In the Deepest Darkness
OOC Note: Super-special thanks to Nin, worthy adversary and supplier of <Morian Uruk> pose supplemental material. ; )
Eregion, Plain
This is a rough plain west of the Misty Mountains, and there seems to be a
faint path here
that runs to the south, paralleling the mountains, and also running north. There
is a cold
wind blowing off of the mountains.
Linnuial steps cautiously as the cave mouth comes into view, and an astute observer might notice a shiver climb his spine. Carefully he draws forth his bow, as if the slightest sound from his chain shirt might prompt catastrophe to spill forth from the dark hole in the rock. "Be on your guard," he says softly.
Elethin stands stock still, canvassing the landscape for something. She picks her way carefully toward a tall rock some distance from the cave, and difficult to get at easily, and settles down, bow at the ready, watchful.
Morning rises in golden tones, though even the warmth of sunlight falls cold upon the bleak plains west of the looming Hithlaeglir. Here winter has lowered her hand in biting winds sweeping down from the morning sky.
The cold winds bring a faint touch of color to pale cheeks, likewise lifting smooth flaxen locks in gentle waves over the Silmaethor Eryndae's poised shoulders. Silvered is the sheen of steel peeking out over her left shoulder, the slender elven figure interrupted by the hilt of a longsword strapped across her back. Though it remains sheathed, the lady has about her an air of readiness, one matched in the sparkle of her argent eyes. She steps lightly, her footfalls a near silent cadence against the frozen grounds as she trails Linnuial, eyes scanning the periphery of the wide plain.
From her position, three dozen paces away and obscured by rocks and ledges and the confusing shadows of this place, Elethin watches the cave mouth, an arrow nocked on her bow. She is still, and her silhouette blends into the shadow she inhabits.
Looking one last time at the rising sun, Celebren grips his staff. His eyes wander to the foreboding cave. A look of uncertainty comes over his face, But is soon replaced by a watchful gaze fixed on the cave.
Galuial stands his blonde hair blowing in the winds, a look of uncertanty is upon his face. His studded armor is already on and secured. Galuial puts on his helm covering the blowing strands of hair. The Gold plaited hilt of his sword shines in the morning light.
Thileithel stands somewhere in the middle, watching and waiting, his attention focused on the cave entrance. His sword and shield are in his hands, battle of some kind expected. He actually looks rather relaxed, a peaceful expression on his face.
Thileithel seems to be puzzled at something as he looks about the landscape.
So it is, that by the dimming light of a cold winter's afternoon, with the chill north winds bearing down upon them; the elven-host of Rivendell, come from afar with might of arms to quell the threat of evil here, in the land that men call Hollin, where once stood a great bastion of elvendom in middle-earth: Eregion, city of the Mirdain.
Some time it is since Martion, with a few companions, left the company of smiths and warriors; going off into the wilds with intent to spy out the enemy. Some time since Elladan, Elrond's son took charge; and now, he, with grim regard looks upon the gaping mouth of the dark cave before the small fellowship. That cave which had been hoped to be closed shut, but stands open, gaping like the maw of some fell creature; but he says nought.
A slender hand, steady and slow in its shadowy movement, lifts to her waist as Eryndae brushes over her armor, absently smoothing it into place. Her steps slow to a near stop as the broad mouth of the cave looms up before her. As close to hesitation as one of her solemnity can show is the manner of her countenance and posture as nearer she draws. From her back the warrior soundlessly draws a helmet, letting fall a blanket of burnished gold from beneath its protection as she places it atop her head.
Linnuial had drawn forth his longbow, but now, with the darkness of the cave stretching out to reach for the party, he slips it across his back once more. Metal slides on leather then, until his sword Elineriol is released to sing softly until the blade once again stills. His shield is brought onto his other arm. "It appears that the seal has been breached.... but not destroyed. What do you think, smiths?" he says softly to the artisans who have come.
Slowly advancing; seemingly careless of the danger, Elladan stands soon upon the very threshold of the cave, amidst the rubble of the broken seal. "Breached;" he allows, voice carrying back down the slope towards his grey-cloaked companions, "Breached but not unmade. Come up, if you will... we still must see what dwells within; but take heart!" he cries, and his voice is fair and heartening indeed to hear, "I shall lead you now..." And with that, he bears up a torch from under his garments, and lo! It is kindled to flame in his hand, and shines brightly in the gloom as he bears it in with him, shadows lengthening behind.
Cave Mouth(#30382RVntUf)
Only a few steps into the cave, the sun is swallowed and replaced with an oppressive gloom, a gut wrenching lack of light that makes normal vision nearly hopeless. For most, the tortured shapes of stalactites jutting from the ceiling are hard to make out... watch your head! The air here is cool, rushing in from the outside, and further into the gloom some may hear the faint flutter of bat wings and trembling trickle of some forgotten subterranean waterway.
Torchlight glints on silvered steel amidst Gilathan's cloak in the wake of Elladan's approach to the cave. The Hirdan is murmuring softly to a gathered group of Artisans. He gestures to the black maw of the cave mouth and its surrounds. Orders for their safety and their danger. At Linnuial's words Gilathan looks up and answers, "The Gonhir say that the breach may be repaired. Yet we must guard their way!"
Then true to his word, Gilathan is quickly making his way into the cave after the son of Elrond, his sword drawn and his gaze flickering about every shadow thronged crevice.
Sweeping a careful hand over the cold stone of the broken barrier, Eryndae lingers behind Elladan and Gilathan for a moment longer to draw forth a broad leather shield from beneath her cloak. It hangs at her side, not loosely, but ready to be drawn forth at any sight aged eyes might find in the long shadows within. Outward calm remains upon the picture of her fair face, for she is both solemn of feature and steady of step even in the heavy silence within the cave. To the Hirdan her whispers carry, though not far beyond. "How long might such a task occupy them for?" she asks, eyes wandering over the broken seal.
Walking onwards, inwards, downwards into the deeps of the cave; by the light of the torch that he bears, Elladan might seem but a pale shadow to mortal eyes; but a shade of a figure, tall beyond man's measure, fearless of the dark, bright-eyed beneath his cowl. "Come then," he calls back softly to those behind, calling for volunteers: "Let those most stout of heart and doughty come with me; I fear it shall be blade-work in the dark, should we meet the enemy. But do not leave the stoneworker's alone! There is ever danger from behind, for the day lengthens outside...."
Thileithel follows the Son of Elrond into the cave as well, glancing at the stone passage with a smirk of perhaps anxiety... But then his features return ot their passiveness, and he moves up closer to the front of the group, his silvery blade glinting in the torchlight.
A soft, yet incessant sound of intermittent clicks can be just barely made out, as if at the edge of hearing.
Elladan's sword is in his hand then, suddenly; ringing out as it is drawn, flashing by the torchlight. "'Ware!" He rasps back at his fellows, hearing in the darkness noises ill-boding. But the son of Elrond does not draw back...
Galuial walks into the cave in time to hear Elladan's words. He decides that he will stay behind with the stoneworkers. He calls out to the son of Elrond "I will stay behind but call if ineed of anymore assistance, My lord," Galuial draws his Longsword preparing to fight.
Fair shadows flickering in the darkness these Quendi and all bear the tools of their craft, whether it be sword or chisel. The Hirdan Gilathan is ever moving, conversing with gesture and look with his fellow Artisans. Yet the sounds of stone scraping on stone cannot be lessened. Indeed, the cave gratefully takes all sound into its greedy silence and resounds it to all who might hear.
Linnuial peers into the blackness of the cave, eyes straining against the aggressive dark. "Guards.... be ready. We must fend off any threats while our smiths work at the seal." A tentative smile creeps at his lips, but it is forced--he is still uneasy. "Perhaps we will go unnoticed... or at least no large force will come upon us which we cannot repel..."
The amber glow of torchlight sparks brightly in eyes suddenly more vigilant in their search of the darkness, yet this remains the only testament to Eryndae's unrest. She remains back a few short paces from the Herion and Hirvaethor; but the lady favors not all caution above action, drawing her sword with a soft sigh of smooth steel against the leather scabbard. "Gilathan," she mutters softly against the new stir in the former silence. "How long a task do you think this to be? Be it long one, then we may find need to compromise speed for stealth."
Thileithel silently comes up alongside Linnuial, and shakes his head in the darkness. Whispering, he says, "I do not like this cave, Menegroth was blessed by the Queen, but this cave wishes to betray our sound, and the orcs will no doubt catch our scent soon enough."
"Let them come," the young Hirvaethor replies, though the eager tone of his voice does not completely conceal his reluctance and dread. "Perhaps we can slay that warg which brought us such ruin before."
