The Pentagrid Net

[Selwythe]

Alfwine sat in a corner, idly sharpening his sword with a blunt stone. He had kept himself silent, and followed where he should. He had not spoken a word since, and nobody had noticed him, but he saw and heard. He sensed the coming of battle, the mobilisation of the guard party.

The sun sank deeper in the sky and flared a garish red, illuminating him in stark contrasts. Grief clung to him renewed and revived. Too many times, he had watched helplessly as the creature killed his comrades. Too many times he had heard his friends scream. And now he had lost his mount to his enemy. He threw the stone away in humiliation. The creature would kill him slowly, until the blade drove home, and he had only watched hitherto.

His knuckles were white as he gripped the hilt. His finger pricked and bled as he gingerly touched the blade. Blood would spill, and vengeance would avenge. Blood would be his revenge. Blood clouded the future.

[Lief Erikson]

*Great to see you back, Selwyth! I think all we need now is a final surge of interest from all the involved players and we can take this RPG through to the climax before it sinks in the mire.*


Galkier's army had been ready in five minutes, and the spiteful lieutenant's head had rolled for it. It had been a slightly difficult fight; that orc was more skilled than he looked. But Galkier had never yet met one who could match him for skill, strength or brutality.

He had been one of those that had helped to subdue the ranger they had captured in these parts some time ago, the one whom they had brought to Lugburz for questioning. It was because of that that they had discovered of the existance and importance of the Pentagrid Forest, and always after Galkier had had a personal interest in their victory. He cared nothing for books, or for magic. But he cared about finishing a job, and capturing that ranger had only been the beginning of this one. And the end was coming now.

His orcs could make very good speed when pressed, and they managed to destroy much of the surrounding greenery as they did.

His long legs kept easily going on a long, loping stride and his body bent over slightly toward the ground. One of his Nrakes touched his elbow and he turned irritably.

"What now?" he snarled.

"There are humans near here," the Nrake hissed. "I can smell them!"

Galkier cursed and called over one of his officers. "Alert the troops that there are enemies hereabouts. We might be too late."

[Arat-Falathion]

The wind brushed through his hair with ease where he sat on the soft green moss, surrounded by violet flowers. The smell in this place filled him with relaxation and brought him in a state of mind where he felt untouchebal. Looking up at the sky, Arat-Lumënion tried to read the purpose of all this in the stars, but it was all clouded to him. He could not understand, and that worried him and filled him with wrath and anger.
Even though he tried to hold the pain away, he could not, as his mind frequently pictured back at the night when Eänel was killed, and himself so helplessly could do nothing but to flee.
So cowardly his act had been, and he was filled with shame. But at the same time he knew he couldn't have made any difference then. Yes, he could have killed a bunch of orcs, but he knew he would have died himself doing so. They were too many, hundreds, maybe thousands of them... and he could do nothing but to flee and hear the screams of help from the one he loved the most.
Lumënion sighted and closed his eyes and breathed in his nose and out his mouth slowly and silently to regain control, and as he sat with his legs folded and his eyes closed, he felt the presence of other beings, but he did not feel any danger, and so he understood who one of these beings was...

"Here I thought I'd find the heart of Elvendom on earth," Lumënion said, "and here my heart would have dwelled ever, but now I see there is a light beyond the dark roads that we still must tread, you and I." Lumënion sighted and turned his head to the ground, still keeping his eyes closed. "So, Colmade, my friend," he said with a sad, but yet musical voice. "what is your tidings of today?" Before Colmade or BÃ*renath even had a chance to reply, Lumënion continued. "I feel a great darkness rising stronger, my friend... I can see it in the stars, and I feel it in the air. Yet your pressence fill me with ease. Tell me, friend, why is it so?" Lumënion rised his head and looked up into space once again and opened his eyes, but did not look at the two beings that had entered the grove...

[Mathron]

Malagar watched Slythre as they prepared to move onwards, and wandered closer to her once they were on their way.

"I am concerned, Slythre."

She glanced at him, her eyes flashing darkly. "Concerned? You don't think we can handle a few orcs?"

A loose smile touched his lips, and he shook his head. "It isn't that. I saw their camp - they are orcs, and they are strong, but they won't stand a chance against us, not with Erenfor's forces to back us. I know we can handle them. That is what worries me."

