2/21/2008
================== Eldarin Calendar <in Sindarin> ===================
IC time is: Nighttime < About 10:47 PM >
IC day is: Orgilion <Stars-day>
IC date is: 23 Ethuil <Spring>
Moon phase: First Quarter <VISIBLE>
Earendil: Gil-Estel is not visible.
IC year is: Loa 19 o Yen 22, Nelandran o Endor <TA 3043>
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RL time: Thu Feb 21 09:35:52 2008
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Western Riverbank of the Lower Celebrant
You stand at the southern edge of a springtime forest, the treeline tapering
down to a few sparse copses until a grassy plain takes over and rolls away
south. Here, the river Celebrant suddenly becomes wider and more powerful, as if
the wood it traveled through had restrained it and now let it free.
Contents:
Galharth
Norikh
Istaril
While the stars twinkle beautifully in a sea of darkness, those who stand guard
upon the borders look not to the sky, but to the ground and the dangers that lay
in the shadows. The breeze blows from the southeast, bringing forth the rich
scents of the plains and the nurturing warmth of spring. Few sounds are heard
this eve, as even the wildlife of the night seem to be holding their friendly
sounds.
"Sir, it's dangerous here, word of the sightings has surely made it back to the
city," A young Sentinel says softly from a hidden vantage point within the
trees.
"The Guard are here, only a fool would venture this close." Galharth says firmly
as he makes his way down the tree. "Word of the sightings has indeed made it to
the city, as has the word of the suffering tree made it to the ears of my
Foresters. Who am I to allow them to venture into possible danger if I myself do
not step forward first." Reaching the ground, the Craftsmaster unsheaths his
longsword. "I need to see the damage and then I'll know if the risk must be
taken."
The Uruk camp had moved, leaving little trace in it's wake save the mutilated
copse of trees that had served as the elf woman's refuge until being located.
Perhaps a league further north though, it had been re-established...
And skirmishers were about in the darkness.
The heavy booted footfalls crunch in the dewey grass within bowshot of Lorien,
the harsh baddle of the Black speech making the night foul with ill intent. "Do
not step into the trees. this will work. Here." Comes the barking command of
Norikh in the shadows, the Orcish commander of Minas Morgul barks as his
servants go to work, some hacking and slashing at the trees, either to fell
them, and allow them deeper into Lorien, or meerly to taunt, and call elves to
them. Others take rag covered bottles, dosens of them, and begin lashing them
expertly to trees every half dosen feet or so. All the time, the glowing red
eyes of the Hulking Uruk-haio stand watch over them, his eyes scanning the
treeline, and listening to the sounds of the wood.
Clouds drift overhead, placing a barrier between the earth and the stars. Among
the trees, a figure covered in a grey cloak draws the hood over his brow.
Against the silvery bark of the mallorn, he watches the actions of the uruk.
"Can they not feel the pain of the trees?" Galharth hisses harshly under his
breath, "Surely even the watcher to the south can sense this." The spoken words,
soft and low and in the language of the elves, is as if the breeze itself
speaks.
Looking upwards, the Craftsmaster catches sight of several bows being drawn to
strike out at the assaulting beasts below.
Proof of experience is shown now. "Loose those bolts, and these trees will be
set ablaze by those that live. We have enough fuel here to engulf this entire
border." Norikh roars into the wood, in no paticular direction. At this moment,
a brightly burning torch is brought to, and handed over to the uruk-hai.
"We are not here to invade you Faeries. Just remind you of our strength, and
that you are best to REMAIN inside your precious wood. If one of you is brave
enough, I will fight you alone. Defeat me, and we will leave."
Soft chuckles come from the cimson clad Uruk's, and Uruk-hai around Norikh, but
Norikh remains a 'sincere' expression upon his grotesque face.
A little ways in the wood, an elleth walks cautiously among the the great trees
in search of herbs for the Healers. Kneeling to inspect a plant, her keen ears
hear the sounds of chaos. Her heart is torn at suddenly. "The mellyrn," she
gasps. Upon hearing the challenge of the foul creatures, Istaril swiftly and
silently climbs into the nearest tree, hidden from view.
The dark woods seem to collectively groan in response to the beasts words. The
gentle breeze suddenly gusts, setting the leaves into a harsh wave that seems to
cry out. Even the stars turn their sight from this threat as the clouds close
ranks and begin to darken. Is this some power from the witch famed to lurk
within this woods, or nature moving in random events?
"There are many who might defeat you in single combat!" A voice calls back in
common tongue. "Leave now so to avoid the shame of defeat by a simple fairy."
