Galdor's horse leaps, urged forward by it's rider, attempting to clear the foe's weapon.. Landing in the soft snow, the beast turns a leg and lands wrong, tumbling over onto its shoulder and side, legs pumping the air..
Galdor is thrown clear as the animal falls, rolling thru the snow to rise a few paces away. He shakes the snow from his cloak with his free hand, holding his sword wardingly in the other. "Hungry for horsemeat, eh. Come and yap at my knees."
Behind the combatants, the horse kicks, rising to its feet and fleeing the chaos.
A wicked grin is seen in Kenan's face, once again the mace passing by doing no harm. He steps forward.. his sword's pointing to the orch's chest.. leaning forward he uses his body weight to enhance the attack, and thrusting forward he aims home.
Gilthanas steps forward, looking at the Orch that has turned to run. He turns his head, and looks about the combat, searching for another target. Spotting his Captain, and the other guards being attacked by the group of guards he rushes towards them, not headed towards his Captain, as he sees it beating the Orch, but towards the other guards, who are being slowly driven backwards by the Yrch.
As the blade of Khimlis bites into his left leg, Grarg grinds his teeth together against the pain as his eyes bulge and long strings of spittle fly outward from his mouth as he growls. He plants his right foot into the ground as he suddenly stops his forward momentum and his jet black hair flies forward over his shoulders and into his eyes. Blood spurts from the wound, staining the snow covered ground as he wheels his body around to face Khimlis. He watches his opponent closely for a brief moment before he suddenly springs forward, the light flashing off of his shield as he snaps his scimitar forward in a hard and fast shot aimed at the shoulder of Khimlis.
Drugnogzd slowly leaves the mass of battle, a few more scratches, he turns and gives a quick look to the battle, then starts to slowly run into the forest, keeping the trees between him and enemy archers.
Many guards lay wounded. Their bodies filled with blood and pain.. twisting and moaning throughout. Still, many lay standing.... still they attack Melkor's minions.
Gilthanas looks at the wounded guards, and a spark of flame lights in his eyes. He leaps into the air, coming towards one guard who seems to be getting beaten by a Orch. With a quick lunge, he slashes sideways, parting the Orch's head from its shoulders. As the body crumples to the ground, he turns, searching for another Orch who is attacking the guards.
The few left from the small group of leather-clad Elves begin to retreat some, moving to flank those of the larger Army.
Hulorg's eyes narrow with a low growl as he halts, turning on his heel to face the Man. He glances at the horse as it puts its tail to him and runs. He laughs, "I suppose not today, Manling, ...but we shall see," he stands there, his yellow eyes flicking over Galdor, sizing him up, almost a lazy quality to his air. Hefting the axe over his shoulder he steps towards the Man, sneering, "No, no horse-flesh..." as if he were carrying on a campfire conversation. Lunging suddenly he sweeps the great axe down diagonally from his left shoulder across the Man's chest.
The scimitar skims the shoulder aof Khimlis and blood immediatly begins to be seen. Khimlis in horror glances at the wound and regains his composure. He darts hard to the left then brings the sword down hard again towards the legs.
Across the field, warriors struggle against the yrch, holding here, pressing them back there, amidst the fury of battle. All around are the cries of mortal combat, from victory to terror, coming from the throats of man, elf, orc and beast alike. On the far southeastern edge of the field, a brightly clad man battles against the orcish command, scattered by the initial charge but now regrouping..
Reghat stumbles back.. but not in tme..and the swords slips through the armor..piercing skin..sliding between bones.. She jerks back..pulling free.. "YOu.are stronger than I thought..we shall meet again.." the black blood smoking as it runs down the robe.. She looks to the symbol..nodding that they shall move back.. the bats swoop towards her and the cloud envelops her..
Galdor bends at the knees, the heavy weapon passing by his chest. He laughs hollowly, turning on his heel, his boots slipping a little in the snow. "No, no. My horse is long gone by now. Strike at me." He swings his blade up from the left, two handed towards the orcs chest.
Kenan scowls at the orch as she retreats, giving her a leering smile. "Keep on! Return to your hell as there is no place for you here!" He bellows out, waving his sword as the orch disappears afar. Coming back into the battle he looks at the men still fighting, and runs their way to aid them..