Shaking his head, Elladan answers doubtfully: "That would be much to hope for..." then, at length he suggests: "We are many enough for some of us to venture on and see what lurks in the depths of this warren," and his fair voice, however hushed, echoes down into the blackness, "Come now with me, all who will!" so says Elrond's son, doubtless having a mind to descry whatever evil lurks in yonder shadows. "But leave a vanguard for our smith-folk, and to keep open our escape!"
For a moment Gilathan's gaze touches upon Eryndae's and a half-smile of remembrance quirks his lips briefly. "Again, sword in hand," he says simply before continuing, "The breach is wide. I cannot yet say how long it will take to repair it."
A single nod greets Thileithel's words and then the Hirdan is striding across the cave to help a Tannur shift a large stone.
Faraway troubles tarnish the pale beauty of a serious gaze, one that melts into a fleeting smile both sorrowful and serious. Though before further words slip past her lips, the lady passes further into the shadows behind Elladan.
Cave
There is no light here. Zero. Zilch. Zip. There is no cheery sun to illuminate the hundreds of bats overhead, roosting with wings folded and occasionally ratsqueaking: rodents with wings. There is no flame to give shape to the crawling things that call the cave's cold crevices and hidden places their home. There is nothing to belie the danger that may lay ahead...
Durbmog continues to hack at the edges of the seal, hoping to bring down a higher, arching portion of it by shattering bits of stone one by one. Clank! Clank! Clank! His effort slacks slightly ...
The smirk fleeing from his pallid face, Z'macht hands his whip to a Muzgak and then approaches Horvak. "How may I serve the Gothshaka?" he says un atypical fashion, humble with dark circles under his eyes.
Kali'naj steps forward and snatches a pickaxe from a nearby snaga, kicking the tiny orc. The scout growls and grabs the digging hammer with both hands. He pulls the pick-axe back and swings at the breaking rock.
Horvak growls. "You worm!! Twice you made me walk into that stalagtite and bang my head! Now you observe it more closely!" The troll reaches to grab the little orc intent on tossing him into the offending stalagtite.
Horvak attacks Z'macht with his Bare Hands and moderately wounds him!
Pausing to watch Horvak disgrace the other ranking Orc, Durbmog watches with veiled glee. After sparing himself a moment of observation, he sets back to work, striking the stone a monstrous stroke.
Rock crumbles; dust rises in clouds as the stone hits the floor. Durbmog takes a step back, grinning broadly at his handiwork.
Durbmog says in Morian Uruk, "Nothing like an honest day's work ..."
Surreptitiously as may be; with Elladan as their torchbearer going before, a small group of elves, tall, fair-faced figures cloaked in grey to match stone and shadow, venture in from the mouth of the cave; few are they in number, for indeed, the noise and rumour of stonework can be heard and felt echoing down from further out, as if labour was being done to seal shut this cave once more. Elven blades glitter in the hands of their bearers, and yet they seem unaware of any danger, save that sound that they followed down...
"They are coming through!" Linnuial hisses, the sounds of pickaxes and orcs resounding off the stone. "What a turn of misfortune that we should arrive a day late..." Bringing his sword up against the shadows produced by Elladan's torch, he growls, "Yet though it will be a dreadful task, we must instead make this our own good chance.... we have also come just in time to stop them."
Still standing by and growing ever more impatient, the Master Scout Khamuz walks up to the assembled company of Morian leaders. "Masters", he hisses, "the scouts await the chance to do their job. Consider sending us to the fore of the tunnel now...", he opens his great nostrils wide and inhales deeply, "for I smell something of the outside, and it concerns me...". He pauses, looking to the trio with a frown furrowing his face.
Crack? (Z'macht flying through air) Oomph! The Latadurub lands on the ground a good five yards from Horvak and his (all too common) non-sensical slap. Wiping his maw free of blood, Z'macht manages a slight groan and then sits up. Twists with his bow beside him. Cracked? No. He leaves it for the moment being.
"My eyes will be ever open from now on, Lord Gothshaka." Z'macht's voice is vile and seethes with hate. He has to strain his eyes, torture his neck, to take in the immensity of the King. He shakes his head, grabs his mace, and stands up. Just then...
Flickering light? What's this? He sniffs the air. "Skai!" the Under Ruler mutters, forgetting about the Olog-hai for the moment. His shield springs before him. "You may be right, Khamuz..."
Nin peers hotly from behind a rather long slab of chiseled granite at the plethora of tiny motes swimming lazily in the incomming light of the nearby crumbling wall.
"Curse the bright sight, yes."
Flicking the massive hammer lose at his bowed back, the apprentice Shaman crawls from his meager solace, tight-lipped, livid leer evident in the upturned corners of his crackling mouth as he nears the remainder of the job at hand. With a mighty swing of the blocky weapon, the eerie creature lends a hand.
Sniffing towards the Master Scout and Latadurub, the uruk holds... "What's this, hmmmm?"
Darkness seems more a shroud than a cloak in this dank cave. And too, a faint current of air growing stronger, and Gilathan's cloak flicks about his booted calves. "The breach is widening" And even as Gilathan speaks the raw sound of hammers shattering stone sounds, not from the Elven Artisans, but from the other side of the stony seal.
The Warlord stiffens in the act of wiping his hammer-head clean of grime on the hem of his cloak; his nostrils flare, as the immense Uruk-Hai straightens. "<Morian Uruk> I smell something. Not right," he growls. "<Morian Uruk> Not right. It smells ... familiar." His grip tightens on the war hammer, releases the edge of his cloak, to flutter softly downwards.
His sense of alarm growing by the moment as his spine begins to tingle, Khamuz reaches for the hammer at his belt. He growls a very low, very soft growl to himself, and snaps his fingers for his scouts to move to the mouth of the cave.
The black-cloaked orc pauses in mid-swing of the pickaxe as something reaches his senses. He sniffs loudly, catching a scent of something on the quiet breeze. "Worsssstborn..." he hisses. The stealthy Kali'naj puts the pickaxe down and reaches for his spear.
Kali'naj brushes aside the edge of his cloak and reaches under the black garb. After a moment he withdraws the spear, Shadowspike.
Horvak mutters to himself watching with disgust as his missile misses his mark. Removing his helmet, the troll stares at the sizable dent in his helmet. "Owwww!" he whines as he tenderly rubs the top of his head. Gently, Horvak places the helmet back on his head. The troll's body hunches down as he proceeds carefully to the rear of the cavern all the while keeping careful eye on the low ceiling
All falls dark within Eryndae's eyes as the elves descend deeper into the musty blackness of unknown end. A helm of silver atop locks of burnished gold, the Silmaethor's breath falls near to silence as stillness befalls her steps at Elladan's shoulder. She says naught, but turns a keen ear to the dying breeze.
Gurgil continues to carve away at the rock with his pickax. He is careful to stay in the shadows, avoiding the light that shines through the dark and dusty cave. Seeing that there is a bit of a disturbance near the leaders, he sniffs at the dank air and narrows his eyes, he draws his scimitar quickly, and pulls on his armor. He begins to walk toward the higher ranking ones.
Thileithel hears the sounds of the orcs and then the smell of them crosses his nostrils. The dust billows out through the party of Elves. The Randir prepares for the action that will very soon be upon them. He positions his blade before his body and his shield is ready at his side. Calling in a low voice to those around him, "<Sindarin> Hold the line, don't rush them! Strike as they climb through the breach."
Durbmog raises his war hammer, sending it in a low arc with a flick of his wrist. "<Morian Uruk> Lord King," he booms. "<Morian Uruk> I think we should prepare ourselves ... the smell that I smell forebodes of menace."
Linnuial nods toward the elder edhel's advice and kneels down, bracing himself against the rock and lifting his shield to cover a good portion of his body. "<Sindarin> But most importantly, let no one pass to our smiths! Do not let them surround us.... always keep a clear path to the outside!" Whatever reluctance was once in his voice has been washed away by the flood of adrenaline. His eyes are alight with fire, his knuckles white around the hilt of his sword.
Galuial hearing the sounds of the orcs show little uncertainty in his eyes. The smell of orcs is now and wants to vomit. He sighs knowing what is to come says silently to himself "<Sindarin>I hope I do not fail my fellow elves," his eyes now show a new found determination.
Gilathan steps next to Thileithel. What light may be gleaned from the doubtful glare of the torches is dully reflected upon Gilathan's blade. Though his eyes never drift from the seal he murmurs, "Now to remember those sparring matches of old in Doriath."
