Tuhl turns around, and suddenly sees the great priest Burzum still fighting. With a growl of satisfaction, the orc turns once again his attention toward the human, watching with disbelief him slashing at another wounded orc. With a large laughter, the big Tuhl slams once more his meat-cleaver downward, aiming for the junction of the shoulder and neck of Gilthanas.
Kathryn gives a frightened sigh, and ducks down to place an arm beneath his shoulders, trying to pull him up. "I knew you were going to be stubborn.." she tries to make light, "I'll be better once we are off this field..now come on.." she urges him to lean against her.
Gilthanas stumbles, his head smashing on a rock. He staggers to his feet, blood pouring from a massive gash in his head. He staggers towards the trees, stumbling with every step, as though
suddenly, unable to keep his balance. He manages, in the end, to holler out, to Lomendaur, Amos, and Christensin, who stood himself back up.."Keep fighting frie-
"Wait..." Moradan finally says, reopening his eyes "Ok, I'll try to stand, but first, please, recover my sword and my shield... they should be near around here... I have to have them back before doing anything... please" he says, closing his eyes again
The mace hit Kenan hard to one side, making him stumble a few feet away. Panting and with his clothes even more blodied than before, he shakes his head and simply walks away in a quick pace,
joinining a group of fallen guards who are being attacked upon as if they were a careless triffle. Midway, he turns around and sets his gaze upon the dark priest waving his fist in a belligerent manner, "We shall meet again!"
Alquawen looks frantically around, scanning the battlefield for something that would suffice as a splint.." There! mellon look !" she calls..to Amanaelen.., poinitng to some scraggly looking bushes at the far corner.." break off a branch..not to thin..but sturdy.." She then bends over the unconcus elf..mulches up some herbs in her hands, hoping that its foul smelling ordour will revive him and glances anxiously at him hoping for a reaction..a sign of life.
Kathryn nods, and does as he asks, searching the ground until she find's Moradan's sowrd and Shield, flipping the shield onto her back, and tucking the sword under her injured arm. "Now...Lets get from here.
Moradan nods, taking his sword from her and using it as a stick he stands up, managing to stay on his feet as the blood from the deep cut on his left cheeck starts to spill again
Tirog watches as the other approaches, not seeing the flung spear as it strikes him solidly in the side sending him off balance as the others sword connects just as solidly at the same time as yet another weapon from who knows where. staggering back, he trips up another orc at Andranar so that he can slip off into the trees.
The elf blinks his eyes once then twice and awakes, coughing from the stench of the herbs under his nose. He struggles to get up..screaming.." No..I must defend my comrades.." and then cries out in pain, griping his limp arm..he passes out once more.
Tuhl turns as the human fighter come crashing down, covered with blood, and faces the newcomers. Still laughing, his ugly tusks protruding from his small black lips, the butcher of Angband invites the human "Welcome, welcome fresh meat, the butcher will soon have you dismembered and skinned" and he wait for their attack, slowly swinging his cleaver right and left.
Kathryn helps to Guide Moradan for the healers upon the rise.
Amanelen dashes off to the direction that Alquawen pointed out, wincing at every step. Yet, he is sure that his wounds are the least among his brethren so he does not cry out. A wounded orch tries to trip him up, but Amanelen is too quick, he bashes the orch in the head with the butt of his spear and finally reaches the bushes, and breaks off a branch as Alquawen requested. He then dashes back to Alquawen, and in the process his leg wound seems to have broke open again...you can swear that you can see the bone! But he ignores it, and hands Alquawen the branch, "Here you go, m'lady." His manners are proper even in the heat of battle. He looks down at his leg and winces, but says nothing.
Lomendaur stumbles, pulling the spear back into an easy grip. He backs off from Andranar and the orc he fights as Tirog begins to flee. He spins around, looking for Gilthanas. He begins searching, calling the human's name, spear at a ready stance.
Andranar draws a deep breath, watching his second strong foe among the horde break off the fight. Lowering his sword a little, though still ready, he wipes his brow, and tears at his by now ragged and bloody cloak, seeking to staunch his wounds a bit. He gives a nod to Lomendaur, then sets his gaze on the battlefield, squinting a little in the daylight.