Grarg jerks his leg back as it is struck again by Khimlis and he half crouches down, his shield hefting upward as he turns his body so that his left side faces the elf. He lets out a low growl, his eyes flashing dark red as he begins to circle to the right around, Khimlis. With a sudden explosion of motion, Grarg closes toward Khimlis. His blade becomes a blur as he begins to make fast hard strikes at the high guard of the elf, sweat beading on his forehead as he then snaps his blade downward in a hard hammer shot aimed at the elf's hip.
Gilthanas spots another guard, laying on the ground, a Orch above it, holding a blade, ready to end his life. He dashes forward, and siezes the wounded guard, and roughly drags him out of the way of the blade, then stands up and faces the 'Chosen' Orch in front of him.
Reghat appears a distance away..moving back..surrounded by part of the chosen..she stops and turns..watching from a distance..then sends a part of the chosen back..the bats above them towards the group led by Gilthanas..the keening chant precedes them..as they close with scimitar and axe..
Gilthanas looks towards the incoming Orchs, with the bats fluttering overhead. He turns and yells to the few guards left standing, "Assemble men..Incoming Yrch." As he yells this, he pulls back towards the men, waiting for them to form up around him.
The longsword sparks across Hulorg's chest, breaking the metal links with a sizeable gash. His own weapon too heavy to have been hefted in front of himself for defense, he reverses the grip of his hands on the haft of the axe, whipping it back up in the reverse direction, same technique of his last strike. Compensating for his heavy boots slipping in the slush, he slides his hands to the end of the handle, crouching low to the ground with a grunt.
The Chosen close quickly.. the sound of metal against metal..the leader of the Chosen.. a tall black orc..Scimitar in hand.. stops before Gilthanas.. and a wide grin breaks his blackened face..
Khimlis stifins up as he feels the blade cut into is hip. He keeps his eyes on the Orch despite the blood seeping out into his shirt. He brings the sword back around slicing at an angle into the shoul.
Gilthanas looks to the sides, seeing the guards near him. He yells to them, "Fight not for me, but for yourselves," and they close into the ranks of the Yrch Chosen. Gilthanas spies the Orch looking at him, and grins back. After a moment of this staring, he ducks, and lunges at the Orchs stomache, hoping for an easy victory.
The fighting is grim and disorganized now. Orcs chargins where the will, striking or fleeing, heedless of their commanders. Most seem gathered into a tight fist, inching back away from the heat of the battle.
Galdor bends at the knees, leaning back and letting the blade whistle thru the air. He stands, taking a step forward and reaches out with his empty hand, batting at the orc as he steps by, pehaps to push him away or off balance. He slashes out with the sword wardingly towards any other orcs that would flank him.
The orch steps quickly sideways, the sword going alongside..the tip screeeching across the leather armor.. He looks down..then raises the scimitar..and brings it up and around towards the adan's right side..
Metal strikes the leather covering Grarg's shoulder and pierces it, a fountain of black blood spraying upward from the wound and along Khimlis' blade as Grarg lets out a howl, a mixture of frustration and pain. His eyes blaze to a brighter red as he stops stalking the elf and his legs bulge with effort as he lunges forward. He whips his shield around in front of him and out wide, it acting as a decoy as he follows the motion of the shield with his upper body, pivoting at his torso as he whips his sword around in a horizontal arc aimed again at the elf's hip.
Gilthanas steps backwards and ducks, only a moment too late, as the blade collides with his helm, and deflects it wide. He stands, and brings his fist towards the others face, hoping to disorient, or knock over, with the sudden blow.
As his axe whistles by the Man's chest again, and he is twisted off-balance by Galdor's blow, his weapon going askew in his hands. As he turns himself perpendicular to left of the Man, he follows through with his right elbow, hoping to strike Galdor in the jaw, as his axe falls away behind his left side.
The orc slashes out with a mailed arm..the forearm connecting and turning Gilthanas' hand away.. he moves sideways..to get better balance.. the scimitar still at his side.. he looks at the other chosen...as they continue the battle with the adan guards..
The battle continues in an uneven line now, carried across the soiled snow. The orcs press against the forces of good as they rally, and are then driven back, as a dark wave from white shore. A few slivers of light peirce the clouds and are then swallowed by the dark mass...