Casting back his hood to reveal his face, both fair and grim, his head set about with a helm wrought as if out of silver, his brow with a star set upon it. Elladan commands the guardsmen with him, "<Sindarin> Quickly! We must hold the breadth of the cavern, let nothing pass! If the press is too great, fall back to the mouth of the cave..." So saying, Elrond's son tightens his grip upon his fell sword, bearing it as easily in the one hand as he might were his other free for the pommel, though it bears a flaming brand.
Khamuz snorts back a thick blanket of phlegm and dust while his hammer gleams in the dim light of the cave. "<Morian Uruk> Let us bring home something different for dinner, lads! Prepare for a test of your mettle!" He begins to stride quickly towards the opening of the cave, leading the scouts behind him, stepping cautiously and making little sound in the suddenly nearly silent cave.
Thileithel nods and looks at Gilathan a moment. "<Sindarin> I just fought some orcs in the Shaws but a few days ago. At least I am in practice."
Though cold may wash over the Silmaethor's countenance, torchlight kindles with a new spark in her eyes. As several others prepare towards the deeper end of what little can be seen, Eryndae drifts back a few steps into statuesque stillness, waiting and ready. When the elleth speaks, it is with new conviction in a voice songlike even if the face of such evil. "<Sindarin> May the need not arrive for the artisans' chisels to be used as swords."
Kali'naj nods and crouches. The orc walks low to the cave floor, spear held in a rusty-gloved hand. "Yesss... Let'sss take elf-meat back to the Feasssting Hall for dinner!"
"<Morian Uruk> Fire!" Durbmog hisses. "<Morian Uruk> And not our fire! Prepare yourselves, Orcs of Moria. Be prepared. This is our Mine; let us defend it!" He raises his own hammer, a hideous light coming into his pale eyes. "<Morian Uruk> Latadurub, come. We must attack these intruders."
A figure steps up to the breach in the wall and looks as though he is about to step through. Thileithel moves ahead a little and positions himself to strike as the orcs move forward toward the Elves around him.
Taking a step backwards, Celebren holds his staff in front of him ready to ward of an oncoming attack. A feeling of determination comes over him and he peers further into the darkness.
Baring broken and yellowed fangs, Z'macht watches Khamuz with a smirk. "<Morian Uruk> Morghash. Nerves, that one." He clangs his mace upon his shield, the dead sound of wood. "<Morian Uruk> Let them come. It has been too long since my mace was buried in a light lover's brain." A red tongue, flecked with black blood, whips out of the Latadurub's mouth and runs over his cracked lips. His cruel mouth draws back into something resembling a steel trap. "<Morian Uruk> Uruks for the King and the Flame!" he roars. It sounds like a landslide. Z'macht falls in next to Durbmog.
One of Linnuial's feet slides back for an instant at the horrible sounds echoing from the dark. Yet the other remains firm, and the young elf growls in return, spitting out in Westron, "This cave will be your tomb!" As the first sign of movement appears in the opening, he lunges forward with his sword.
Wordlessly, the huge Warlord steps through the seal, his heavy hammer swishing in narrow arcs. He raises his heavy shield, advancing swiftly -- yet not so swiftly to remain in the foremost rank. A sword glitters in the darkness before him, reflecting light. Durbmog leers, hammer rising, then sweeping forward towards Linnuial. He aims for a swift disarm, sending the weapon towards the elf's sword-hand in a tight curve.
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer, but Linnuial parries the attack with his Longsword!
Raising his hammer before his face, Khamuz hears the sudden sound of ringing-bells, no, wait...ELF voices! He screams bitter obscenities as he charges forward towards the first figure he sees, speeding headlong into its chest with his hammer before him.
The troll stops in his tracks and sniffs the air. Like some wild beast, his head raises as he slowly turns about. "<Morian Uruk> Dinner comes!" His hand takes up his mighty stone axe just as the troll takes a single step toward the cave entrance.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer, but Thileithel parries the attack with his Longsword!
Linnuial's sword leaps out to deflect the hammer as it appears before him. The Hirvaethor seems almost surprised at the swiftness of his parry, but the reaction is fleeting. With a roar almost as savage as that of his foe, he thrusts forward at the shadow which assailed him.
Linnuial attacks Durbmog with his Longsword, but he misses by an arm's length.
Thileithel swiftly bats away the hammer aimed at his chest with his sword and quickly steps forward, bringing himself around to slash at the chest of the orc charging him.
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!
The Orcish Warlord's lips curve back into a grimace; as the sword thrusts towards him, he maneuvers in the tight confines about him, not watching the blade swish past. Raising his thick forearm, he bludgeons at Linnuial's sword-arm, hoping to shatter his arm before he can draw it back.
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer, but Linnuial parries the attack with his shield!
The gangly apprentice Shaman snarls wildly as the rancid scent of elf creeps across the volatile hairs edging the flaring nostrils of the now quite animated Nin.
"<Morian Uruk> The Flame burn their light-loving souls!"
Flailing the massive, two-handed weapon above his head once, then twice, the ape-like uruk reels in a terrific fit of mad curses and dark swears.
Scrick! The longsword of Theleithel slides along Khamuz's armor, slicing open his upper arm just slightly. The uruk dances away from the long blade, whirling his arm about in a great loop, bringing the point-end of his hammer to bear on the elf's right shoulder area.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer, but Thileithel parries the attack with his shield!
Clangs ring from Z'macht's right. Scrape! He feels the slight pressure of Durbmog at his hip. What? Fleeting shapes in the darkness and a strange language. Rivers running. Trees? He spits into the darkness, wound tightly with hate, and raises his bludgeoning mace. A brief fragment of Westron escapes the creature's horrid maw. "You've ventured too far!"
Z'macht attacks Gilathan with his Mace and badly wounds him!
Galuial waits patiently for any orc to attack him. Galuial's eyes dart across the room searching for any orc charging at him.
Cold steel ringing and clashing about him; blades flickering by the light of the fire he bears, Elladan holds his place in the line, protecting those above and behind from the evil ascending from below. But Elrond's son seems far from content to do so, and a fell light of ire is in his grey-eyes as he looks on those of goblin kind that he has well-loathed for an age of the world; but none come to challenge him, essaying perhaps that few of them might withstand his wrath.
Nailed boots claw stone and rock and the cave reverberates with harsh screams and clattering metal. Gilathan does not try to meet the massing rush, twisting aside and allowing only the edge of his sword to greet the onslaught of the massive Orc. Yet he has misjudged it, and the mace emerges from the darkness to crash into his side. Through the mind numbing pain Gilathan answers
Thileithel manages to bring his shield up, deflecting the hammer again. He again turns, his left hand with his sword coming around to hack at the orc
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!
Already sensing his opponent's intent, Linnuial is quick to withdraw his sword-arm before the hammer can find purchase. "Your might is useless if you cannot move faster than an ox!" he taunts, bringing his shield forward to smite the orc's arm, hoping to deflect it to the side to leave the path clear for his sword, which thrusts forward once more, like a serpent.
Linnuial attacks Durbmog with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.
Horvak steps forward, hunkered low to avoid a collision with the ceiling. He remembers his lessons of old and shouts in Westron, "I am Horvak! King of Moria! Who dares fight me?"
As battle washes over the company of elves, Eryndae matches adds to the din with the song of her own steel. Her longsword flashes in what little light survives within this cave, swinging in a graceful yet fearsome arc to meet Nin's war hammer. "<Sindarin> You'll not have the flesh of my kin this day, foul beast!" she cries, lunging forward with grace and strength.
You attack Nin with your Longsword...
Nin dodges your attack.
The Uruk-Hai's eyes blaze. With a snarl of pure bloodlust, he hisses, "This more your speed, elfling?" His Westron is distorted and deformed by his helm and his snarl; he leans out of the sword's path, backpedals, and then swings a massive overhand blow, aiming at the elf's head, aiming to pass Linnuial's shield.
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer and badly wounds him!
Gurgil grins, yellow and black teeth glinting in the dark. He waves his scimitar, slicing it through the air with a hiss. He charges along with the other orcs toward the cursed light loving foe. Casting his eyes about the filled space, he spies one elf and runs toward him. "<Morian Uruk> I'll get me a prisoner, or at least get some fun!" He cackles with this statement. Reaching the foe, he swings the scimitar from high left to low right, trying to slash Galuial's torso.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar and badly wounds him!
Two parts hate and one part bloodlust, Z'macht's roar reverberates through the newly honed cave. Have you ever heard an avalanche? He deflects Gilathan's blow but then is jostled aside by an orc scurrying to the front lines. Thunk! The all-too-enthusiastic newcomer gets an arrow through the throat, probably from outside. Snarling, Z'macht braces himself and holds up his shield in a defensive manner.