There is a moment as the conversation lulls, with the only sounds that of the gently falling night around them, and their companions making their way through the woodland.

"Perhaps this forest is dulling my mind, Mal, but I do not follow your words. Why would ease of victory be a worry?"

Malagar paused, and glanced up at the sky, feeling the breeze ruffle his hair. "There is a scent upon their air, a darkness in the sky. I feel a warning, a tension - and if these orcs will not be trouble, then it means there is some other threat to come. And I do not like riding straight into an unknown danger."

He glanced at her, and met her gaze for a moment.

"That is what worries me."

[Lief Erikson]

Slythre was silent for a moment. "Well," she said at last, "I know enough about your intuitions that they are not to be ignored. If it is some unknown threat, then I don't know what we can do about it except be wary.

"In the meantime, I suppose we had best increase our speed to get to this orc camp and see if anything is happening there."

She smiled and touched his hand lightly with one of her own. "We've put a stopper on greater threats than this, Mal. Remember the Balrog, and Vardor. We face nothing this time but a few orcs."

She raised her voice as she turned back to the others. "Mal and I are going to speed up now and take a look at the area. Taking out enemy scouts and such, we're both good at that sort of thing. You had best speed up some as well though, we have need of haste."






"As you have guessed, I have something to tell you," Colmade answered, walking over to stand beside the elf. "A piece of news that will bring you joy, before we fight our final battle at the Pentagrid."

Arat-Lumenion opened his eyes and looked up at the wizard.

"Yes, there are orcs here and I must face them. And after that, I am going to move the books to a safer location, and set the trees of the Pentagrid free of their charge."

"Have you strength enough for this?" Lumenion asked in concern.

"No. Troops are coming here under General Erenfor . . . you've heard of him? And there is also a company I have summoned here by magical power, people I've chosen from different places of the earth and have brought here to the forest to meet me and help me in my task.

"But the orcs are moving fast, and they must be stopped before they reach the forest. Are you willing to help me, this final time?"

"With pleasure," Lumenion said, standing up.

"Good," Colmade said with a smile. "But first, as I said, there is someone that you must meet. One of the company that came here by apparent chance. In truth I didn't know whom I'd brought at that time, but I'm sure you will."

Only then did Lumenion notice the man that stood at the edge of the grove, and their eyes locked.

For a second he just stood there, staring into BÃ*renath's eyes, and then a small cry burst from his throat. A cry of joy, as the impossible came to be, before his eyes.






"Doubt grows at the Pentagrid," a voice hissed from beneath the black cowl. "We can wait here no longer."

The second Ringwraith turned his head to look into his comrade's dead eyes. His body was pale, silver, in his robes and armor of royalty. His blade hung sheathed at his side, but his gauntleted fist held tight grip upon his steed's rein.

The steed was less visible than the rider, a mere shadow, as was the rest of the world. But its scrawny body twisted as it turned its head in anticipation.

"You are right," the wraith leader answered. "Our captain told us that this treasure could be useful in the war, and we must not let a few humans and elves stand in our way. Come!"

He spoke the final word in a shriek, a call from the undying world for his comrades to follow him. They did so, through the world of shadow and flickering lights toward a small glowing point in the distance.

[Arat-Falathion]

"BÃ*renath! My dear brother!" Lumënion cried in the musical high-elven tongue as they met at the middle of the grove. "Lumënion!" BÃ*renath replyed with a smile. "You have grown since I last saw you." BÃ*renath added and Lumënion smiled. "So have you, my brother, so have you..."

"Well then..." Colmade interupted. "Now that the reunion is settled, we must go with haste!" Lumënion turned to Colmade. "Yes, we must. I need to get my sword and armor first. I left it at your place, if you still remember Colmade." Colmade nodded. "You go get your things, but we'll have to go now. Hurry, and you might catch up with us before we raige into battle!" Lumënion confermed. "I shall run faster today then I ever did. My mind is more lightened now then it has been for manny a day. I'll soon catch up with you! And good luck in battle, my brother!" Lumënion smiled to BÃ*renath, and he replied the smile. And then Lumënion lept across the grove and dissapeared behind the trees.
"Then let us go," Colmade said. "With Lumënion helping us, our odds are far better then before. You must remember that he have slain orcs and other creatures in these parts for manny years." BÃ*renath smiled, but then solely remembered his own weakness in battle. Would he survive himself? He knew his skill was not by far as high as any of the others.
They started to walk back from where they came...