Khimlis closes his eyes in pain as the blade rips into his upper thigh. The leg immediatly goes limp, but sturdies enough for him to stay standing. He hobbles in pain back into a defensive position.
Gilthanas shouts aloud, as his blow is deflected, "Fight for Tanthalost..These are the ones who killed him." As the words are heard down the line, the guards press the fight even further, and with renewed vigor. Gilthanas looks as the Orch pauses as it struggles to get better balance, and Gilthanas brings his foot up, with force, attempting to hit the Yrch in the groin with his booted foot.
Galdor turns his head as the orcs impromptu blow goes past his helm. He kicks at the creatures leg, continuing forward as the nearby orcs snarl, gathering their courage against this foe..Seeing an opportunity, Grarg presses forward towards Khimlis with greater force. Light flashes off of his scimitar as he whips it around over his head and throws a quick feint with it aimed toward's Khimlis' shoulder. He follows through with the motion as the blade then whips around over his head and he steps forward with his left leg, blood running down over it as he flicks his scimitar around over his head and left shoulder, driving the cutting edge of it towards the neck of the elf.
The orch smiles grimly.. and lunges forwards..his weight coming against Gilthanas as the foot shoots by his left side.. the two tumble to the ground..the Scimitar slipping from his grip.. he rolls away to retrieve it.. a limp from where the foot grazed his thigh..>Gilthanas falls to the ground, as his foot collides with the others weight. As he stands, he sees a nearby guard impale his opponent, and near the Orch on the ground. Gilthanas looks at it, and awaits its next move.
The scimitar catches Khimlis's shoulder and is absorbed by his mail with a slight clang. He counters quickly by slicing his sword into the mid-section of the less protected side of the Orch.
The orc rolls up from the ground, turning to face Gilthanas..he quickly scans the area..sees the Chosen still engaged and a shriek of anger ..he raises the scimitar..striking towards Gilthanas shoulder.. the bats of the Prophetess darkening the air above them...
The impact from the blow delivered by Khimlis knocks the breath from Grarg's lungs and his feet slip in the bloodstained snow and he hangs for a brief moment in the air. His eyes bulge as he begins to fall down, the toe of his boot kicking up clots of snow as he lands with a crash onto the ground. His scimitar bounces from his hand upon impact, landing in the snow a foot away from his outstretched hand.
Gilthanas ducks and twists and falls but just barely in time, as the blade collides deep into the ground, pinning his tunic to the ground as well. He shouts for help, and pulls his legs up, kicking them out together, at the Orch nearby.
As the feet strike home in his midsection, the orc lets out a grunt..and stumbles backwards..the scimitar still in the ground..he gains his balance and circles Gilthanas.
The boot of the Man strikes Hulorg's shin, scraping back a thick wad of skin from his unprotected flesh, but his great iron-shod feet hold him in place. He winces with a growl as he sweeps the great axe at its full length in front of himself, hewing at the waist of Galdor like a young tree. As the heat of the immediate clash begins to wane, the fighting becomes more organized. Noting that their Lieutenant is being held at bay by a great lord of Men, two of Hulorg's sergeants begin making their way to Galdor and his opponent, blocking bright swords and ducking under spear-jabs. The faint light of day grows slightly stronger, the bloodlust of the orcish troops begins to stifle.
Khimlis watches the orch's blade fall from his hand and immediatly rushes the fallen beast. He brings his sword back over his shoulder and swings down with full force trying to cut the arm that held the scimitar off.
Gilthanas reaches a hand over, and wrenches the scimitar out of the ground. With a shout, he hurls it far over his shoulder, and speaks to the Orch. "I offer to you now, a chance to take your hell spawn and retreat..You are disarmed, and I will certainly win, if you do not retreat..Take your choice now." As he speaks, his eyes gleam with violence and bloodlust.
Galdor ducks under the blade of the orc, some sense or feeling alerting him to the blow. The blade passes over his shoulders.. He gathers his feet beneath him, turning, almost slowly and nearly on one knee, to face the orc, and the others who come to aid him, rising from the crouch.