A big smelly form moves into the cave. It pushes through the opening, punching clumps of sediment out of its way. Sarguu the troll trundles towards Horvak, his great flail licking voraciously at his passing calves. The troll encourages Morians onward, or bats them with his chained boulder, depending on their direction.
His shield slow to arrive, the elf-sword digs into Khamuz's side, opening a short but deep cut above his kidneys, below his too-short mail shirt. He drifts back for a moment, assessing the damage. Satisfied that he may cut the elf yet, he dashes back in to his foe, hoping to get inside his defenses with an upswinging blow aimed to rattle the fair-fellows jaw. "Skai! You overgrown butterfly! Taste metal!" He hisses in his barely intelligible Westron as he makes his move.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.
Linnuial's forward thrust leaves him low and vulnerable, especially to the thundering overhead strike. The attack indeed comes swiftly enough to strike the elf, though the Hirvaethor's reflexes alone save his skull from a crushing. Instead, the hammer smashes into his shoulder, crushing the chain links of his armor. "Aghh!" Linnuial growls, falling to one knee with the impact. His sword glints in the firelight as it sweeps upward in a defensive arc, to keep the orc from towering above him.
Linnuial attacks Durbmog with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
"<Morian Uruk> Aaaaaaaaaaagh! It tries to bite, yes?!"
Nin flits beneath the she-elf's whistling steel with gruesome agility, pale arms and legs alike swimming in fluid grace as the torso reigning them in convulses the wayward limbs into a whip-lash flurry of smelted iron careening toward the apprentice Shaman's assailant.
"<Morian Uruk> The Flame guide it's servant's hate!"
Nin attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and you parry his attack with your Longsword!
Galuial lets out a cry of pain and stumbles back regaining his balance. He growls in a low voice yelling "Curse you you foul creature. Galuial runs and aims his longsword at the orcs mid-section hoping to slice him.
Galuial attacks Gurgil with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!
Espying, with little difficultly, the lumbering mass that is Horvak, spawn of melkor, self-proclaimed king of the black pit; Elladan answers with a shout: "Earendil! Face me, beast!" Then he leaps forward from his place, ranks closing behind him; a flutter of grey cloaks and silver mail, and his blade through it all.
Gilathan's side is swelling with blossoming pain, several links of his ringmail crushed into his flesh. His replying stroke was weakened and wide yet he finds a welcome respite by virtue of an arrow. He wastes no breath upon a warcry but angles his blade up and around to the Orc's torso.
Gilathan attacks Z'macht with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
"I am Durbmog, Warlord of Moria," the Uruk-Hai snarls, baring his fangs at the kneeling Linnuial. "Let me show you more." Ironshod boots clank on stone as the Warlord steps -- with surprising agility for such a great Orc -- out of sword's strike. Shoving his hammer forward, he attempts to catch Linnuial in the throat with its backspike.
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer and badly wounds him!
Calling to his foe in Westron, "Aye, beastie, I am a butterfly!" He dances back out of the path of the hammer. It passes harmlessly past his jaw, and Thileithel stabs straight at Khamuz' middle.
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.
Durbmog raises his head for an instant, roaring, "<Morian Uruk> Give them havoc, Morians! Flame guide our weapons!"
Z'macht snarls, avoiding his foe's blow on account of his defensive posture. "Run back to the light where you will be safe from .. me!" he growls. His voice is guttural and strewn with awkward pronunciation. Z'macht swings wide again at Gilathan's flank.
Z'macht attacks Gilathan with his Mace and badly wounds him!
A slow smile cross the face of the troll as he heft his axe and moves closer to the light. An elf soon announces itself in its flowering speech. "Yes, come closer. It has been long since I feasted on elf flesh." The troll lumbers forward.
Jumping left, Khamuz watches the blade stab only at the air. "Then, I have a collection I'd like to put you in!", he taunts. "Besides, I like butterfly soup, 'tis tasty!" He chuckles insanely as he takes a wild swing at the elf's overly-fair face, hoping to inflict some uruk on the perfect features.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer and lightly wounds him!
Argent eyes shine with ruthless cold as both past woes and present danger come together in Eryndae's stare. Though surprised she might be at the orc's skilled dodge, her own strength and dexterity are displayed in her own parry of a blow that might otherwise shatter one of frail frame. Eryndae meets Nin's strike with her unforgiving shield, the hammer thudding against leather, absorbing the blow until she finds her footing anew. Then with refreshed fury and a low growl its voice, the Silmaethor lifts her sword in a swipe towards the vile beast's torso.
You attack Nin with your Longsword...
Nin parries your attack with his War Hammer!
Sarguu veers from his course, and heads to the senior scout. He decides to show everyone what he had for breakfast, and just in case they can't see that far down the black hole of this throat, he leans down real low. The troll screams, vapour and spume hosed from his face.
Sarguu threatens his flail above Thileithel, then pulls up short as his knee bumps into an uruk's back. Sarguu smites this uruk.
Gurgil tries to move back as he sees the elf blade come towards his side. He is too slow though, and the blade cuts into his side, and out, leaving a bloody trail behind. He grins and says with a growl, "<Morian Uruk> Good, I serve the flame." He pivots to the left on his left foot, and then slashes the sword out, swinging it toward the elf's chest.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar and badly wounds him!
Linnuial's sword seems puny--harmless even--against the massive orc. The spike of the beast's hammer swing's perilously close to the elven warrior's pale throat. He manages to spring backward as the strike falls, the spike slicing through the chain mail and into his chest. "Ahhhhhhh!" Linnuial does not cry for help, yet desperation pervades his scream. Again, he stabs, hoping at least to gain room to find his footing.
Linnuial attacks Durbmog with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!
Thileithel yet again tries to swat away the hammer, but this time, it is too close, and it grazes his cheek. He steps back in time to keep himself from being knocked out, but the blood flows. He brings his shield around and steps forward and down with his blade to strike at Khamuz, slashing across his legs.
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword, but Khamuz parries the attack with his shield!
Galuial lets out another cry he nearly stumbles to the ground but maintanes balance. With rage in his eyes he swings his sword at the orcs arm hopeing do to some damage as he has been wonded twice. Galuial feels imense pain from his bleeding torso and slashed chest.
Galuial attacks Gurgil with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Linnuial's blade slides through chain-mail, forcing apart and shattering links, and penetrates into the orc's side. It is a shallow wound, and superficial, but it is rewarded by a roar of rage. "Elfling," he snarls, "First I'll take your eyes. Then your nose ..." His war hammer spins about, its swing curiously restrained -- and aimed, interestingly enough, at Linnuial's nose.
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer, but Linnuial parries the attack with his Longsword!
In the whirling darkness and fragmented horror of steel upon flesh Gilathan if far from the sea he loves. The injury from the mace has told its tale and again the Hirdan fails to strike his opponent. And yet he earns another blow that slams upon his other side. For a moment there is no thought but pain. Gilathan can barely retain his sword yet lift it. Furious he can do naught but fall back against the seething mass.
Gilathan tries to flee from Z'macht, but he fails!
The odd creature blinks a rather puzzled blink as his aggressive attack is met skillfully by the blade-wielding maiden to his for.
Nin struggles through the common tongue, "It knows the fight, hmmmm?"
Gnashing his yellowed teeth playfully at the she-elf, the thoroughly crazed uruk reels from his own mis-strike only to deflect that of his foe at the thick middle of the solid shaft in his gangly grip.
Pushing off of the elf's longsword with the blocking haft, the apprentice Shaman spins the defending pommel of the hammer in a heavy thrust towards Eryndae's exposed middle.
Nin attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he misses!
"It shall be a long time still!" Cries Elladan, dashing through the fray to meet his lumbering foe; no smile is on his lips as he reaches Horvak, but his eyes are fey with the glee of battle, and his sword whistles through the air as he sweeps it through an even horizontal stroke, as if to disembowel the beast that towers before him.
Elladan attacks Horvak with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.
Smiling wickedly as his hammer draws it's first blood, the still-quick but noticeably bleeding Khamuz is able to drop his shield low to parry the sweep of the sword. In retaliation, he aims high with the hammer, bringing the blunt end whizzing around to try to flatten a pointy ear. "I like elf RAW", he states somewhat matter-of-factly as he completes this series of motions.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer and moderately wounds him!
Gurgil frowns and hisses with an intake of breath. The sword cuts deep into his left shoulder, getting stuck there for a moment before it comes out. He curses softly and lunges toward the elf, dark blade aimed for the neck of his foe.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!