[Mathron]

Harnauro's horse thundered along the ground as he pressed forward, leading the column of riders closer to the forest.

Erenfor, nearly beside him, roared over the rushing wind, "You have picked up the pace quickly - what urgency drives you so?"

Harnauro growled, a feral sound, and said, "The scent of orcs, and worse, is on the wind - I fear that if we do not move swiftly, we may arrive too late!"

[Lief Erikson]

"Here we will have to leave our horses," Mal said as he reached what to him was an invisible line; the beginning of the orc camp.

Slythre dismounted. "It's strange, but I haven't noticed any scouts. That doesn't mean they aren't there, naturally, but orcs aren't usually so careful."

"I agree," Mal said after a moment. "Last time I went in here, they were much more plain. Well, let's just see what's going on in there."

Slythre nodded and knelt down among the bushes, instantly vanishing from Mal's sight. He turned away and quickly flitted from tree to tree like a shadow, closing in on the encampment stealthily.

But the utter silence with which both of them approached the camp was unnecessary. The place was empty, and after a minute or two, Slythre stepped out from hiding and entered the dark, sheltered area.

"It's empty," she called out to Mal, who was also stepping out from his hiding place.

"Then they're traveling in daylight," he said in surprise. "They've gained a lot of distance on us already, and they will certainly reach the forest before Erenfor."

"But then can't we trap them in the Pentagrid? If they go down this secret route and reach the tower and the books before we do, we can simply besiege them there."

"To what end?" Mal asked as he picked at a smashed and hacked apart bush lying at the edge of the grove. "They can afford to wait for reinforcements, but we have none to take. Time would then be on their side, even as now it is on ours. If we can only delay them . . ."

"We must get back to the company," Slythre interrupted him.

He nodded and they both set off for their horses at a run.






The company was not far behind them.

Slythre's and Mal's horses burst suddenly into the middle of the group, catching all by surprise.

"The orcs have left their camp and are heading for the forest even in daylight," Slythre's clear voice cut quickly through the flurry of questions. "We must hurry up, intercept them, slow them down. Erenfor won't be in time, even though he is almost here. Not unless we can make the time for him. That is our last job, the end of our quest. If we hurry, we might succeed. Now come!"

Drawing her spear free from the straps that held it to her saddle, she spurred her horse away and the company streaked like a flying arrow toward the orc army that was closing in on the Pentagrid.

[Mathron]

The forest calls...

Malagar heard the whisper in his mind as they charged onward - the sound and spirit of the powerful enchantments that cloaked the Pentagrid Woods. Like calls to like, and all magics grow with power in time. It was not a sentience - not truly - but rather a semblance of memories.

Malagar felt the remnants of the magics calling, as he felt their power fading. Time pressed on, and even the greatest of weaves crumbles into dust.

The orcs were ahead of them now, but not far.

Malagar smiled grimly.

[Selwythe]

A wolfish grin fixated on the creature's hideous face as he stood near the edge of the Pentagrid Forest. His search was complete, and the hunt was nearing its end. The howling gales shrieked around him. The air blew with the winds of calamity. Orthanc, he knew, burned with a sense of urgency.

He reached in his pocket and withdrew a grubby horn. He had served well, and he knew it, and now, to prey on anarchy between foes and to spit in the Lidless Eye. He knew his brothers were coming, and he would show them where.

Lightning streaked the sky. They were coming.

--------

Alfwine mounted the stallion and gingerly took up the reins. His look was disgust, with any mount from Rohan, he could have guided himself with the horse with just his knees and blindfolded. He had no choice now however. For whatever reason, the Elven party had left it behind when they left.

He knew now why when he sped in pursuit. It was wild, and tolerated no rider. It had amazing speed, however, and with his skill in horse-handling, he barely kept on the stallion as he quickly overtook the riders.

Then a a horn sounded deep in their headed direction. Its dull drone defiled the air, and overwhelmed him with a barrage of emotions. He had heard it before, days long past, in a night of chaos and tears.

"Behold the fell voice in the air," he bellowed amid the shrieking wind, "the betrayal of Isengard is laid bare. The vile minions of Saruman defile the forest!"

