Bree to Moria RPG

Menelvagor · 06-11-2002, 12:03 AM

Maew and Kal were at the fore of the host's right flank. Kal had left Linsul with fond words; no horses were entering the mines save those that helped bear the great wooden bridges that would be used to span the gap from the First Hall. Just before dawn the scermishers had cleared the orcs and held the outer doorway, but within they reported frightening numbers of foes. Then, just as light first touched the peak of Zirak-Zigil far far above them, a trumpet sounded and they plunged into the dark.

The orcs within had not been idle, they peeked out from every crevas and eyot in the rock with black arrows knocked onto their bows, and many more waited on the floor and beyond the arched doorways to other levels. They had the advantage, their enemy had to force it's troop through the narrowed doors, but in that moment, Maew knew that the first hall at least would be taken. Steadily they gained ground, Gondorim archers snipeing at orcish ones until the vast orcish host rushed forward to greet them.

Maew felt rather than saw the battle around him. He instinctively moved away from the line of soldiers, knowing that in his bloodlust he might unwitingly injure a friend, andin the tide of the attack was swept away from Kal. Once again redness decended on his sight, the blur of his sword rang about his head. Kal had stayed with the archers, and her oddly crafted arrows ended many an orcish sneer. Dimly Maew heard her call his name, but he did not heed it. The flash and clang of metal comsumed his being. The main host had swept beyond him now, swinging away to the left towards the second hall, but to him it was but a passing blur on the edge of his vision, seemingly unrelated to the fighting at hand. He felt a crooked blade slice through leather and flesh at his shoulder, and dispatched the blade's owner with a thrust, but as he did so, he exposed his back to the archers who still inhabited the overlooking galleries. Sharply, the pain in his back appeared, bringing him to his knees. Bile and blood rose in his throat and darkness clogged his vision. Acutely, he was aware of the pain both in his back and stomach now. His breath came in gasps Why can I not get air into my lungs? and he collapsed on the body before him, yet he did not notice. The battle passed on before him, the fist hall at least had been taken. All thought left him. Slowly he felt his senses fail, first sight, them the smell of the orc benieth him, then even the ringing clang of the battle and the trundle of the carts bringing the bridges. All he was left with was the pain within him and the hot splash of his own blood, and then, in the end, that too stopped, and he welcomed the relief.

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06-11-2002, 12:03 AM	#11
Menelvagor Elf Lord Join Date: Jan 2002 Location: lurking on the edge of conversations Posts: 924	Maew and Kal were at the fore of the host's right flank. Kal had left Linsul with fond words; no horses were entering the mines save those that helped bear the great wooden bridges that would be used to span the gap from the First Hall. Just before dawn the scermishers had cleared the orcs and held the outer doorway, but within they reported frightening numbers of foes. Then, just as light first touched the peak of Zirak-Zigil far far above them, a trumpet sounded and they plunged into the dark. The orcs within had not been idle, they peeked out from every crevas and eyot in the rock with black arrows knocked onto their bows, and many more waited on the floor and beyond the arched doorways to other levels. They had the advantage, their enemy had to force it's troop through the narrowed doors, but in that moment, Maew knew that the first hall at least would be taken. Steadily they gained ground, Gondorim archers snipeing at orcish ones until the vast orcish host rushed forward to greet them. Maew felt rather than saw the battle around him. He instinctively moved away from the line of soldiers, knowing that in his bloodlust he might unwitingly injure a friend, andin the tide of the attack was swept away from Kal. Once again redness decended on his sight, the blur of his sword rang about his head. Kal had stayed with the archers, and her oddly crafted arrows ended many an orcish sneer. Dimly Maew heard her call his name, but he did not heed it. The flash and clang of metal comsumed his being. The main host had swept beyond him now, swinging away to the left towards the second hall, but to him it was but a passing blur on the edge of his vision, seemingly unrelated to the fighting at hand. He felt a crooked blade slice through leather and flesh at his shoulder, and dispatched the blade's owner with a thrust, but as he did so, he exposed his back to the archers who still inhabited the overlooking galleries. Sharply, the pain in his back appeared, bringing him to his knees. Bile and blood rose in his throat and darkness clogged his vision. Acutely, he was aware of the pain both in his back and stomach now. His breath came in gasps Why can I not get air into my lungs? and he collapsed on the body before him, yet he did not notice. The battle passed on before him, the fist hall at least had been taken. All thought left him. Slowly he felt his senses fail, first sight, them the smell of the orc benieth him, then even the ringing clang of the battle and the trundle of the carts bringing the bridges. All he was left with was the pain within him and the hot splash of his own blood, and then, in the end, that too stopped, and he welcomed the relief.