Horvak watches in mock terror as the elf charges him and pokes at his belly with a stick. The troll's eyes focus...er, sword. A half a step to the side and the elf misses his mark. Horvak smirks, "You male or female elf?" An honest question, even as the troll's great stone axe sweeps downward in an attempt to cleave the orc in twain.
Horvak attacks Elladan with his Axe and moderately wounds him!
Thileithel sees out of the corner of his eye his friend Gilathan desperately fighting, and as he looks away, his opponent strikes, striking him in the head. The helmet blunts the blow, but Thileithel's ears ring and his sight blurs for just a moment. Recovering, he jabs forward, hoping to stab the orc while his guard is down.
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword, but Khamuz parries the attack with his shield!
Smiling wickedly, Z'macht chases after his fleeing opponent, aiming one last weak blow at his tender flank before turning to another victim. "Even if cowardly, elves are smart!" he growls through clenched teeth. "The know when death is knocking at their door! Skai!" This attempts take him closer to the cave mouth.
Z'macht attacks Gilathan with his Mace, but Gilathan parries the attack with his Longsword!
The called shot to his nose gives Linnuial an edge in parrying the orcish Warlord's next strike. His legs finding purchase in the rocks beneath him, Linnuial pushes to his feet once more, eyes blazing with pain and anger as he meets the gaze of his foe. Lunging forward with his shield, he brings his blade in low, hoping to disembowel the fiend. Yet even as he does this, he shouts desperately, "<Sindarin> Anyone who is able, flee and seek reinforcements! We are overwhelmed!"
Linnuial attacks Durbmog with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Creeping into the cave softly, his leather boots making no sound as he creeps, his form nearly hidden within the shadows as he moves into view of the enraged battle. Dropping to his stomach, his bow layed out beside him, Longknife in hand, he quickly surveys the scene.
Galuial flinches as the scimitar misses its target and
hits his well padded shoulder causing little damage. Galuial shows the same rage
in his eyes but has a grin on his face and laughs "You'll have to do better than
that," Galuial aims for the orcs stomach with a thrusting action he hopes to run
him through with his longsword.
Galuial attacks Gurgil with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Durbmog edges smoothly back, his next blow full-tilt, a
sweep with the blunt
head of the hammer, aimed as though to take the elf's head clean off his
shoulders. "I aim to please," he snarls. "Am I fast enough for you?"
Durbmog attacks Linnuial with his War Hammer and severely wounds him!
Sarguu plows forward, his feet sinking through whatever they come across in his
progress to the cave's mouth. The troll begins churning his huge flail around,
its pitch rising with its pace. Sarguu blinks hard starts lowering the path of
the whorling boulder.
Fuimeth's eyes widen as he sees his kin overpowered, overwhelmed, and under
manned. Scrambling to his feet, he turns back towards the mouth of the cave, the
others much be told..
Gurgil laughs, a gurgling sound deep in his throat as he steps aside the
feeble elven thrust. He quickly returns the attack, with a lateral slash aimed
again at the elf's torso.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar, but he misses by a mile.
Again the elf maiden's sword finds steel before orc flesh. Though if discouragement captures her, it vanishes with the creature's words. Eryndae's reply to Nin is in a voice clear and cold as the winter itself, practiced even in the common speech as might be expected of one of her years. "More years of my life than days of yours to come, for here will be your end!" she calls to her foe in Westron, the very clarity of her words a taunt to the orc. With swiftness of step and swing, she first dodges his attempted blow and lets fly another strike of her own sword.
You attack Nin with your Longsword...
Nin dodges your attack.
Galuial watches as the scimitar misses him sighing he clears his thoughts of everything except survival. Galuial laughs He attacks the gurgling orc with a swift slash to the right leg.
Galuial attacks Gurgil with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.
Stumbling, sensing the whirling mace once more that balks his path, Gilathan raises his sword even as he steps back yet more. Metal clangs on kin steel, a molten shockwave riding Gilathan's arm. Yet he holds. The passage of their terrible dance has brought them closer to the cave mouth. Seeking the freedom of movement in clean air, Gilathan steps back yet more.
Gilathan tries to flee from Z'macht, but he fails!
His luck or skill proving him perhaps worthy of the exalted rank he seeks, Khamuz rolls aside the stabbing blade. Whirling, with his arms together, both hands now locked on the haft of his weapon, he swings with all his summoned force to try to shatter the sword-arm of the elf before him. His shield, hanging on its tether, swings wildly behind the effort, nearly hitting him in the face. "Gralggraatt!", he muses emphatically.
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer and moderately wounds him!
Martion enters the cave, cautious at first, waiting for his eyes to adjust to the flickering, sword at the ready ... he comes in close to Gilathan's side.
Elladan is struck about the shoulder and driven to the ground, too slow to escape the blow; his torch flies from his left hand, skittering in a spray of sparks across the floor. His cloaks are torn, but the mail beneath holds true, and saves his flesh from being rent; now, shirking off the stone axe, the peredhel rises from his knees, wielding his shining sword two-handed, he drives it upwards toward the belly of the beast; that is his only answer.
Elladan attacks Horvak with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!
"Ahh--" Linnuial's cry is cut short as the hammerhead strikes his jaw. Either his neck is very strong, or he manages to leap with the blow, for his head remains attached, but his entire body is swept into the air and sent back several feet. With the crunch of sharp rocks he lands on his shield, the world blurred through tears. Blindly, his feet kick at the gravel, trying to scramble away from the monster.
Linnuial tries to flee from Durbmog, but he fails!
Martion instantly turns, moving to attack the beast attacking Gilathan, and hopefully freeing him to retreat. His sword strikes instantly.
Martion attacks Z'macht with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!
Celebren stands back, waiting for a wretched orch to come charging towards him.
Gurgil frowns as he sees his attack miss. He frowns even deeper as the blade sings toward him, but he sidesteps just in time to avoid the blow. He crouches lower, and slices his blade through the air, slanted slightly up toward the lower belly of his opponent.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!
Thileithel is unable to stop the blow, but he is able to protect his sword arm, taking the hammer in his chest. He grunts as it impacts, but he immediately presses a counter, aiming for his foe's own hammer-arm, slashing.
Thileithel attacks Khamuz with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.
Perfectly insane cackles follow the streaking steel of Eryndae and the path it takes beyond his twisting clavicle.
"Oh, ho!?" Mangled common trickles madly from Nin's foaming lips as he dances to and fro before the she-elf.
The Healer's pommel fly's inward once more in a dizzying feint toward her guarded abdomen, only to sweep full circle in a grisly upercut of raw iron toward the maiden's lower chin.
"The Flame it will take you, yes!"
Nin attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
The corner of Z'macht's hideous mouth writhes like an asp. Poison? Maybe. Painful? Ask Gilathan. "Flee, fool! Run to y---" He finds himself face to face with Martion. Recognition shines in his eyes just before... Slash! He sustains a nasty gash across the slash from the elf's sword. Z'macht manages a sturdy retort.
Z'macht attacks Martion with his Mace, but Martion parries the attack with his Longsword!
Martion calls out, "Retreat! Pull out!" meanwhile blocking Z'macht's attack.
Galuial stumbles at the added pain though it was only a slight scratch across the belly. Standing straight determination shines in his eyes, hearing his comander's call he decides it is best to leave.
Galuial tries to flee from Gurgil, but he fails!
Sarguu throws his legs through the deepening litter of battle-gear and gore. He comes up to Celebren, the boulder still swooping about his head. The troll grits his underbite, and takes in a big breath through his nose.
The troll lets out a yipe as he steps back to late and the sword tip rakes across his belly. Fine black scales are deeply scratched and deep dark blood wells to the surface. Horvak growls low, shifts the grip on his axe and swipes at the legs of the elf.
Horvak attacks Elladan with his Axe, but Elladan parries the attack with his Longsword!
Durbmog pauses, lingering massively above Linnuial. He sneers, gathering the edge of his garment with a flick of his hammer. "No time to deal with you PROPERLY," the Morian rasps. "Not yet, my poppet. Stay there." He turns, robes fluttering behind him, and stalks heavily -- mail clinking -- towards Z'macht. In Morian, he speaks.
Durbmog says in Morian Uruk, "Hold firm, Latadurub; I come to aid you."
Celebren's attention turns to the foul creature coming towards him. He swings his staff above his head and aims it for Sarguu's stomach.
Celebren attacks Sarguu with his Staff, but he misses by an arm's length.
A ringing cry to retreat and Gilathan hobbles back breathing heavily. Beneath his cloak blood glistens beneath the smashed rings of his armour.
