out the shapes of wagons and short-fat stubby looking creatures.

A contingent of the smaller creatures had currently been positioned up above in the uruk-hai made platforms. Their lithe forms maneuvering through the tree's and ever watchful for signs of prey down below. In one particular area a cluster had gathered, among them one particularly wretched looking creature.

It watched the road intently, pointed ears twitching as they picked up the sounds of some large company heading their way. Baring its pointed teeth in a wicked grin, he drew a crude bow and knocked an arrow in anticipation.
Giving a glance towards its kin the ratty orc let out a soft chittering noise, signaling the others to draw their bows as well.

The brown-bearded Dwarven scout hurries forward, then slows to make his way more cautiously along the edge of the road, hand near to his sword-hilt. Eyes and ears adapted to the still dark of caverns struggle to function amidst the stuffy blackness of Mirkwood, where every bit of greenery moves seemingly at random. Unbeknownst to him, he is headed toward the thickets where the Wolf Rider captain awaits.

Meanwhile, the front half of the Dwarven caravan is still in motion, but it's slowing. Gloin leans sideways to call a message to halt to the wagon behind; the message is passed on by gruff shouts from wagon to wagon, somewhat reminiscent of the mournful honking of a flock of geese settling in to rest. With that racket, it's scarce wonder that any chitterings go unheard.

"Well yes, if we DO kill any of course we'll eat it," continue the hushed discussions of the underling to the melee troops on the ground. In the trees the archers prepare themselves for the signal. The stone-throwers pick their first choice for casting down.

Bluyak, finding the engineers in need of orders and clarification, leads the bulkier folk towards their wood pile. He points to examples of the timber he means, saying, "Pick long thick limbs.. to act as poles. We'll push them under the heaviest wagon and try to lift it off the road - just enough to get it out of the way. I'll set up the fighters around you - six of you fellas on each side of that wagon, and get to heavin and a hoin." They scratch their balding heads. He continues his explanation at length.


As the brown cladded dwarf approaches, Gunnk quickly drops to a crouched postion, his spear now gripped firmly in both hands as he tucks the shaft closely up against his right side, the loose slack of his chainmail covering a small portion of the shaft. The loud heavy nearvous breathing and the reluctant crunching of the earth underneath the boot of the dwarf scout fills the ears or rather what is left of the Wolf Captains ears with a mixed euphoria of soon to be blood lust, quick images of running dwarf blood and muffled screaming flashes through his mind with each step closer to the road that the dwarf scout takes. Without warning Gunnk strikes! A quick blur of motion as the Captain lunges forward toward the feet of the scout, landing into a roll to the right of the dwarf, a small dust cloud emerging from the landing. Without skipping a beat Gunnk rolls onto his back and quickly does a half snap of his wrists, swinging the long shaft of spear toward the legs of the dwarf, attempting to knock him into the thicket of woods, where impending doom approaches closely behind.

A group of half a dozen Dwarves has gathered round the stranded wagon and they're trying various remedies: shoving, shouting imprecations at the pony, laying down some old sacks ... Eventually one someone lights a lantern. "Reckon we'll need to dig it out," he informs his fellows sagely. "Who all has picks?"
"Might's well make camp here and be done with it," is one pessimist's opinion.
"Speak for yourself," comes back the response.

The Dwarven scout's head snaps up sharply, his brown beard wagging as his mouth opens to shout: what emerges is a choked cry, all that he has time for before Gunnk's swung spear-shaft sends him toppling backwards. The orc has wrought better than he realizes, for the scout's head strikes against a stone and he falls limp into the brush. Dinner awaits for whichever lucky orc gets there first, if they don't mind it tough and stringy.

In one thing fortune favours the Dwarves: Gloin has heard the shout and taken it for the warning it would have been. "Out weapons!" he hollers, with no attempt at finesse. For his own part, he snatches up the axe that had been lying beside him on the wagon-seat: if his scout has simply stubbed his toe on a tree-root then Gloin intends to hack it within an inch of its life!