Amos and Christinsen stand by Gilthanas, swords drawn, defending their friend. Amos, speaks a few words to his friend, then sees Lomendaur calling Gilthanas' name. He yells, "Friend..Gilthanas is wounded..Gravely I fear..He smashed hit head on his rock, after the axe cought him in the arm.."
Moradan let kathryn guide him, too weak to protest ... keeping his mouth shut to avoid crying for the pain in front of KAthryn, he makes some steps...after a while, his eyes open wide and he asks "How's the LAdy?"
Tuhl burst out in evil laughter "You're friend his here, human, ready for the butcher's hook, come fight me for his carcass"
Ignoring Kenan as the coward runs off, Burzum winces at the large hole in his stomach. Reaching into one of that many pockets in his robe, he pulls out a clean piece of white cloth. Stuffing it hastily in the bleeding wound, the wetness making most of it stick. Closing his robe back up tightly, Burzum reaches into yet another pocket, and pulls out a thin glass vile full of a clear liqued. Raising it to his lips, he downs the drink, makigna sour face and tossing the bottle aside. Grunting in distaste, he turns to the battlefield, searching for another target.
Lalwen has by now achieved the bottom of the hill. She hobbles over to assist Kathryn and Moradan. "Right here, Moradan of Dorlomin
Running swiftly towards the small group of humans, Lomendaur chokes quietly as he notices the battered body of Gilthanas. He looks to the two guarding him, and only shakes his head. He turns about blindly, and shouts. "Orc! Where are you?"
Alquawen takes the branch thankfully, anclosing her eyes she bends the elf's hand forwards, into the correct postion..she calls to Amanelen.." you'd better hold him down..this is going to hurt" ..she wrenches the arm back.and the elf gasps awakening from his sleep..screaming as the bones crunch together..Alquawen ties the arm firmly and mutters .." sorry mellon.." she looks to Amanaelen and gasps at the open wounds on his body.." Mellon..I think we had best deal with that.." and helps the elf to a resting postion.
Amos turns to Lomenduar, and speaks, "Friend, I do believe we routed them..But these wounds on Gilthanas will be bourne forever, as reminder of this day."
Tuhl Charges, growling like a bear "I am here, stoopidz, and here is my blade" and easily rushing through the few combatants, the black colossus dives on the one that spoke, swinging his blade
downward with both hands toward the poor Lomendaur.
Amanelen shakes his head at Alquawen, "My wounds do not need to be tended, there are more serious wounds to be found on this battlefield yet." He then looks around, "See, I am still consious
the ones that are not need our help. I can abide the pain until such a time as when my wound is the worst not bandaged." He says this rather stubbornly, his green eyes still very cold.
Kathryn links her arm beneath Moradans, knowing his hurt is great, and helps him up, assisted by the Lady who is not much better off herself.
Andranar draws himself to his full height, his cloak in shreds and his armor scarred and bloody, mail glinting thru the rent leather overjack. Wiping his blade clean he stoops to pick up his long cast away bow with in his left hand, and looks over the battlefield from his vantage on the hillside.
Alquawen turns to Amanelen and shakes her head slowly..:"As you wish mellon..the pain be greater...if they are not bandaged " she mutters, with a defiant look in her eyes. Bending down over the elf she says.." help me..lift him..we must take him..up there" she gasps, poiting to where Lalwen wats, along with Kathryn and Moradan.
Lalwen wanders up to where the healers are, and where those who rest with injuries that do not allow them to fight. "All injured beyond fighting, help those more seriously wounded off this field...get them to the fortress..."
The battlefield is gettig less noisy as the last fires settle down... someone has already started to gather the woundeds up the hill which dominates the plan...Moradan, Kathryn and Lalwen are there while Alquawen and Amanelen are tending people around
Lomendaur turns his head toward the harsh voice, eyes widening as the blade drops at him. He leaps back, his cloak tearing from the strike. "Agh! There you are, orc!" Standing tall, he grasps his spear and points it to his enemy. He grimaces, and cries, "Have at thee!" before stabbing the point at the orc.