Springing to the right, the blow cuts at the dank air, but no elf-sword seems to want to bite his flesh further... Considering it an omen, Khamuz screams with glee and again brings his arms together on the hammer, this time bringing it arcing straight down in a most precipitous angle...the intended intersection being the crest of the elf's helm. Hopefully, bells will ring...
Khamuz attacks Thileithel with his War Hammer, but Thileithel parries the attack with his Longsword!
Martion leaps from Z'macht after his parry, heading toward where two of the less powerful elves are in trouble. Raising his sword, he heads across the room towards Galuial's side.
Gurgil grins as the cowardly elves decide to get away with their puny lives. As his opponent tries to escape he quickly goes after him, slashing from the bottom left to upper right hopefully across the elfin back.
Gurgil attacks Galuial with his Scimitar and severely wounds him!
Thileithel swiftly brings his blade up to the vertical, intercepting the hammer. He presses forward, his blade and the hammer together. A smile comes to the Elf's face as he hears Martion's command. "It would seem I will have to leave this unfinished, but I wouldn't want you to forget me." He nods to the orc, and steps away.
Z'macht hears the gruff voice of Durbmog behind him. Gritting his teeth and hating through the pain he is able to manage a short reply. "<Morian Uruk> Follow!" he runs after the darting elf. "<Morian Uruk> This fool has evaded Morghash wrath too many times!" He seems to be slipping into his former role as warrior. Gone are the dark circles under his eyes.
Sarguu dips his head down to watch the staff poke him in the belly. When his head comes up again he's grinning full. The troll throws his arms down with the handle end of his flail, the swooping boulder's trajectory stalled, then sent down at Celebren's head.
Sarguu attacks Celebren with his Mace and lightly wounds him!
Spikes rake hard over fair skin with Nin's strike, drawing lines of blood red from Eryndae's chin across her pale cheek. The force of the blow drives her head back, sending her into a short spin until dizziness passes and the words of both Martion and Linnuial reach her ears through the clamor. Fury blazes still in the heat of her heavy breath and the flame of her eyes, and yet the Silmaethor turns halfway toward the mouth of the cave with steps effortless and light despite the wears of battle, brief though it may have been. To her adversary, Eryndae offers no more than a vengeful scowl ere she begins her retreat.
You try to flee from Nin, but he blocks your attempt!
Linnuial stares at the blurry orc above him, gathering up his shield to try and protect himself from the final blow. Yet it never comes. Gasping as he is given an instant to escape, he scrambles to his feet and retreats. "Rrr--" he tries to echo the order to fall back, yet his jaw is broken.
Galuial feels the blade on that one falling to the ground he struggles to get up. He is still trying to the exit by slowly limping to it.
Galuial tries to flee from Gurgil, but he fails!
Elladan switches his grip quickly, using his second hand to spin his blade from an upward thrust to a downward parry; icy steel whistles glittering to meet the crude stone blade aimed at his legs, well forged metal rattling against the troll's massive cleaver. But strong as is Elrond's son, he cannot match the brute, and the muscles in his arms strain to hold at bay the leg-stroke. Even as he struggles, though, the Herion hears Martion's call, and heeds it verily. Ducking in, he pushes Horvak's axe aside, then, wheeling, hacks at the arm of the beast mightily, to stave off any further strokes whilst he makes to retreat.
Elladan attacks Horvak with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!
Martion comes swiftly, the torchlight making him seem taller than he is. With a leap, he attacks Gurgil, his sword swinging swiftly.
Martion attacks Gurgil with his Longsword and badly wounds him!
Durbmog's features -- what are visible from beneath his helm -- contort with bloodlust and sheer adrenaline. His eyes seem to boil. Moving quickly forward, the Morian Warlord advances until he is not far from Martion -- not far at all. A roar in the Morian tongue:
Durbmog says in Morian Uruk, "KILL!"
The troll yipes again as the elf's sword damages his delicate scales. Horvak sneers and remarks in Westron, "You flesh smells lovely, you will rest well tonight in my belly." With that, the troll swings mightily at the neck of the elf, as if trying to reduce the weight on the elf's shoulders.
Horvak attacks Elladan with his Axe, but Elladan parries the attack with his Longsword!
"No, no, no, no, my prettiest pretty. We dance yet, yes?"
Chortling madly, the eerie Morian lays hold of the fleeing maiden's cloak just as he sweeps the great hammer in his trailing hand around towards the she-elf's retreating shins.
"She meat tonight, I thinks, hmmmm?"
Nin attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
Gurgil grins even wider with Galuial's attempts to escape. He curses as one of the light lovers comes with light. He shields his eyes, not seeing the attack until too late. He crouches down, somewhat more in shadow, and strikes out with his scimitar
Gurgil attacks Martion with his Scimitar, but he misses by a long shot.
Z'macht catches up with Martion, casts a sidewards glance at Gurgil, and then rears back his mace. "<Morian Uruk> This fair creature will nourish the flowers he so adores, eh?" The Latadurub's weapon swings towards his foe's midsection, the elf's all-too-perfect visage being out of reach for the moment.
Z'macht attacks Martion with his Mace and mildly wounds him!
Sarguu's blow comes down and strikes Celebren's side. Celebren is knocked off balance slightly but regains his stance quickly and swings his staff around at Sarguu's head.
Celebren attacks Sarguu with his Staff and mildly wounds him!
Galuial noticing Gurgil's distraction limps out of the cave hoping to heal his wounds.
Galuial silently thanks Martion for his kindness .
As his quarry flutters off to resume his conversations with the flowers, Khamuz spins about to spy a rather imposing looking elf to his side. He rushes at the fellow, arms swinging the hammer wildly, a bunyip holler rattling off the end of his tongue. His hammer speeds to shorten the elf's long nose.
Khamuz attacks Celebren with his War Hammer and moderately wounds him!
Martion is caught off-balance by Z'macht's attack, but recovers swiftly. Pulling back slightly, he ripostes, trying as much to throw Z'macht off balance as anything else.
Martion attacks Z'macht with his Longsword, but Z'macht parries the attack with his Mace!
Perhaps Z'macht's stature is at times a boon. The Latadurub is able to duck Mation's attack. He feels the chill wind of steel sweep over his head and then mounts an uppercut with his mace at the elf's statuesque chin.
Z'macht attacks Martion with his Mace and mildly wounds him!
Martion says in Sindarin, "Celebren! Don't stand there playing patsy with that troll! Get out of here if you can!"
Durbmog rears up -- he is as tall as a man, and broader -- though the elves might outdistance him iin height, he is immense. His size he puts into his attack. Raising his great, heavy war hammer two-handed, shield used almost like a buckler, he strikes a massive overhand blow, aiming at Martion's head. "Rrraagh!" he snarls, no words intelligible as he attacks.
Durbmog attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but he misses by a handspan.
Celebren is knocked in the side by the blow but he swings his staff and aims it at Khamuz
Celebren attacks Khamuz with his Staff, but Khamuz parries the attack with his shield!
Though fleet of foot, Eryndae's cloak catches tight around her neck with Nin's grasp at the hem. A blow to leather-clad shins brings her down to her knees upon the cold, dirty stone floor. Though pain shoots up her legs and through her feet, thin pressed lips and furrowed brow show her determination. Enraged beyond what ageless features show through their bloodstreaked beauty, Eryndae stands and whirls around toward Nin, sword flashing and aimed at his midsection, no longer intent on fleeing until his blood stains her weapon as hers now stains his.
You attack Nin with your Longsword...
Nin dodges your attack.
Martion seems to be having trouble with Z'macht's technique, as a second blow does not so much as get past his guard as shake it nearly to the breaking point. As Durbmog's blow swings past him, he steps back, neatly placing Durbmog between him and Z'macht.
Sarguu shakes his leg at the kneecap as its prodded. The troll archs the meaty mainstay of his shoulders away, his arms drawn in an even wider circle. He jolts his wrists forward, the chained boulder following suit, howling through the air as it speeds for the side of Celebren's ribs.
Sarguu attacks Celebren with his Mace and badly wounds him!
Gurgil curses as he sees the elf he was fighting before escape, and then grins as his assailant is distracted. He limps toward the rear end of the cave, that is the end that the battle is not being fought at. He then proceeds to leave the dark cave, to Moria proper.
Celebren is knocked aside by Sarguu's blow. He turns and tries to flee from the troll.
Celebren tries to flee from Sarguu, but he fails!