"Fire and throw, bend your bow," yells Bluyak up into the trees. "The time is now, lets make quick work here," he says to the engineers, "Grab those logs. If it don't work we'll give them a good show of it." The time for stealth passes. The noise of a swordsman drawing fighters to him, with a rumbling pack of fat-bellied lifters following, is raucous and fierce.

These secret orcs are troublesome and loud when the time is ripe for their trouble-making, as Gunnk has seen fit to make certain.

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar, busily berating some unfortunate apprentice or other, turns his head sharply at the shout, and snags his own weapon - a hammer - from the back of the wagon. "Well?" he snaps at the lad, "Don't just stand there!"

The younger dwarf nods hurriedly and fumbles for a small bow.

The front part of the Dwarven caravan erupts into chaos, as waggoners reach with varying degrees of alacrity for whatever weapons may be to hand - a favorite sword, a trusty pick ...

The rear group, stuck behind that mired wagon, are less certain of what's required.
"What's all that shouting about?" demands one bushy-bearded fellow wrestling an armful of picks and shovels.
"Nothing to you. Our job's to get this wagon free," is all the answer he gets.
Others, of course, are readying themselves for trouble as a matter of course. Every Dwarf for himself!

Gunnk winces as he still on his back, his maneuver followed by the almost muffled yell of his prey was not the ideal example of his stealth like talents. With a quick jerking motion of his back he quickly finds himself staring at the dirt of the old forest road. An easy push up motion with his spear against the ground sends Gunnk to his feet but for a quick second he is nearly knocked off balance as the blood soaked head of the dwarf comes barreling from the darkness behind him. Looking rather annoyed the Captain looks downward and notices how the flesh around where the neck should be bares the marks of sharp teeth and not the normal decapitation signs of a blade. With a flick of his right wrist he sends the blade of his spear into the skull of the dwarf, a crunching sounds emits from the blade penetrating through top of the skulls. With decapitated head on the tip of his spear, Gunnk breaks into a full stride, blood dripping down the shaft of his spear. Suddenly the Captain amidst full sprints, spins sliding the shaft of his spear till both hands rest on the pommel thus sending the blood soaked skull flying toward the front of the dwarven caravan.

With the signal given the archer in the tree platforms quickly pulled back their bows and aimed for the rear of the large caravan with the intent to stem any organization, to force them further west, and above all to cause chaos.

All at once they released their deadly payload, sending a shower of black-barbed arrows down into the ranks of the rear caravan.
Among them the same wretched orc that alerted its kin joined in, occasionally stopping to pick out any particular dwarf in the rear caravan that might be standing firm against the hail of arrows.

Releasing his sword fierce and jagged in the air, Bluyak leads the charge forward under the rush of arrows and amidst the thunk of falling stone. One such missile strikes a pole carried by the engineers, and the offended Uruk bellows upwards, "Watch yer aim, skinny-bones!" They race onto the road post-haste towards the wagon stuck from its weight. They push past any dwarven encounter, shoving their make-shift planks under the wagon, setting up on either side of it to begin to lift. They groan collectively with their surprise at its mass.

"Form up and circle out around the wagon, this is where we win the night!" Bluyak calls with loud reminder as his armored sword-bearers follow the command. In their midst, the wagon of their interest teeters side to side, lifted now from the mud, as the thieves hurry in their work.

Gloin slides down from the wagon-seat to stand on the rutted earth of the road, feet planted well apart and axe held firmly, ready for anything ...

Well, perhaps not /quite/ anything. Who could have forseen a bloodied head hurtling towards him with the speed of a stooping falcon? The old Dwarf flings up his free arm to shield his face, but as the unexpected missile strikes home with a wet thud, a spray of blood spatters out to crimson his white cloak and ruddy his formerly immaculate beard. It is a moment before he identifies the thrown object, but when he does a howl of rage erupts from his hoary throat. "Treachery! We are attacked! Baruk Khazad!" He does not run, but marches slowly, inexorably forwards.