[Lief Erikson]

*Selwyth, maybe you should make a name for this orc of yours. You've been using him for a while, but he might get lost in the jumble of all these other orcs .*


The tree's name was too long to tell and its age beyond reckoning. But it was called by those few who remembered it "Barkvein". Barkvein's influence over the other trees was great; he was the first to have been awakened. And his was the power that governed the Pentagrid Forest, turning it now into a forest of wrath.

He and his comrades swung their boughs and demolished the first orcs. The Isengarders pressed deeper in, heedless of their losses, callously destroying bushes and ferns, turning the very air sick with their presence. But the entire forest was now aware of them and convulsed against the attack. Every tree struck at the invaders, their unstoppable strength smashing through armor as if it were straw.

The first group of invaders was dead, and the others hesitated.

The orc that led their band scowled, wondering how to bypass this strange and ancient defense. But even as he thought it over, an orc scout ran up to him.

"Humans and elves!" the scout shouted. "They come on horseback; there are about half a dozen of them. They have come at the forest from a different angle!"

"Perhaps they know something we don't," the leader mused, touching his battle horn lightly. "I've already lost over a score of my followers here and I can see we won't get in like this. Bring them to me alive for questioning. Even if they are skilled in combat, we have more than enough to deal with this."

"They are running in a parallel direction to the force of Mordor, but they'll reach the Pentagrid first. Also General Erenfor's men are coming up faster than expected. They'll probably be intercepting those Red Eye swine soon."

"Better and better," the leader answered with a yellow fanged grin. "If they kill each other, it will save us the trouble.

"You there!" he shouted out to an officer. "We have some prisoners to take!"






Slythre's horse came to a halt and she looked around anxiously. She felt, as Mal did, the rage and violence that filled the air.

"Something is happening out there," Slythre said as she dismounted.

"There is more than one thing approaching," Mal said, his facing creasing with worry. "Things come from all sides. Erenfor, the orcs, and other things . . . I cannot tell what all is happening out there, but everything is drawing towards this one spot."

"This is the place," Tessar said quietly as he too climbed off his horse. "The path through the forest. It is here that the orcs from Mordor will strike first."

Kaytrien bit her lip, her face slightly white. She tightened her grip on her weapon's hilt and tried to slow the pounding of her heart. This was more than she'd bargained for.

All of them were dismounted now, their horses waiting on the path behind them, surrounded by walls of trees. Even those not attuned to the walking spirits and the power of magic could feel now the hatred and turmoil drawing ever closer.

Yet all around the group was silence. The leaves rustled quietly with a passing wind, and the quiet lengthened.






Colmade reached into the violent power of the Pentagrid Net, connecting himself to the flows that spread throughout the forest. "I am too slow," he told the others wearily. "Lumenion, BÃ*renath, go on ahead. I can fight from here . . ."

They drew their swords and ran on, full of energy and in a state of power.

Three orc scouts saw the two elven warriors running toward them, and they paused, drawing arrows from the quivers at their sides. Two went wide and the third glanced off of Lumenion's silver chain mail. Two of the orcs began running at once, but the third picked up his spear, turning it on the elves.

Lumenion killed the orc with a single blow and BÃ*renath leapt over the falling carcass, catching up quickly with the two others. Then a light from the sun shown down upon his naked sword as he raised it above his head, calling out at the top of his lungs a warrior's cry.

The three orcs lay dead. Lumenion and BÃ*renath ran on as the sun dimmed, a cloud crossing to darken the morning sky. The battle of the Pentagrid Forest had begun.

[Arat-Falathion]

Still running, Lumënion turned to BÃ*renath who was running at his side. "You swing your sword well, my brother! I see you have trained well in the Blessed Realms." BÃ*renath smiled. "Actually I haven't, but I met a ranger, Turion is his name. He tought me all I know." Smiling, Lumënion added. "He tought you well then! Stay close to me, my dear brother, and we shall get through this alive!"
--------------

- Falathion, Cúrion, BÃ*renath... ... ...

[Lief Erikson]

The silence was shattered suddenly as orcs ran from the brush ahead. They raised their foul heads, half crawling half running as they lunged at the companions. Guttural war cries burst from their throats as they bared their yellow teeth and raised their foul iron blades.

There was just enough time to glimpse the Red Eye emblazoned upon their faces, helms and shields before they crashed into the group.