The group of Elite Uruk-hai outside of Lorien's borders fall silent, for a
moment, as if the group of them consider departing, before the laughter begins.
"Brave words for one who will not show themselves. Let any of them come to me
now then. if 'many can defeat me' as you say." Norikh says, before turning, and
nodding to his Lieutenant, as more, and more torches are lit. "Last chance elf."
Norikh says with a grin.
With the hateful challenge issued, the sky opens up and a cold rain begins to
fall. Again, is this nature, or does the witch of the wood hold some power?
"Death circles you, unseen, and out of reach. We need not meet face to face."
Galharth says. His voice tinted with anger, yet firmly spoken. "Needle and
thread are my tools, and yet even I could sorely hurt you should it be my will."
Stepping forth slightly, the Tailor draws back his hood. The rain gently coats
his face and hair. "Leave, and your lives will be spared for a bit longer."
"Soak them down before you light the bottles." Norikh orders his men, with a
grin. "Then you have sealed the fate of the trees. and we will roast your flesh
over the fire." The Commander roars as his troops move towards the trees again,
Snaga carrying dry tinger and soldiers carrying open bottles of fuel they begin
splashing on the trees. "Too fearfull of your own skin to save the lives of what
you most cherish? so be it." the Uruk-hai snarls with a chuckle. "I forgot you
faeries are afraid of the dark."
"Too often have your kind tried to burn these woods," Galharth hisses, though
with his elven voice and tone, it is as a threatening song. "Nature itself
stands against you!" He calls out as the rain continues to pour over the land,
soaking the land and all who stand upon it. The vile scent of fuel mingling with
water remains potent in the air, and yet the clensing nature of water works to
dilute its danger.
"Fool!" Galharth calls out. "I stand here in plain sight!" he says, taking a
step from the thicker tree line so that he might indeed be seen by one that
seems consumed with wreaking havoc rather than seeing what might be seen.
Turning, to face Galharth, Norikh grins, as the soldiers and Snaga around him
back up to get behind him. ''I'll see you when I want to.'' He says with a
wicked grin, as he licks his lips and begins to walk calmly towards the elf,
calling over his shoulder. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" before turning his
attention to elf infront of him, as he begins to close the distance. So man
like, less a beast then many of his kind. Soon though, his minions continue
their work, tossing lit torches on the fuel soaked grass and trees, the
smouldering, wet ground catching after a moment, but the flames small, creating
more smoke than fire, and even as the flames lick at the grass under the canopy
of trees, if doesn't go beyond the spilled fuel.
Then.
BOOM
The jars of oil explode as their wicks are lit, sending jets of lit fuel
splattering throughout the wood, high, fast buring flames lighting the area, but
nature does defend herself, not a tree catches, each having been moistened
enough to repel the licking flames. ''That should keep your cowardly friends
from interfering.'' Norikh snarls, as the battle axe Agankhalk is pulled from
his back, as Norikh still calmly walks towards Galharth.
Rain soaked foliage is showered from the spatters of flame, and yet the burst
seems loud and bright for only a moment as the effects of the rain take their
toll upon the attemp to lay waste to the dark wood and grassy plains. Light and
sound combine to create a setting filled with distractions. "There is no power
in waste....." Galharth snaps impatiently as he tucks his free hand in his
pocket to withdraw his tape measure. In the barrage of shadows and light, the
long thin strip waves back and forth with the flick of the Tailor's wrist.
Falling silent, the Craftsmaster flickers the measureing tape to his side.
Suddenly, snapping the tape forward as a whip, he lunges at the beast, drawing
back his longsword and bringing it heavily down. The weapons sharp blade aims
for the Orc's shoulder while the tape aims to entangle the beasts feet.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Norikh moderately wounds him!
Norikh is taken by suprise, his feet tangled up in the tape as he falls forward,
and manages to roll some, the longsword striking hard against the pauldron of
his Ringmail, bringing a grunt and a split ring from Norikh, as he deftly, with
more grace than an orc should be allotted, spins on that very shoulder, lashing
out with his own booted feet trying to tangle Galharth's feet in his while he
tries to stand.
Norikh attacks Galharth with his Bare Hands!...
...and he misses!
Pulling back upon the measuring tape as they move, Galharth snaps it back and to
the side as if holding a snake. The dance indeed begins as the Tailor skirts
away from beast that threatens the land! "I've taken measurements, and you're
found lacking!" Galharth says in a growl.
Snapping the measuring tape again, more for the sound and flicker of
distraction, the Craftsmaster swings his weapon down and forward as if to catch
the Orc's thigh.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Norikh lightly wounds him!