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar chivvies his apprentice forward. "Go on, boy, don't you know how to use that? Youngsters these days. Either shoot it, or I'll take it away from you and you can use the cooking knives! Not that you know how to use those either!" He hefts his own hammer, scanning the night to see where the danger is coming from - Gloin is heading down the road, and the elderly cook hurries to follow him.

The rear caravan is left in no further doubt as to what is going on when a flight of black-fletched arrows arcs down on high. Hoarse cries indicate where the ugly barbs have struck home; elsewhere, Dwarves variously duck for cover or raise shields on high to step the tide. Such a fragile shelter: in some cases it is not enough. A stone topples down upon one wagon, tearing a jagged hole in its flimsy wooden side.

Those Dwarves clustered round the stuck wagon hesitate - only a moment, but it is enough that the pole-bearing orcs are upon them. What do Dwarves do when faced with a scenario like that? They fight! Picks and shovels can crush bone just as well as any fancy sword! Soon both sides are struggling for possession of the coveted wagon, though the orcs clearly have the advantage of a well-thought-out strategy.

Gunnk with urgency throws his left arm into the air, his small buckler angled outward to protect his head from any on coming arrows while his right hand is gripped firmly around the pommel of his spear. The Captain in full sprint lets out a snarl as madness erupts from the wood-lands to his sides. His chest heaving in and out gives the white hand painted crudely on his chainmail the appearance of a waving motion. The war dance has begun.

Gloin is doing his best to ignore the arrows - he has a good helm and good mail, and should an arrow happen to lodge somewhere between, well that would just be pure bad luck, wouldn't it? But when one whizzes past a mere fingersbreadth from his nose, it does give him a moment's pause. He halts in place, planting his feet stolidly, and growls at the weaving white-daubed creature in front of him, "Come on, then."

Fiercely the dwarves resist, encountering both the Uruks with blades and the force that would lift the heaviest wagon from the road. Two of the orcs holding up the weight from the northside are brought down, crippling the attempt. Crunching wood snaps and breaks, and the unbalanced force of the orcs on the south side of the wagon pushes it over on its side. Two more engineers become trapped beneath its weight, as the final pair narrowly escapes.

"That'll have to do then," surmises Bluyak of the shift in the wagon - not off the road, but enough out of the middle to allow fleeing passage for the caravan if they choose. He must encourage this, and puts his blade to the task swinging forward as Oskar and he cross paths.

*Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a hair.*

[Oskar(#28429)] With a gulp, the apprentice stops, and lifts his bow, aiming towards the chaos ahead. He looses an arrow, no doubt praying it will hit an enemy and not one of his own. Oskar has no more time to spare for the lad, for an orc has leapt up in front of him and a sword hisses out the darkness straight at his head. The old dwarf jerks back, and lashes out with his hammer.

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.*


With another mighty yell the Orc of Stone charges forward his spear readied in the forward offensive position. His eyes are fixated on the battle hardened dwarf ahead of him as he grips his spear tighter. A combination of sweat and dirt rolls steadily down the face of the charging Orc when abruptly he stops in his tracks, purposely sliding on the combination of dirt and stone beneath his feet toward his bearded foe. Part way through his slide he thrusts his spear forward toward the chest of the dwarf, snarling as he does so.

*Gunnk attacks you with his Spear!...*

*...and he hits! Ouch!*

"Down, yes, swing down," thinks Bluyak of his terrible miss in such a rare encounter with the stunted folk. He is a far easier target for Oskar, who's swing comes much closer to finding purchase than his. The tall Uruk-hai decides upon greater motion in his footwork at the expense of his accuracy, and attempts again to cleave a mark in the dwarf.

*Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a hair.*

It is not orcs alone who lie trapped beneath the wagon's squat bulk. The Dwarves are now fewer in number: the one who'd predicted they'd camp here tonight will now rest in this location for eternity. Another of his fellows has fallen victim to an orcish blade and the rest have scattered under the hail of arrows and the herding efforts of the would-be orcish sheepdogs. Further down the line, gruff shouts echo as those older, more experienced Dwarves take charge of the situation. No doubt they will indeed decide to press forward to join their comrades, in time.