Then all was lost in the confusion of battle. The first orcs died in a moment, but behind them the weight of their numbers constantly pressed at the company as they fought.

Some of the orcs were maddened by the wounds that the deadly blades had slashed in their flesh and lunged onward toward their opponents, heedless of their own peril, but others gradually realized the foolhardiness of this effort. A respite was granted the beleagured comrades as the orcs drew off, leaving a score of their own dead.

Tessar summoned a fireball behind each of his hands, preparing for the next assault. Turion raised his blade, steeped up to the hilt now in black blood. Mal, Slythre and Kaytrien raised their weapons as well and waited.

There were over a hundred orcs about them now, all angry, snarling and gloating in the knowledge of certain victory. But they waited, and from their center came one who stood taller than any of the companions. His muscles were lithe and sinewy, and he held a drawn blade in each hand. His torso was covered in black iron plating, the rest of him in dark leather orcish garb.

His lips curled into a smile as he looked upon them and his eyes shown from behind his helmet, blazing with bloodlust.

"You have interfered with us for the last time," he told them, still grinning. "I have long sought a worthy opponent, and it is time that this affair was ended."

Turning back to his comrades, he barked an order in the orcish tongue. With a howl, the torrent of enemies crashed upon the five, Galkier coming close behind them, urging them on. Then he was among the enemy too, cutting with vicious strength at Turion. But he sidestepped, and his blade was a flicker as he engaged his opponent again. Galkier was for a moment paused, but then he pressed his opponent back again, toward the trees.

He almost missed Slythre's spear, but he was just quick enough to parry it. The sharp iron edge was passed him, and he swung down again, cutting the weapon in two at the center. Slythre staggered back as he hacked upwards with his other sword, parrying both her weapon and Turion's suddenly attacking blade.

But then the fight was carried away from him, and he felt an officer touching his elbow. He nearly hacked the orc's head off, but he restrained his recently revived vicious instinct. "We are under attack, sir. We are caught in a pincer movement between the elves and men under Erenfor, and another attack by other orcs. I think they're from Isengard."

"Curse them all!" Galkier roared. His lines in the back were collapsing under the pressure, and in front he was being held off by this . . . this band. He was trapped on all sides now, and there would be no escape from the trap.

Then the sky seemed to darken. A scream filled the air, causing all those in battle to cease their fighting and look upwards toward this new horror.

The three Nazgul raced toward the path like demons, and pale blades were raised in iron fists. A terrible scream again burst from the throats of all of them, and they burst through the company like a fist of power, throwing aside the five defenders and the orcs in a tide of terror.

[Mathron]

Malagar stumbled back to his feet after the mad rush of the Nazgul, and lurched against a tree, but managed to hold himself upright.

This... this was what I sensed. The wraiths are on the move. And we are all that may be able to stop them. He focused his thoughts as he looked around at his allies. Slythre was back up, and the others seemed to managing to stand. They were strong and powerful in their own rights. The orcs that had been hurled about by the charge were scattered and stricken, and Erenfor's men were pressing them back - though it looked as though another warband had arrived.

With luck, one that would not be a danger to them.

"Quickly now," said Slythre, rousing the others forward, "we must catch up to them!"

"Nazgul?" said Kaytrien, shuddering, "Ring-wraiths? You think we can face them?"

A form blurred by Malagar, hitting on all fours and charging into the woods after the Nazgul. Malagar grinned.

"I know we can. We have faced far worse than their like. Let us get to the horses, and set chase now!"

[Tessar]

Tessar laughed lightly.

"I suppose I could take on a nazgul my self" he said with a rogueish grin, he couldn't beleve what he had just said but he knew this feeling. He almost always felt it after a hard battle, slightly light headed but poised as if to throw himself at anything that moved.

Tessar gatherd his power, and threw it as hard as he could against the nazgul. The green fire that ran along his blade outlined him for a moment as it was drawn to him.

Colmade had called him strong, he just hoped he was strong enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sorry if the nazgul are already out of sight. I couldn't tell from the other posts exactly what had happend with them.

[Selwythe]

*Hehe right, slipped my mind. Burg then.*

Tessar narrowed his eyes in concentration as he guided the fire of blazing green toward the black-hooded river, straight and true. It swivelled around as it screamed into the air. The flames licked at its shimmering black cloak.