Once landed on the ground, Grarg begins to roll in the snow towards his fallen blade. The sudden spinning movement leaves a wake of blood stained snow behind him and pain explodes along his back as the blow aimed for his arm instead hits him on the left shoulder. His fingers close over the hilt of his scimitar as he blindly kicks out with his left leg, trying to knock the elf back from him as he gasps for breath.
The orc stands..mouth open, tusks visible.. as Gilthanas voices his challenge.."unarmed? I stil have fists..and .. " not finishing the sentence..he kicks out at Gilthanas' knee as he moves quickly by towards the thrown scimitar...
Gilthanas stumbles backwards, as the foot hits his knee. He grimaces, and speaks, "I did not wish it to end this way, but it seems that it must.." After speaking, he steps forward, wincing as he puts weight on his foot, and he lashes out with his longsword, towards the beasts head.
His sergeants closing fast, Hulorg is distracted by a harsh cry behind him. As the great axe whistles through thin air once more, the force of its swing twists its wielder around at his waist. As he turns with the momentum of his weapon, Hulorg suddenly releases the grip on the handle before he falls over. The axe flies out of his hands, skittering some five paces away in the snow. With an irate howl and reflexes and agility that belie the deep gash in his chest, Hulorg lunges forward like a great ape, his powerful arms outstretched. Grabbing at the neck of Galdor, he tries to bash his helmed head into that of his opponent's.
Khimlis side steps the leg and circles around. His eyes fill with determination as he brings the blade back around swinging it down again on the arm, trying to hack it off.
The sword whistles..past empty air as the orc scurries to gather his scimitar..and turns..amidst the chosen.. they stand together..and begin to move forward.."WE leave..on our terms..whiteskin.." he growls..and begins to circle around Gilthanas again..moving towards the Prophetess..across the field..
Grarg desparately jerks his shield over his body and manages to block the strike, a loud clanging of metal striking metal filling the air as sparks jump upward from the impact. His body tenses then as he heaves himself upward from the ground from a sitting postion and thrusts upward with his scimitar towards the elf's midsection, seeking to drive Khimlis back as he tries to stand up
Gilthanas steps backwards, barking out a command. The guards begin to form a circle around him, and slowly retreat backwards, allowing the Chosen to leave if they wish. As they slowly back up, they put their backs together, careful to defend one another.
Galdor crouches a little as the orc leaps, that free hand going up to ward his face, and guide his opponents lunge.. He straightens his frame ant twists, tring to hurl the orc over his shoulder and to the side as he faces the other two approaching orcs..
Khimlis buckles as the scimtitar jabs into his stomach, but not enough to penetrate the mail. Instead, it knocks some wind out of him and he falls back mouth wide open trying to catch his breath.
As Hulorg flies over the head of Galdor with a timed flip, and falls on the ground behind the Man in a heap, the Skull Sergeants arrive. Lightly-arrayed in leather and brandishing curved, jagged swords, the fall upon the tall human without hesitation, hacking at either side, trying to outflank Galdor.
Disoriented for a moment, Hulorg tries to raise himself to his feet, scrambling away for his great axe.
The Chosen move away in a group..and soon the keening chant flows across the field..the leader looks back..marking Gilthanas in his mind..to meet again.. and moves near the Prophetess..gathering behind her till she signals them to leave..to follow the symbol..
Gilthanas looks about the battlefield, the 9 or 10 guards left standing bunched around him. Spotting a jumble of confusion, which seems to be centered around the Prince, Gilthanas orders the men to begin to walk southward, towards the large battle, in which the Prince is in the middle.
The momentary pause is all Grarg needs as he surges up to his feet and plows towards Khimlis, his boots digging into the snow covered ground and throwing up both snow and dirt in his wake. Blood stains much of his armor now as he begins to rain a ferocious series of blows towards the guard of the elf, trying to drive him backward. His blade he then snaps downward towards the forward leg of Khimlis, guiding it to try and strike the kneecap of the elf as he lets out a triumphant shout.
Along the northern edge of the field, the fighting is nearly over. A few men finish off the wounded with spears or daggers, and the wounded are being pulled from the field, guarded by the more hale. Midfield, a few orcs still plunge into the broken ranks of the elves and men, fighting fiercly in small pockets.. at the far edge of the battle, a lone man stands against what is left of the orcish command, far from any of his fellows.