Amanelen bends down slowly, the pain in his leg becoming plain on his young face. Nonethless, he is a strong, young, elf and he picks up the other elf with ease, "I know the pain is worse without bandages, Alquawen, but there are those whose pain is thrice as bad as mine." He then begins to head off towards where Alquawen told him to.
Kathryn releases Moradan, and starts back down the hill..."I'll be back...Go on." she heads for where Gilthanas lies.
Alquawen nods, allowing Amanelen to carry the wounded back to the fortress, she stumbles along after him, supporting her self with a wooden staff, stopping every now and then to bend over the wounded helping those alive and closing the eyes of the dead. She contiues after him, when suddenly she notices the fallen and bruised body of Gilthanas and almost stumbles over it. Sinking to her knees she whispers.." Nay! it cannot be..he is not dead.."
Amos turns to the approaching woman, and seeing she is a friend, lowers his sword, allowing them to view him. As he sees the makeshift healer speak of death, he replies, "No, he is not dead..But he is indeed close to it.."
Moradan drops right where he has been released...his head spinning, he closes his eyes and just stay where he is, only half conscious
Kathryn says in a serious, no-nonsense tone, "Bear him up...quickly. We must get him up the rise, and to the fortress. Now. Before there is no more time."
Carried away by his mass, the huge orc cannot avoids the spear set up in defense, and the tip of the weapon rips through his leather armor, exposing the dark flesh and blood. With a scream of indignation, the butcher raises his weapon again, and swing the heavy blade horizontally toward the mid-section of his opponent. However, he starts noticing that around him the orcs are retreating.
Near the edge of the battlefield, Burzum catches sight of the tall figure cloaked in grey: Andranar. A broad smile creases his face, and he begins to jog towards the HUman, mave in hand.
Amos turns to the other guard, and together, they lift him, over their shoulders. Upon seeing that there are still Orches nearby, Amos shifts Gilthanas' weight to the other guard, and draws his sword, preparing to close to battle. The other guard runs, bouncing Gilthanas up and down, after gesturing to the two women to follow him.
Lomendaur gasps as the axe swings close to his stomach, but the edge barely nicks the armor, and the elf falls back onto his rear. He holds the spear upwards, coughing while attempting to regain composure and stance.
Kathryn pulls her axe to ready once more. "Move! Never mind that..I have your aft....now go.." Alquawen follows the guards wordlessly..stumbling behind the trio, her dress torn and stained with the blood of the wounded.
Amos moves, swiftly, towards the massive Orch. With a shout, he closes to the back of it, preparing to leap upon it, giving Lomendaur a chance to retreat.
Kathryn makes sure Alquawen goes before her, tripping along, backward running a few paces at a time as she guards.
Andranar moves slowly down the hillside, picking his way thru the rocks, trees, and fallen foes, pausing to retrieve a few of his arrows from the ground or bodies. He passes the elves who tend and gater the wounded, his eyes the color of a calm but fathomless sea. He gestures towards the treeline. "Dunnelor, the scout, and young Derek." He says evenly, then continues across the field towards Burzum.
Gilthanas moans faintly, upon hearing words drift over, that sounded as though Derek was hurt.
Tuhl pushes forward, swinging his blade right and left. But in doing so, the big orc often expose himself dangerously, carried away by the momentum of his weapon.
The dark eyes of Burzum watch as Andranar walks cooly towards him, and the Prophet raises an eyebrow, impressed with this Human's calm. Gratefull for the earlier bandage and clear drink, Burzum jogs on towards the Human, mace heald sturdily in both hands.
Lalwen calls out, dropping close beside Moradan, "All able to fight, help to chase the beasts back to their wretched master! We must hold the field! Those not able, stay upon the rise, or help gather the wounded."
Lomendaur shuffles back several feet, spear wedged in one arm as the other picks him awkwardly off the ground. He coughs again, finally standing behind the human as the orc starts swinging wildly.
Moradan is awaken by Lalwen call... he open his eyes and blinks slowly, turning his head to the left and then to the right, spotting lady Lalwen and looking at her"
Kathryn breaks off from the others as they reach the rise, and starts to return to the field, wounded arm and all.