"I should rest better tonight, if I had cleft your stinking belly! But alas, not today!" Elladan shouts ruefully to Horvak; brushing aside the clumsy stroke of his axe, to keep his head firmly annexed to his body. Glancing backward to the cave mouth, though, the son of Elrond sees his folk in full retreat, and backing away from the troll, wheeling, he goes to their aid; Celebren he sees assailed, and Eryndae. But the former all the more so, and so he goes from one troll to t'other, attacking Sarguu from behind, with an even overhand stroke to the olog's back and shoulders.
Elladan attacks Sarguu with his Longsword and mildly wounds him!
Z'macht snarls as his blow finds its target once more. 'Such a sweet feeling,' he says, his Westron barely intelligible by the fairer races. "Morian Uruk> An uruk weapons is meant to devour elf flesh!" He begins to flank Martion, circling Durbmog's right side in an effort to pin his foe to his doom.
Martion says in Sindarin, "Elladan, Eryndae, I think the party is just a little bit too lively for us. Shall we invite them to dance elsewhere?"
Nin snarls heatedly as the billowing cloak of the lashing she-elf unfolds to vomit the steel lashing from within. The whoosh of the passing blade mirrors the balding crown of the odd Shaman even as the creature withdraws further into his duck to sweep again in a low arc aimed this time at his foe's upper thighs.
"No good running aways aways, hmmmm, yes! Oh, yes soooooo pretty pretty!"
Nin attacks you with his War Hammer!...
...and he hits! Ouch!
Khamuz, meanwhile, backs away from his new found foe (Celebren), leaving the troll to his prospective meal. His beady eyes zero in on a tall, gallant elf, who appears to be giving Durbmog and Z'macht quite a fight. Screeching like an owl on fire, he bound across the room, leaping through the air to try to knock the unsuspecting fellow in the back- a cheap and typically uruk shot- thereby shoving him into the waiting weapons of the waiting Warlord and Latadurub.
Khamuz attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.
Durbmog's eyes blaze in the darkness of the cave. With a wordless growl, he gathers himself once more, sends the hammer in another mighty sweep; this one is diagonal, aimed for the elf's shoulder, and less powerful than the one before -- but more tightly controlled.
Durbmog attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but he misses by a mile.
Martion seems almost to have eyes in the back of his head, and ducks ... his move simultaneously taking him below Khamuz' arc of attack, and to the opposite side from Z'macht, leaving Khamuz to go barreling right toward the other two.
Sarguu sheds scales, and pounds his feet around to face Elladan. Enraged, the troll's eyes stretch; allowing an even wider flood of pupil black. He tosses the log-handle to a shoulder, the boulder skipping off his rear. He throws it forward with such force that one of the links in the chains groans open. Sarguu swings down at the top of Elledan's head.
Sarguu attacks Elladan with his Mace, but Elladan parries the attack with his Longsword!
Celebren sees his foe's distraction and takes the opportunity escape. He makes for the cave entrance.
Horvak lifts his head and roars in frustration as the little elf dodges to the side and out of his reach. The troll whines under his breath, "Nimble little pest." He backs away, careful to fall back to his own lines, "You Sarguu, kill the elf." Then in a lower voice, "that was in Westron, wonder if that half-wit understood."
Gripping his mace with both hands, Z'macht swings as hard as he can at Martion's waist... Only there is a problem... The elf has ducked and Khamuz is.. Yes! Too late to stop his blow, the Latadurub's mace screams towards the unfortunate orc.
Z'macht attacks Khamuz with his Mace and moderately wounds him!
His body sailing over his intended target's crouching form, Khamuz looks ahead to see that he is now barreling towards both the Warlord AND the Latadurub. He drops his hammer down, but leads instead with his face...
Khamuz places the great hammer back into the loop on his belt, tethering the shaft back to his thigh, then giving the head of it a gentle pat with his hand.
Khamuz attacks Z'macht with his Bare Hands, but he misses by a mile.
Elladan jumps aside, too quickly for the oafish Sarguu to land a blow; his sword clatters against chain links as he dives, then lands, rolling over the cavern floor in a flutter of cloaks and raven hair, silver mail shimmering through it all; he finds his feet soon enough, but, leaving Sarguu, for Celebren'd escaped, as he had hoped, the son of Elrond looks instead to Nin, who yet assails Eryndae. "Will you fight me, wretch!?" He bellows his challenge, and his voice seems fell indeed. "Or are you craven?"
Anger and pain boil over into a rising yell in Eryndae's throat, brought about by the blunt crunching of a heavy hammer on her slender leg. Words follow, and though they are presumedly to Martion, her eyes remain bent upon Nin with all the hate their light can portray. Again in fluent Westron so that her foe might hear, the maiden shouts her agreement to Martion. "Aye, we shall!" Then scrambling to her feet at his side, the Silmaethor turns wildly on her heels, eyes sweeping across the dimly lit cavern in search of the exit.
You try to flee from Nin, but he blocks your attempt!
Nearly knocked over by Khamuz, Z'macht somehow manages to stand his ground. He prepares himself to mount another attack upon Martion.
As Khamuz barrels towards him and the Latadurub, Durbmog bellows; he drops low, the muscles of his legs tightening and tensing thickly; they convulse, propelling him springing at Martion, and he levels a swipe of his weapon towards the elf. Should he miss, he will probably hit a nearby stalagmite. That might hurt.
Durbmog attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but he misses by a mile.
...and, as his luck would have it, his already compromised facial features meet the mace of Z'Macht nose-first, mimicking the damage he so recently inflicted on the elf. Khamuz falls to the ground, dazed.
Martion has by luck or crook managed to evade all three of the attackers converging on him, and he leaps toward the entrance, and coincidentally, the spot where Nin has Eryndae blocked from leaving. Converging on Nin from the opposite side that Elladan is coming from, he strikes a swift, deadly thrust.
Durbmog's head impacts the stalagmite; metal slams into stone, and pulverized dust floats through the air. The Uruk-Hai rises slowly, snarling, but seemingly unphazed. His war hammer dangles by its wrist strap; catching it up, he waves it towards the Martion-Elladan-Eryndae cluster, and bellows ...
Durbmog says in Morian Uruk, "Get them, fools! Get them! Tear them to pieces!"
Sarguu stands blank with exasperation as he's jibberered at mid-swing. The head of his flail slams harmlessly into the rock, shards skipping through his feet as the elf rolls away. He looks after him, and gives chase. The troll waddles up beside Elladan, corks his arms away to the extreme of their socket's reach, then throws the flail in side-swipe for Elladan's back.
Sarguu attacks Elladan with his Mace and moderately wounds him!
Nin verily seethes as his 'pretty' is recovered by the elves now at hand.
"Curse the blasted nasties.. Give me the pretty! Sooooooooo nice!?"
The evil beast paces back and forth, back and forth, insanely oblivious to the battle raging about him as he wages inner war with his violent thought processes. Shaking his head in a harried spray of salty liquid, then slapping the massive slate in his two paws, a decision is made.
"Here, pretty pretty!"
The huge hammer streaks toward the defending Martion as he attempts to free the elf's arm from his prey.
Nin attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but Martion parries the attack with his shield!
Martion attacks Nin with his Longsword and lightly wounds him!
Martion's attack is successful, and he seeks to dance back and around, toward the entrance once again.
Rising from the floor with his nose swinging from the thin piece of cartilage which still binds it to his face, the gory Scout looks about blindly, squinting to see through blood-soaked eyes. "Come and fight me, cowards!", he shouts, his nose daring any to come near enough that it might project itself at them, possibly causing them to vomit.
Z'macht chases Martion, gaining speed for what is sure to be a hefty attack. "<Morian Uruk> They assault the Dark Priesthood!" he yells with conviction as he sees the elf assault Nin. "<Morian Uruk> Provide no quarter!" He is now merely yards from his foe, weapon reared back.
Straightening, Durbmog uncoils like a whip. He advances grimly forward, his mail still clinking -- save at the single snapped ring, where it clicks instead. He builds up speed; he is running towards Elladan, hammer at the ready.
Blood blacker than night seeps from a neat sliver carved with a perfect thrust of tempered iron into Nin's now leaking right arm. The deep laceration merely infuriates the already on-edge creature into another violent frenzy of flailing limbs and weapon alike. Racing after his 'pretty' and the fleeing Martion, the Shaman hefts the great hammer over his head only to come crashing down toward the elf behind a deafening screech.
Nin attacks Martion with his War Hammer, but Martion parries the attack with his Longsword!
Struck from behind, even as he was to prevail upon Nin to release the Lady Silmaethor, at the sharp end of his sword, no less; Elladan is thrown, winded, across the cave by the force of the blow, and lands with a sickening crack in a heap upon the floor, some distance from Sarguu for the might of his stroke. But still awfully close to the approaching Durbmog.