Then Tessar fell back in shock a vile hand struck him. He yelped, and the fireball dissipated. Eyes glazed in shock, he watched helplessly as the Orc raised its scimitar, poised to strike. Poised to kill.

It was over in an instant. the Orc had its head sliced cleanly off in a quick slash as another Orc swung its horned blade and ran off in bloodlust.

Tessar shook his head in puzzlement as the wide eyes of the slain orc glared at him. These were truly strange times, to have Orcs fight Orcs, the shadow bending in on itself.

-------------------

The Uruk captain snarled in disgust. Truly, he had not expected the wraiths, and their presence had to justify the importance of the forest, and what lay within. Behind him, a banner rippled in the gale, a banner from the ashes, the Banner of the White Hand. Herald of Isengard.

With a flourish of his black-bladed sword, he withdrew his sword from the gasping carcass. It glistened with blood, Elven or Orcish, and the reek was delightfully ravaging.

Cutting a path made of corpses and blood, he stopped. Ahead of him stood another Orc, nearly as tall as he, and he wielded two bloody scimitars, his mouth overwhelmed with rage. He had to be the leader.

"Kneel before the Eye!" the Orc challenged as he saw him. "What do be these traitors that stab our backs?"

The captain stepped forward in a deadly grace, his sword raised in defiance. "We are the fighting Uruk-hai, and we bow to none save the Hand."

They stared at each other, even as the battle raged on around them.

------------------------

Alfwine writhed and twisted the stallion as the scimitar desperately tried to reach him. With a last grand sweeping motion, he brought his sword down on the wielder. Hard.

He looked up in a moment of respite, and saw chaos. Corpses lay slain on the battlefield, Elven or Orcish, and more added to the number as time passed on. Yet the battle continued, and the number of Orcs overwhelmed theirs, in a frightening ratio. And there over the horizon, he sighted what he sought. A tattered banner, with a white hand swaying in the gale.

He kicked his horse to and it obeyed. The experience of battle had sobered its wild spirit. He rode towards the thick of it. Most soldiers had lost their mounts and fought on foot, and that worked to his advantage, as they scattered before him.

Riding into the dark horde, the wind blew his golden hair backward as he closed his eyes and laughed.

[Mathron]

Malagar's horse pounded through the woods, the others moving quickly behind him. Ahead, the bright spark of a flame showed their path - the Nazgul struck by Tessar's fireball, still aflame and burning bright.

"Malagar," asked Tessar anxiously, "Can we truly just leave Erenfor and his men back there to face the orcs, now that their numbers have doubled?"

"With luck," broke in Slythre, "The orcs will fight amongst themselves to the extent that Erenfor's company will easily handle them. They are capable soldiers, and can turn the situation to their best advantage."

"And regardless," sighed Mal, weariness hanging over him, "We can only pray for them, not rush back to help them. Even if they fall, the Nazgul must be stopped, or else all we have fought for here is lost."

[Lief Erikson]

The two remaining Nazgul were out of sight to the companions. One of their fellows was gone. His cloak was dwindling in flame and his steed raced back to Mordor with his spirit to be given form again.

These two still had an errand though, and they were not deterred by the fireworks from the magical elf lord.

Several minutes later, they reached the center of the wood. Behind them, they could feel their opponents drawing near, and one was ahead of the others. But they were at the tower now, and they shut the door behind themselves, closing themselves into the shadow.

There was nothing but blackness about them, and they knew that they were within their element. The two pale riders drew their gleaming blades, invisible in the darkness. The first of them waited at the gate; the second strode inwards through the empty passages into the heart of the underground tunnels. Towards the door opening to the books of power.





Galkier smiled as he recognized the leader of his foes. Perhaps here was a match for his own prowess, and if he could slay this orc, then that would mean the end of this orcish host. When he died, the others would falter. Slowly however, his smile faded. If he killed this enemy, then that would leave him alone to face General Erenfor with his host of straw haired elves and men.

"We cannot kill each other," he finally forced himself to say. "Much as I long to, for your impudence to the servants of the Dark Lord, if we kill each other now, then the enemy of us both wins."

His adversary appeared to be having the same thought. His first force had been wiped out quickly enough, but now his whole host was engaged in battle. Unless they allied, neither of them would win.