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar snarls as one of his apprentice's arrows comes perilously close to his own neck - and messes up his aim in the process. "Fool boy!" he shouts over his shoulder. "Shoot the orcs! See them? The ugly ones!"

He swings his hammer in a scything motion, dodging the other's sword, and trying to sweep his feet from under him.

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.*

Gloin, meanwhile, stands his ground in the face of the orc's slide, waiting until the last moment to jerk back, so that the spear-thrust merely bruises and does not even pierce mail. That axe that had originally been intended for chopping wood feels just the right weight for orc-flesh: with a grunt of satisfaction the old Dwarf swings his arm round at neck-height, aiming to sever Gunnk's head from his body.

*You attack Gunnk with your Axe...*

*Gunnk parries your attack with his Spear!*

The mix of wailing pained confusion from the orcs and dwarves crushed beneath the wagon is sickening even to the sensibilities of an Uruk warrior. Nervewracking and horrid it steals his concentration from any success against the nimble target with whom he tangles. In frustration, he swings again - his aim lacking force behind it in his desperation to make any kind of contact. Humans on horses suddenly seem far easier to hit.

*Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a handspan.*

With the feeling of impending doom filling the air around him Gunnk tumbles forward almost past his opponent as his spear connects with his chainmail, with an abrupt motion the seasoned Captain the Wolf Riders spins on the heels of his boots, doing so he uses his momentum to shove his spear upward, connecting the shaft, by chance, with the blade of the thunderous battle axe. Gunnk abruptly takes a half step backward, releasing the spear shaft from the battle axe. Gunnk shouts once more at his opponent "Bearded meat bag of hate feel my wrath!" He once more lunges his spear forward toward the chest of his opponent.

*Gunnk attacks you with his Spear!...*

*...and he hits! Ouch!*

[Oskar(#28429)] "Sorry, sorry!" the apprentice babbles, and rather than risk further rousing the ire of his master, turns and shoots off into the darkness, where no orcs have yet been seen. There might be one out there, sneaking around!

Oskar doesn't notice. He is muttering vile imprecations under his breath - no doubt at his apprentice's idiocy, his own inability to hit this pestersome orc, the cursed chance of an attack coming at all ...

He lets out a furious roar as the orc's sword flashes through empty air in front of him, and hammers down with all his strength and no care at all for defending himself.

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer and lightly wounds him!*

Solidly the bearded warrior finds a piece of Bluyak's leg. He stumbles a pair of steps away before circling back upon the opponent - in a state of far more frustration now. He continues hacking downwards, a motion for which he has not practiced or ever been trained.

From the trees above, there is a russling and shifting of branches. The orcs are moving to platforms set up closer to the end of the caravan. Some begin dropping from their heights above to spur the ponies forward with picking and poking. Were he in a position to observe, Bluyak would be very disappointed - they are sacrificing their advantage of attacking from above.

*Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a hair.*

This time the spear-tip does pierce, renting a few links of shining mail and pricking at Gloin's chest beneath. The old Dwarf is becoming angry now. It shows in the snapping of his eyes, the hiss to his breathing, the quivering of his blood-spattered beard. "Don't you scum know when to die?" he growls, swinging the axe anew in a high overhand blow that is no doubt intended to cleave Gunnk's helm and the skull beneath it, and accompanying the action with those oft-misheard words: "Khazad ai-menu!"

Whatever Gloin's trade, he'd not make much of a living as a woodcutter.

*You attack Gunnk with your Axe...*

*Your attack against Gunnk badly wounds him!*

[Oskar(#28429)] "Ha!" Oskar shouts, suddenly in a much better mood. He does glance over his shoulder at his apprentice, chancing the danger of taking his eyes off his opponent, and seeing the boy obediently shooting (at something!), he returns his attention to Bluyak. "Take that!" Another fruitless slash by the hapless orc, and the dwarf counters it with another furious swing of his own.

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.*

The ponies were distressed already; now the orcs' picking and poking set off a cacophony of neighing that can be heard even over the sounds of battle. Someone curses and yells, "Get those ponies out of the way!" The Dwarves, never well-attuned to their animals, try to urge those rearmost ones forwards with shouts and whacks to the rump - all save one lone unfortunate who's trying to harness the animal cut free from the traces of one damaged wagon to another beside which a pony now lies dead.