Martion dances back, again sidling closer to the exit, moving faster than his motions might seem to suggest. He calls out in a fair elven voice.
Crimson paints a stark contrast against weariness-whitened skin, and Eryndae's her weakened strength is somehow enough to find the dimming light from beneath the cloak of darkness. The warrior maiden ducks beneath several wild hammer-swings and sword-arcs, finding room to stand once she has crossed half the distance to the cave's gaping mouth. No more than a moment is wasted in words to Nin, her adversary, and yet they are pointed despite their simplicity. "This 'pretty' will stand not for such words from one of your...stink," she sniffs, though fury pales beneath gasps for breath as the warrior turns and flees the cavern.
Martion says in Sindarin, "This party is getting to hot for us, Elladan. Let us be gone."
Cave Mouth(#30382RVntUf)
Only a few steps into the cave, the sun is swallowed and replaced with an oppressive gloom, a gut wrenching lack of light that makes normal vision nearly hopeless. For most, the tortured shapes of stalactites jutting from the ceiling are hard to make out... watch your head! The air here is cool, rushing in from the outside, and further into the gloom some may hear the faint flutter of bat wings and trembling trickle of some forgotten subterranean waterway.
Linnuial draws back his bowstring as soon as he spies movement from the cave opening, squinting his eyes to try and see clearly through the tears, blood, and dirt that has collected around them. He says nothing--his mouth held in an odd expression. His gaze remains focused though, and he gestures with his head for Eryndae to take up a guarding position.
Elethin is stonefaced as she watches one elf after another stumble out of the cave bleeding. She firms her jaw and takes a deep breath. "There are left two of us. Were they standing?" she asks quietly. "Are they not trapped, or blocked from leaving?"
Blood stains both fair cheek and leather-clad leg, and yet Eryndae's step remains light. Not until she has reached what now feels to be the brightest of sunlight does the Silmaethor return her focus to the gaping black chasm. For a moment her longsword remains loose hanging at her sides, though not long is this respite allowed to last. Danger lurks in growing shadows, its presence showing in the glimmer of defeat in Eryndae's eyes. To Elethin she speaks in heavy tones beneath labored breath. "They...the Herion and the Gweithir... they are standing still, and will soon lead the vermin out... archers, on your guard!" the sword maiden calls as loud as she might dare, looking to the Hirvaethor for further guidance as she raises her sword to meet the impending flood.
Elethin has been ready to loose an arrow since the venture in, and she is ready now. She acknowledges the Silmaethor's command with a curt nod, and refocuses her attention back on the crevice leading further in.
Linnuial frowns as Eryndae looks for him to lead. He merely nods in response to her suggestion, drawing back his bowstring and aligning his eye with the shaft of a nocked arrow. Then, growling, he mutters through a barely opened mouth, "Cunrr, rrdy!"
Martion stumbles out of the deeper cave, his shield dented and banged badly, his face set. "Elladan is pulling out after me," he shouts. "And no one is left behind. Out of here, out beyond bow range, and regroup."
Linnuial nearly fires at Martion, but nods and backpedals as he orders a further retreat. The young elf is a mess--the chain covering his chest is torn, with blood leaking through the fabric beneath. A great bruise colors his jawline, which seems a bit disfigured. Still, his eyes remain alert and he moves deftly at Martion's command.
All the Artisans have now fled the cave. Many are wounded thought they have largely been spared the full brunt of the onslaught by the bravery of those who guarded them. Gilathan sends guards to follow lest the Yrch break free from another tunnel and attack from the rear. Beyond that he can only hold his bloody wound to himself and watch the darkness with a cold fury. Then he is standing, albeit unsteadily for Martion had resolved from the shadows and the beasts will not be far behind.
Thileithel can do little if the Elves aren't going to engage the enemy up close. He remains behind the archers as they fall back, keeping out of the line of fire.
Neatly ensconced as she is, Elethin is reluctant to give up her place - she is well covered, with a clean path out of the cave and a bead on the way in. But at the command of Martion, she raises her bow and falls back, revealing herself clearly as she moves too swiftly for stealth. She is a swift shadow fleeing the darkness for the daylight, searching for suitable cover among the rocks outside.
Elethin flits across the rocks quickly before dropping into the shadows behind a cluster of boulders. The keen eyes of her kind might see her positioning herself carefully to target the cave entrance with her bow; but she hides herself well, and moves carefully.
A cool wind freed by the plains eddies upon the rocky shore of the Hithaeglir. Cool but clean and a welcome draught after the damp confines of the cave. Gilathan moves more easily in response, yet still blood seeps relentlessly through the shattered rings of his mail. He joins those retreating. None panic, orderly a group disengages to fall back before turning to cover the others now following. Still, the Hirdan holds his sword.
Armed rather with steel than bow, Eryndae falls back into the ranks of those quendi more distant from the cave's mouth, ever careful to remain in the protective shadow of rock or shrub. Her sword remains at her side, idle now, yet ready still. A slender hand swipes absently across her cheek, stretching a smear of red across weariness-whitened skin as she bends her gaze upon the gaping blackness that yawns out from the depths of the cave.
Martion gasps and takes a breath. "Whose idea was this party anyway?" he says seemingly lightly. "Our hosts gave us a warm welcome."
Linnuial makes little effort to hide, though he does seek decent cover behind a small rock. Clearly his wounds have wearied him--for he cannot keep his bowstring drawn back for long as he stares at the cave mouth. His gaze remains fixed there as he waits for Elladan. "Gwth... Gwth... Mrt.." he tries to growl out through his closed mouth as he looks toward Martion. "Hrion?" His eyes wander back to the cave then, searching for signs of Elrond's son.
Martion says, "He ordered me to pull back, and was following at once. I trust he just wasn't trying to hog the fun."
Thileithel wanders around behind the archers, looking out at the open plain and then back at the cave and the mountains beyond. Hearing Martion, he smirks and calls, "Well Gweithir, you are always welcome to go back in and join the party." He smiles lightly.
Martion laughs. "You left the party first," he replies teasingly.
Seeing nothing yet, Elethin moves back farther. "Back! Back fifty paces, and I may hope to tend some of your wounds." She suits her own words, moving quickly over the ground.
Thileithel shakes his head. "No, I think that honor falls to Gilathan, you saved him from death too soon." He glances up as Elladan arrives. "At last."
Linnuial snorts at that, and for once lowers his bow so as to bring a hand up to his jaw, wincing and inhaling sharply through his nose at the pain of the touch. Watching the light exchange between the elder edhil, he rests his weight on the rock, still aiming at the cave. He sighs as Elladan appears, nocking an arrow and drawing a bead on the darkness beyond him, waiting for something to shoot at.
Elethin tends to the injuries on Eryndae.
No easy jest quirks the Hirdan's lips, and not merely his wounds bid his humour stay. The bitterness of having to retreat is not something Gilathan can swallow easily. Yet still he murmurs to Martion, "My gratitude for your aid." Then he visibly relaxes as the Herion approaches.
Galiual stirs from the ground he is laying on sitting up he winces in pain as his wounds are not yet bandaged. He smiles weakly at everyone but pain shines in his eyes. Noticing mostly everyone has wounds he sighs knowing this was most likly a defeat.
Elladan comes down from the cave-mouth; seeming spent, though not overly wounded. His cloaks are torn here and there, grime marrs his fair face, and his blade, still in his hand, is wet with black blood, congealing slowly on its edge.
"At last," Elethin says, spying the elf-prince from afar. "We are all accounted for." She is clearly relieved, and she ventures forward to the others. "By his mien, they will not follow."
Well aware of her uselessness without a bow, Eryndae follows Elethin with backward steps, so as not to remove her eyes from the shadowed, faceless target that lurks behind Elladan within the cave. As the Nethordur tends to her minor wounds, the Silmaethor's eyes gaze follows Elladan to their company.
Elethin reaches Linnuial. "Let me set that jaw, mellon, at least until we have returned to better circumstances," she offers. She stands out for being unsullied and uninjured, which might account for the slight awkwardness to her normally silken delivery. She picks her way more slowly across the ground. "I do not believe there will be a further threat." Nonetheless, she looks up beyond Elladan, to the cave.
Elethin pulls out a small kit she had secured to her belt. "This will hurt some," she cautions, and wraps gauze around the jaw and over his head quickly, then ties it off. "It will prevent further injury until you can be properly seen to," she reassures, smiling
Elethin tends to the injuries on Linnuial.
Linnuial growls with the pain of the wrapping, but fortunately he can't protest too much given his current circumstances. He then stands and retreats back to the tent with the others.