Suddenly, the butcher realizes that the field of battle is almost empty. With a growls of disgust, the big orc waves his cleaver in the direction of the humans and elves holding together fearfully before him. "Wiz shall meet again, fresh meat, if you feel lucky today, you can try to chase me" and with a loud laughter of mockery, the colossus slowly starts marching toward the road to the orcish camp.
Amos turns back, and hurries the other guard to return back to camp.
Andranar stops midfield, crouching and laying the bow and arrows aside. He stands tall, and wearily grasps his sword, dropping into a warding stance. "I hold this field. Leave it, for you shall not cross it."
Alquawen ventures down into the field in search of the wounded once more, with Amanaelen limping at her side. She gasps as a calloused hand grabs her ankle..a half-dead orc...and she falls cries out in fear to the ground and kicks away madly at his head, wriggling out of his grasp.
Amanelen reaches out with his spear and calmly finishes off the orc, grinding the butt of the spear into the orc's face. "It is most certainly dead." says the young elf with no small measure of disdain in his cold voice.
Lomendaur gazes at the orc, and sighs heavily, the spear loosening in his grip only barely. He turns, watching the humans retreat, and follows suit closely after them.
Kathryn swings her axe down one handed at the grasping hand, severing it at the wrist. She smiles to Alquawen gently, and motions back toward the hill. "Go on."
Burzum pauses for a second, still around 50 yards away from the longsword wielding human. Then, he continues on in a quick walk, a smirk on his face. " You are very brave, grey-cloak. You are a wealthy merchant, to own such a field?" Laughing out loud at his own, very bad joke, Burzum cuts off suddenly. " Butcan you hold this field in your condition? My eyes are trained well, Human. I can see you are weak. This shall be easy, for the Mouth of Melkor." Burzum continues to walk on, now about 20 paces away from the warrior.
Kathryn shouts in compliment, running to get to where Andranar is, about 20 paces behind in the other direction. She calls at the orch, "One does not need well trained eyes to see that you are being left by the others of your miserable ilk...In your condition, you cannot hold the field alone either..go back!"
Andranar shrugs, his rent armor flashing brightly still, "For a mouth of Melkor, you speak fairly enough." He laughs tiredly, "Own it I do not, but I'll hold it in the name of he who does." He gestures toward the lake that now shines in the hills not so distant.
Alquawen runs back up the hill.
Amanelen tries to follow Alquawen back up the hill, but his injured leg falters and he falls down to one knee. He tries several times to get up, and on about the seventh try, he finally manages to get up and slowly meander up the hill. He smiles tightly when he reaches the side of Alquawen, but says nothing. The pain must really be getting to him now, because he wobbles very badly.
Burzum glances up as Kathryn runs to Andranar's side. "Aye, I noticed all YOUR fellows have left your side too, lady. Why don't you leave me and this Man here alone? I need not hurt a woman.. I hear that you humans think such things aren't.. 'honorable'.. I do not wish to be dishonorable. " The last the Priest says in a sarcastic tone, stopping ten paces away from Andranar.
As they are speaking, an arrow flies and lands at just a couple of feet from the orc coming from the hill when Moradan is standing again, after having regained a bit of strenghts
Kathryn says seriously, "Maybe alone in standing..but not forgotten. Retreat, foul-one...retreat and know you have lost this battle."
Andranar shrugs again, "Honor has little to do with it. You'll not cross this field while I'm standing. Or any of us, mayhaps." he says with a nod to Kathryn, and then towards the still quivering arrow. "But the day grows late, and I've not had breakfast yet, so lets end this. Leave, or stay, but make the decision quickly."
Burzum glances up in the direction the arrow came from, not at all surprised. " Aye, ye think to cheat now? Two against one can't beat this single Orch, cowards? I thought at least SOME of ye Human's would have a scrap of.. " The Priest slowly trails off, and stares at Andranar for a moment. " Aye.. I like ye, Human.. Decide quickly, eh? Hmmm..."