More orcs continue to ruin their own strategy, appearing along the road. Enough have emerged that amidst his personal battle Bluyak notes the calamity against his intentions. He steps backwards from his opponent, creating space and a moment's time for him to scream, "Back you fools, get back and use your bows, take cover! If you haven't come down already, don't you dare!"

The 8 engineers continue to struggle with the wagon, one moment teaming up to try and lift its weight enough to pull their comrades from beneath - the next moment having to push and shove the fierce dwarven onslaught from their midst. Blood flows more each passing instant.


With a twist of his left boot Gunnk attempts to get out of the way of the flying axe blade headed toward his skull, but alas, his foot rolls overs a large stone knocking him off balance. A white searing pain over comes his senses as his left shoulder now dangles loosely on his body, barley connected to his body by crippled bones and jagged flesh. Gunnk stumbles backward and falls on his backside, blood pouring out of his open wound. "You? You?" Are the only words that the Captain can speak. He thrusts his spear forward yet again, weakly trying to hit the mighty dwarf anywhere.

*Gunnk attacks you with his Spear!...*

*...and he misses!*

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar takes advantage of his opponent's distraction to leap forward and swing his hammer straight at the orc's head!

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer, but Bluyak parries the attack with his Short Broadsword!*

Turning back to his opponent, Bluyak saves his life by an instant - shifting backwards as the rush of air cleans his nose, and the ringing of his steel catches the hammer before it can crush his shoulder. Close. Too close. He pushes free from the parry, and stabs forcefully down.

*Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but he misses by a mile.*

Gloin's grunt of satisfaction as his axe connects with something turns to a scowl as he realizes that the orc's head is still attached. "Bah!" he mutters, spitting as he steps back out of the way of that wobbling spear-thrust. "Still, I suppose it would've notched the axe. Don't have to worry about that with a hammer." He lifts the axe-blade to eye-level as though inspecting it and then shrugs and puts his energy into swinging instead.

Now that Gunnk is down, Gloin must stoop down to reach him and, encased in mail as he is, it's quite the effort. He settles for a crude chopping motion toward the nearest foot.

*You attack Gunnk with your Axe...*

*Gunnk dodges your attack.*

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar laughs as the orc misses again, a wild, reckless sound - from the heart of the warrior he was, not the cook he is now. Though some of his apprentices might disagree with this! "What's the matter?" he jeers. "Forgot how to use that thing?" He forgoes any subtlety or cleverness in favor of simply smashing straight down at Bluyak's head.

*Oskar attacks Bluyak with his War Hammer, but Bluyak parries the attack with his Short Broadsword!*


Gunnk staggers on the ground, blood pouring out of his wound, dizziness setting in. With a frantic look on his face Gunnk rolls over to his left side, doing so the weight of his body and the pull of the chainmail on his lifeless limb, causes it to separate totally from his body. The captain struggles to his feet, doing so he attempts a lopsided maneuver thrusting his spear toward the head of the Dwarf in front of him.

*Gunnk attacks you with his Spear!...*

*...and he misses!*

Engaged in the glorious task of orc-bashing, the Dwarves barely seem to notice the orcish contingent making free with their wagon. Instead their focus is on raising their counts of orc-heads and bunching up into a more defensive formation. There's the steady rumble of wheels as various of the wagons pulled by now-frantic ponies manage to bypass the downed one.

Again the defensive work Bluyak has learned spares him, a jagged tooth of his sword catching the handle of the hammer before it can reach his armor. He calls out new orders while locked in a stance face to face with the dwarf, "Forget the whole wagon, fellas, get in there and grab what you can! Get it and get gone back to the trees!" A moment's confusion sits over them, before they wrestle free from grappling hands and break inside to take what they may.

Bluyak pushes with all his might to find the space to strike more effectively at his target. He does, side-long, grunting with fury.