Galdor watches the two orcs as they approach, and eyes the fallen orc out of the corner of his eye. He heels, sidestepping, moving furthur behind the orcish line, but now his back is to the southeast, the dim ball of the cloud covered sun behind him. He cuts at one of the sergeants as he passes, slashing backhandedly at it's chest..
Khimlis lets out a groan as the blade cuts jaggedly into his knee and down a few inches of his leg. He goes down to one knee, and swings futily at the upper-body of the orch trying to stop any attempt to finish him off.
Gilthanas looks as he sees his prince attacking the Orches all around him. He speaks to the men, "Hurry men..We must distract those others." As he says this, the group of guards picks up pace, and runs a bit faster towards the Prince and the Yrch.
The Man's bright sword slashes open the orc-sergeant's leather-guarded chest and he is knocked over by the force of the strike as the blood spurts out on the already-stained blanket of white. The other orch hesitates, then lunges at the Man also, driving to pin Galdor's shoulder with the tip of his crooked sword.
Rolling away from the clash, Hulorg slides on his knee to where his great axe lays, wrapping his knobby hands around the haft quickly. He stands with a jerk, turning his attention away from the more immediate danger to the dwindling field of battle.
The muscles of Grarg's upper and forearms bulge as he snaps his head back and his hair flies back over his shoulders as his lips pull back from his jagged teeth and he lets out a low rumbling chuckle, "Elf boyz gonna die now.." Drool falls down over his chest and splashes against the leather armor there as he draws his sword back over his head, his eyes glowing with fierce light as he then slashes his sword downward, aiming for Khimlis' shoulder in an attempt to cleave the elf in two.
Gilthanas looks at the Orch who is staring at the battlefield.. He mutters a few words, and the guards fan out, into a ragged line. They advance, closing the distance greatly between the Prince, and themselves.
Galdor seems intent on the situation at hand now, aproaching the orcs with a serious manner. He moves past the first orc, his blade striking home, and then finishes his pivot. A moments hesitation on the others part is all that is needed, as Galdor moves forward one pace, batting at the scimitar in a slapping riposte, which will cut into the orcs side or arm if he succeeds...
The blade cuts into the arm, and Khimlis lets out a shrill. He glances at his arm in horror, seeing a big chunk of muscle exposed and torn out. His blood soaked shield falls to the snow. With his other arm he manages to lift his sword in defence as he back peddles.
Hulorg shares a look with the eye of his sergeant, as the other orch is bowled backwards by Galdor's sword, a thin line being drawn across the flesh on the arms of the orch, the blood begins to trickle down. But, the skull-sergeant tries to remain locked with Galdor, holding the Man there despite his wound.
At the same time, Hulorg raises the great axe above his heading, lunging forward with a treacherous attack, he tries to cleave Galdor's back down the middle.
The sudden backpeddling of the elf sends a huge surge of adrenaline through Grarg as he leaps over the fallen shield, his landing sounding like a thud. He whips his blade around to try to slap the elf's blade aside and leave an openning. Once the slap of his scimitar is delivered, he drives his scimitar forward in a hard thrust aimed at the chest of the elf, intent on running him through.
Gilthanas orders the men around him to close to battle, with the nearby Orch sergeants. They move in, swords drawn, and gleaming as they close towards nearby foes.
Galdor pushes forward into the orc, levering against his already wounded arm with his sword.. He reaches down to grasp the hilt with both hands, straining, and then sidesteps, relaxing his arms and then sliding his sword to the side, towards the orcs chest or throat if this suceeds in unlocking the blades.. He spins, relying on his opponents inerta to carry him past.. This movement carrys him away from the axe blow from Hulorg. He faces that orc, "Lets finish this then." The scimitar rips into his mail and digs into his chest. Khimlis falls to his knees in pain. His eyes open wide as he mumbles a prayer. His hands lay at his side as all he can do is stare at the Orch.
Gilthanas turns, spotting an Elven Warrior on the ground injured. He races towards the wounded soldier, after giving the other guards their orders. He screams to the Orch above the wounded one, "Come on, scum. Fight with me, and meet your death." As he yells, his blade gleams, and his eyes look over the wounded Elf.