Norikh accepts the blow with a grunt, but manages to twist his left in a fashion
to roll with the blow, to keep it from cutting too deep into the armored thigh
of the Machine of Mordor. "I am sure I will plump up as I dine on you." Norikh
snarls, the blood lust in his eyes growing wild as the battleaxe is twirled
between his hands, catching the light of dying flames in the polished head
before the weapon lashes towards Galharth's sword shoulder.
Norikh attacks Galharth with his Battle Axe!...
...and he misses!
The whistling of a dagger as the metal cuts through the air annouces the arrival
of another upon the battle scene. As if formed by the foliage near the bank, the
cloaked figure steps forth with hood drawn back to reveal the visage of Legarwin
upon whom's brow there glows elven diamonds from the dying embers. A longsword
is then drawn from the hip of the Commander as he prepares himself to enter the
scene.
"The only thing greater than your ego is your smell," the Tailor mutters as he
steps back and turns full around to avoid the axe. The rain continues to fall,
turning the dust at their feet to mud. "It'll take more than the rain to cleanse
your scent."
Again Galharth snaps his measuring tape at the Orc, aiming the thin tape high
and into the face of the vile beast. As he does so, the clothier stabs forward
aiming at his opponents gut.
Legarwin throws a dagger...
Legarwin's dagger throw is knocked out of the air by Norikh and his battle axe!
The dagger lies now on the ground at his feet.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Norikh moderately wounds him!
Norikh hears the whistling of a dagger, and brings his axehead up, in time for
the weapon to clang off of it harmlessly. Silly move. Blood shot eyes widening,
as he swings down to try to parry Galharth's lunch, he only half succeeds, the
tip piercing into his forarm, bringing a howl of pain from Norikh. "Cowards!
Need to team up tp defeat me." he snarls as he swings again, though his strength
sapped from the forarm wound, as he cleaves for Galharth's side as he searches
for the new figure.
Norikh attacks Galharth with his Battle Axe!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!
"Cowards are only those who fight unwisely," replies Legarwin as he studies the
scene before him. It is then that he notices an opening on the opposing forearm
of the orc that had not been pierced yet. Bringing his longsword to bear, the
Commander lunges for the small space between chest and shoulder armor in order
to puncture the creature.
Legarwin attacks Norikh with his Longsword, but Norikh parries the attack with
his Battle Axe!
"I am but a mere tailor," Galharth says as he brings his Longsword up to block
the axe. Gritting his teeth against Norikh's strength, the Tailor strains and
pushes away, giving Legarwin the opening needed. Circling round the pair, he
drops his measuring tape and grips the hilt of the longsword with both hands.
Stepping forward and swinging down and forward, the Craftsmaster again takes aim
at the beasts legs.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Norikh moderately wounds him!
Norikh turns to parry Legarwin's blow, and as he does so, he feels the bite of
blade against thigh, causing his leg to half buckle, knocking him off balance
slightly, which causes another snarl, and weak blow, lashing out towards
Legarwin as he tucks himself into a roll, trying to distance himself from the
two
Norikh attacks Legarwin with his Battle Axe and moderately wounds him!
Uncertainty flickers in the Tailor's eyes as the Orc lands a blow. Where and how
badly, Galharth can not see. Narrowing his eyes, the sight of black blood
becomes the focus of the crafters vision. "It is my fight Legarwin, I ask you
let me finish it so that this creature might learn that even the weakest among
us is a match for their worst!"
Not waiting for an answer, the crafter darts forward across the mud, swinging
his longsword back and then forward with a gunt of effort, aiming to srike the
shoulder or chest of their opponent.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth attack against Norikh moderately wounds him!
Norikh rolls and spins, only to accept another weak blow to his shoulder, not
even splitting his armor, but probably leaving a decent bruise in it's wake.,
"Ha! You're friend is struck once by me, and see how he flees. I will dine upon
you!" he roars as both hands grip the haft of the battle axe, laced with
Legarwin's blood as he swings it towards Galharth's midsection once again
Norikh attacks Galharth with his Battle Axe!...
...and he misses!
"The hand of a tailor is quick and sure," Galharth says firmly as he leaps back,
rounding his back to to avoid the axe. Effort is etched upon the fair elven face
as he is forced to take two steps to recover from the retreat.
As quickly as he moves back to avoid a strike, he moves forward as quickly.
Stabbing his longsword once more at the midsection of the bloody beast that
still stands in threat against their land. Now soaked with rain, the grey cloak
and silvery hair now clings to the Tailor's back as he attacks.
Galharth attacks Norikh with his Longsword...
Galharth's attack against Norikh badly wounds him!
Fade to black...