Bluyak attacks Oskar with his Short Broadsword, but Oskar parries the attack with his War Hammer!
Gloin grunts as he straightens up stiffly. "Missed!" he mutters, and then realizes that where there was one orc now there are two parts. "Must've hit it after all," he decides, then pulls his arm back and aims a long, low swing toward Gunnk's already maimed side at about midriff level.

*You attack Gunnk with your Axe...*

*Your attack against Gunnk moderately wounds him!*

[Oskar(#28429)] Oskar laughs again as the sword rings against his hammer. He pushes back with all his strength, but at last the orc's sword slides free. With a grunt, the old dwarf drags his hammer back for another swing, when a shrill yell brings his attention back to his apprentice.

An orc has closed with the lad, who is fending off a curved sword with his bow. Oskar curses, flings a last look at his own opponent, and leaps to help the younger dwarf. "Always keep a second weapon, you fool!" he shouts.

Joining the chaos of hands, grabbing and shoving, in the wild pitch of blunt instruments swinging and crushing, Bluyak forces his way through, beginning to press his troops out of the action. "Enough, run with what you have claimed into the trees, we'll take stock there in safety," he commands, pressing his own folk south to the trees.

"Arrows, fire us some cover lads," he bellows up to the branches above.


As the axe sinks into his left side Gunnk topples over, the brute force of the battle axe head sinking deep past the Captains chain mail crushes a number of ribs, the once proud Orc of Stone is stunned. Blood gushing out of his side, mixing into the dirt below congealing almost insantly into a thicker substance, Gunnk lays almost motionlessly, only breathing out the words, "Make? make.. make it quick.." He turns his head and winces his eyes shut.

*ARB: Gunnk has "passed" on his turn to attack.*

Gloin is losing patience. Doughty deeds of renown in the heart the battlefield may be a thing of the past, but surely he can despatch one wretched orc? Of course, there's the issue of whether he wants to. Gunnk's impassioned plea is met with a grimace of disgust and then a sudden rumble issues from the old Dwarf's bruised chest. "Quick? For that, scum, I'll leave you to bleed." That twist to his lips suggests a perverse amusement.

Gloin moves away a couple of steps and then halts, glancing down at the axe in his hand. "Useless even for cutting bread," he mutters. With a swift motion he tosses it away. Is it chance or design that speeds it toward the suffering orc?

*You throw your axe at Gunnk...*

*Your axe hits Gunnk, badly wounding him!*

"Waough-Waough-Waough!" Is all that the once great Captain hears come from the mouth of the mighty Gloin. Clearly delusional from the loss of blood, his senses quickly failing him, suddenly a moment of clarity rushes to him as the force of the axe crushing into his body jolts him into reality. "YAAAAARRRRRRRHHHH!" Is the only thing Gunnk manages to yell through the searing pain. The heaving of his chest eventually slows to a stop instantaneously as the blood stops spurting from his body.

"For the last time, DISENGAGE, fools!" Bluyak calls from the shadows beneath the trees in the night. The sooner they break off the fight, the sooner the Dwarves will move on, and the sooner they can treat what wounded may yet survive as they lay strewn about the old forest road.

No sooner has the maligned axe left his hand than Gloin is reaching toward his belt. Soon he's holding the haft of his own familiar war-hammer. "That's more like it!" he mutters with satisfaction. "Now for some real fun." Whether he slays many orcs with is a story that will not be told this day -r rather this night. Full darkness lies upon Mirkwood.

With night upon them and the enemy resistance fading away, the Dwarves move on - slowly yet surely. Forward go the wagons and forward goes the tramp of marching feet; bloodied blades are lifted high. The caravan will carve a path out of this cursed place, and it will not be stopped! That grim determination can be seen writ on the face of every Dwarf.

"But what about Tothi's wagon?" one asks. "The one with-"
A deeper, rougher voice cuts across: "It'll wait till morning. Now, march, lads!"
Gruff Dwarven speech and whinnying ponies, rumble of wheels and creak and jounce of wooden frame: all fade and are gone.

Date added: 2014-02-25 12:27:08    Hits: 51
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