The second skull-sergeant is spun away from Galdor, crashing into a nearby human. Hulorg looks up from his weapon to meet the Man's eye (he had been examining the axe as if there was something wrong with it). He spits, uttering a string of foul curses in a guttural tone, "So it seems we are fated," he growls.
Without further warning, he steps into the Man, swinging his axe parallel to the ground at Galdor's side.
Galdor smiles grimly from beneath his helm, "Perhaps. But my fate lies not with you." He moves forward, bringing his sword down at the orc, meeting his lunge. He grunts as the orcs blade strikes his side, bruising thru the chainmail, though it does not stay his blow.
Reghat looks out over the field..a loud keening shriek..flows across the field..the bats circle..andhead away from the battle..the small orc..lifts the shield of hte Prophets..and the Chosen turn..Reghat looks to the field..to see that all follow before moving away.. turns his head as he hears the human shout at him and his tongue snakes out over an elongated tusk, his brows furrowing down over the glowing red of his eyes. He momentarily forgets about the elf at his mercy then, but at the sounding of the shriek of Reghat, he stops in his tracks. Slamming his scimitar up against his shield in disgust, he spits on the ground then and then begins to sprint out across the snow in the direction of the rest of the retreating orcs. Fierce growls following in his wake.
The battle is nearly over now.. The men and elves, though brused and bleeding stand arrayed, ready to fight on for their homeland on the bloodstainded snow.
Gilthanas hurries to the side, of the fallen Elf, and slaps him lightly on the face. He shouts, "Friend...Wake up...Let me get a guard to help you back to the fort." As he speaks, he yells to the guards, "One of you..Please come and help him come this Elf back to the fort."
Hulorg raises to deflect the strike, but the sword glances into his heavily-scored right forearm. He cries out with a harsh casp as he slides back and away from the Man, like a great snake coiling up. Surveying the scene with a quick glance he growls and spits. His forces in disarray, men hewing most yrch where they would, he makes his decision. Calling to his sergeant that still turns to cover his retreat he tries to twist away from Galdor, raising his voice above the dying tumult of battle, "The Light comes, warriors of Skalos! We shall wait for another day! Fall back!! Back!" he cries, the Sun punching in through the wispy clouds that are fading as the morning progresses.
Gilthanas hoists the Elf up to his feet, and speaks to him. "This guard here," he points to the guard who is nearly at them, "He will help carry you back to the fort..I must go and see my Prince." As he finishes speaking, he sprints over, to see his Prince.
Gilthanas continues, his hasty sprint, towards the circle of guards, and his Prince. As he jogs, he wipes the blood off his sword, using a corner of his tunic.
Another elf comes over to help his kin. Khimlis waves off the adan with disgused and hubbles off towards a group of elves with his elf-aid.
The light breaks thru the clouds now, illuminating the battlefield.
Galdor sticks his sword pointfirst into the snow and the earth beneath, putting his hands on his hips. "Aye. Aure sila aureanna. Fall back, and flee these hills. BEGONE!" He yells, throwing back his head, as the orcs scatter and flele the field.
Gilthanas approaches his Prince, and swiftly bows, after checking to make sure all the Yrch have departed. "M'lord, how fare thee?"
Khimlis falls to the ground letting the snow absorb his blood.
Hulorg flees the battle field, with as much dignity as he can muster. Bellowing and driving his remaining, scattered troops before him with unholy curses.
Galdor cracks a thin smile, removing his helm. He rubs his ribs absently, and looks over the field. "I am well. Better now that our foes are scattered and driven off." He looks across the field, "Find our captains, and see that the wounded are tended to, and patrols sent to harry the yrch in their departure." He looks over the field again, "Where the **** is my horse?"
Gilthanas nods his head, and speaks, "That I will do m'lord, and I know nt where your horse is..."
Galdor shakes his head, pulling his sword from the cround an cleaning it before returning the blade to its sheath. "No matter. He's bound to be around somewhere. As are the captains. Let us withdraw to the fort. We've won this day, and the border will be clear, at least for a while." He slaps his helm on his head, hair hanging in sweat soaked strands, and strides back across the field.
Gilthanas nods his head, to the Prince, and moves backwards, to tell the Lords the Princes commands.
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