Alquawen frowns, looking at Amanelen's wounds muttering determinedly.."I think those should be tended to mellon.." she points to the bleeding gash at his side.examining it.." especially that one..it could get infected.." She gazes at him worriedly, her hands on her hips and murmers .." and this time I won't take no for an answer!"
You can hear another arrow whistling in the air close
Amanelen looks at Alquawen, "I can at least get back to the Fortress, where it will make things easier on you..." He says slowly, his voice still cold. "I can't give no for an answer though, not enough strength left in me." He grunts slightly at this and puts his hand to his side.
Gripping the hilt of his Mace like Staff, Burzum nods slowly. " If I leave, your cowardly archer up there will pick me off, and you will undoubtedly fallow me. Let us end this here and now. " Burzum cre then sprints forward, his mouth open, baring his small fangs, eyes reflecting back the images of the Grey-cloaked man, and the axe-wielding woman.
A third arrow whistles on your heads
Andranar smiles faintly, "You've made your decision then." He has stood ready curing this time, and now moves forward, one pace at a time, closing with the orc as he swings his sword up at the
creature in a double handed grip.
Alquawen nods to Amanelen..saying softly.." As you wish then, mellon" she shakes her head and heads off in the direction where Lalwen is resting.
As Andranar's planned swing comes towards Burzum's mid-section, the Priest plants a foot, spins to the left with practiced grace and skill, the un-spiked end of his thick oak staff whooshing through the air towards the human's ribs.
Amanelen, too, heads for Lalwen. He is weaving and heavily favoring his side and leg, but nonetheless he continues on determinedly, paying no mind to his injuries. His green eyes are
misted over in a saddened glaze, and are now looking rather grey. There is a sort of flickering flame within as he hears the groans of the wounded, sees the blood and smells the smell of death.
Lalwen sighs softly, grimacing at the ache in her ribs, and the feel of crusted blood on her arms.
Andranar steps forward, turning to the side, the end of the weapon ging past his stomach as he exhales. Advancing wiht the other foot, he brings his blade around, swinging across at the orcs chest.
Alquawen kneels down beside her wiping the blood off her arms, and rubbing more salves into her scratches.
Lalwen says loudly as she can, given the tightness of her lungs, "Begin moving the injured. Get them to the fortress."
Moradan besides Lalwen, Moradan is standing with his bow in his hands... he's pale and he's looking woriedly at the duel going down the hill Lalwen rests her hand on Moradan's arm lightly. "Stay yourself Moradan...you are injured..you are better served to remain where you can recover. The battle shall be ended soon."
The Longsword slices easily through the black fabric of Burzum's robes, also cutting through the leather armor under his garmets. Blood seeps from the new wound, from one side of the Prophet's
chest to the other. Grimacing in pain, the Priest sweeps the studded end of his staff around sharply at Andranar's head, grunting with the effort.
Moradan turns slightly his head to teh Lady, the blood still spilling from his cheek "I can't my lady, not yet"
Lalwen reaches for the cloth of the ground, and puts it against Moradan's cheek. "You must stop your bleeding old friend...I am asking you to do this as a final favor to me this day. I would not see any more fall."
Kathryn waits her ten paces away from the fight, willing herself to stay in place while the fight is supposedly honorable. Her axe is clutched in her hand, white-knuckled because she wants so badly to help.
Andranar gives no sign of pleasure at the strike, economically following his blade with his body to pass under the prophets swing. He raises his head and shoulders as it passes over him, stepping forward wit one foot, recovering his balance, and bringing the blade back up in an arc at the orcs body.
Finally, the pain of his massive side wound and deep gash in his leg, become too much. He grits his teeth, and you can swear you hear his teeth gnashing into each other. He almost falls down in and unconsious heap, but somehow manages to stay on his feet. He stands beside Alquawen now, watching the duel below, wobbling slightly.
Moradan sighs "My lady, I've not served you well this day...and I have to watch over someone else as good as I can,now, forgive me...everything else can wait"
Lalwen blots at the blood on his cheek. "I will not make you leave...I only ask that you allow us to bind your wounds..hold still...indeed you have served us well this day, and you have saved my life, and I am grateful. But I will not see one of my skilled fighters fall to blood-loss or infection." she coughs, and touches her own bandage.