"Besides, your master serves mine," Galkier sneered. "You need not bow to me. Simply follow your dog of a master and he'll lead you to bow before the Black Throne. We serve the same cause."






Erenfor watched the two captains meet saw them begin to converse. He waited tensely for a moment before deciding to act. This was not going as he'd hoped. Indeed, some of the orcs were beginning to realize that they might not be supposed to fight each other, and were beginning to stop.

"Try to withdraw our troops," he ordered his officers. "And give me your bow," he told a fellow soldier.

The man did as requested but Erenfor refused the arrow he offered. Instead, he reached down to the leafy floor and picked up a black orcish arrow. Fitting it to the string, he lined the shaft up with his eye and let it fly.

The arrow flew true and struck Galkier in the center of his back, piercing straight through him.

Galkier looked down in surprise for a moment, staring at the jagged, poisoned arrow tip protruding from him. Several seconds passed, and for the two orc captains the sounds of battle seemed to fade as both looked at the sudden death that had come upon the leader.

Then Galkier gave a roar of rage and picked up his battle blade. "Filthy traitor!" he roared, along with a torrent of foul names. He leapt at his opponent, and all chance of alliance was over.

Erenfor smiled in satisfaction; half the battle was already won.

[Mathron]

Malagar charged out of the forest and into the clearing around the main tower. Ahead, the gate lay closed, and he knew the Nazgul were already inside. The others came behind him, full force.

He didn't slow his speed, but rather hit the door with all his might. His horse cried out, but the door shattered as he galloped in - and nearly died.

It was a fact that darkness was to Malagar a second skin, a soothing voice that calmed him in the nights. He had lived with darkness, in shadows, for far longer than the Nazgul had walked the earth.

Perhaps it was the whisper of the darkness as he entered the tower, perhaps his own ancient instincts, honed through centuries of battle and training - but as soon as he entered the darkness, he moved.

The air shimmered around him as he slid off his horse, hurling himself away from the entrance - and his horse gave a long, terrible cry as the Nazgul's blade cut through it. Even Malagar's speed had not left him unscathed - the blade sliced along his thigh, shallow but burning nonetheless, and when he tried to stand back up, his leg shook beneath him.

His horse had served him well, and had not deserved death at a Ringwraith's blade - nevertheless, Mal smiled. He knew where the Nazgul was as surely as others saw in poor daylight. For him, the darkness was as safe and secure as any home.


But not for the others. Even as they came charging in the door, Mal leapt forward, blades suddenly in his hands. He pressed the Nazgul back as the others went thundering by, finding themselves blinded by the darkness.

Even as he heard Tessar speaking words of magic, and a pale light entered the room, Malagar cried out, "Do not slow! Find the other one before it gets the book - I shall hold this one here!"

The Nazgul hurled him back across the room, even as the others pressed on - but Malagar was once again in its path, barring its way. He spoke a word, and the light around them faded again.

"Let us fight."

[Selwythe]

Burg stepped back in surprise as the Orc captain lunged at him, his two blades slashing wildly. He was certainly a worthy foe, but the arrow in his back slowed him, and weakened him. With a quick stab with his sword, he laid the captain out, in a pool of black blood.

*not dead if you do not wish him so*

He looked up, and sniffed the vile air. Blood was being spilled, and the day had turned for the worse.

"Fool!" he shouted gruffly at the unmoving captain. "The day wanes in urgency, and kin fights kin! Fool! The enemy escapes!"

He turned and snarled, as he saw the last of the Elven riders leave from his sight. Mouth open in a guttural wild cry, he charged forward at a loping run, paying no heed to the battle. The ranks were broke and the command was lost. He had lost control of the situation. Orcs fought Orcs, Orcs killed Orcs, for their own pure joy.

He aimed with his bow even as he ran and loosed. Among the riders one fell, his golden hair matted with blood. He grinned sardonically as the cavalry slowed, uncertain. The commander glanced at him and the small ragtag band that had abandoned their fight and followed his rallying cry. His smile widened. He had their attention.

Then all went black for a while as he was trampled to the ground.

-------------------

The stallion neighed frantically as it reversed on its tracks, and Alfwine held the lance out, homing in like an arrow on the fallen captain. Those in his way, he ran down.

"For Rohan and the glory of Edoras!" he cried. "For the blood and tears of Westfold!"