No facial expression reaches Burzum's features as he steps diagonally backwards, bringing the staff in close to his body. The sword swooshes by, and without waiting another moment, Burzum thrusts the spiked end into Andranar's chest, teeth gritting together.
Alquawen turns to Amanelen, trying to steady him with her hands, she speaks softly to him.." Easy now..mellon...you have lost much blood." She guides him over to a tree ..saying firmly.." here, rest here while I tend your wounds.." .
Moradan sighs, noticing he can do little till Andra and BArzum are in so close combat.. he turns to face Lalwem and says "My Lady, please, lay down and rest.. I'll be fine... you should just rest"
Lalwen shakes her head. "I will not die of the wounds I recived, Moradan. You yet may die of yours. Please. Do not be stubborn. "
The staff hits the man squarely in the chest, knocking him down and back. He falls on one side, sword still grasped in his hand. His brow furrows as he plants his weapon in the ground and struggles to rise, raising himself slowly on his free arm, and clinging to the sword for support.
Moradan replies, slowly "My lady.. I got distracted once today and you got that blow..I can't allow myself to get distracted again Amanelen lets Alquawen guide him over to the tree, "I do not need to rest, m'lady, but since you so adamantly insist..." He sits down, leaning against the tree. You can see the bone through his pants and the ribs through his shirt. He still says nothing.
Burzum grunts as the Human falls to the ground, and grins broadly. " I shall not kill you know, Human.. though I should. It is time I get back to my people. We will meet again, grey-cloak.. Yes.. " Backing slowly away, Burzum turns sharply, then begins to sprint towards the cover of the woods, hoping the archer on the hilltop sees he let the Human live, and wont shoot. As he runs, he stumbles slightly on a rock, a large wad of white cloth falling from his pockets, and a small glass vile of the same clear liqued he drak earlier. Ignoring it, Burzum runs on, a smile on his face...
Kathryn walks to extend a hand down to the injured Andranar, "Come...you have held the field...You must be healed now."
Amanelen grunts as Alquawen tends his wound, then he sweeps his gaze the best he can, across the battlefield. He slowly shakes his head, and closes his eyes. He breathes out of his nose harshly every so often, trying to get the stink of death and battle out of his nose...and out of his memory. It, apparently, isn't working by the pained look upon his face. Or maybe the pained look comes from his comes from his wounds that he has let lay open far too long...
Andranar pulls himself erect, breathing heavily, and raises a hand. "Let him flee. Such were our terms." He nods to Kathryn, and then nods to the bow and arrows nearby. His sowrd hangs in his hand, and he makes no attempt to clean or sheathe it yet. "There are many who need care..Let us return to Barad Eithel."
As he's talking to the lady, Moradan's body decided to betrays him.. he grimances slightly and stumbles... he tries to use the bow as a support, but it cracks, leaving him falling noisy on the ground, when he stays lifeless.
Lalwen gives a signal from the hill, for all to withdraw, the battle won..for now. Meanwhile, healers cluster around the fallen, like Moradan and Andranar, and Amanelen, and others who have fought bravely. Slowly..all make their way back to the fortress, to nurse thier wounds.
Andranar turns, giving a nod to the men and elves who remain on the field, "Lecho calad. Drego morn." He says firmly, and then, though his breathing is unsteady, begins pacing back to the fortress with his usual stride.
Amanelen does his best to fend the healers off, saying, "Please, waits until we have returned to the Fortress, before you start bandaging me." They protest, but he turns a deaf ear to them. He and another one of his comrades lean on each other for support as the elves slowly make their way to to Barad Eithel, they don't talk, they just walk straight ahead. "The Iron Youth..." mutters Amanelen, so low that no one can hear him. He then chuckles slightly, and winces...
Andranar stops at the crest of the hill, to survey the field, (or perhaps to rest) motioning the others on. He smiles wearily, "So we've held for today, and perhaps a little while longer." He then turns and continues towards the fortress, following last in the train.
THE END!!!
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