A small band, perhaps of six or seven men, Khazamr among them, springs towards the library. They swing their torches and scimitars in wide, terrible arches as they run towards the building. Their shouts make people's blood chill.

The center of the fray is obvious: the raid is centered upon the library, an ancient Elven edifice. Already the trees that surround it are aflame, and what few defenders here are ill-prepared to deal with armed Corsair raiders.

>From The Library <SE>, Khazamr +shouts, "Burn them all! Burn them! The Time has come!"

The sound of hoofbeats pound along with the kneeling of the bells, turning the northeast air to thunder, distant at first but growing more intense with each passing second as relief pours towards the smokey destruction of beautiful Belfalas and its many monuments. And, scarcely concealed by the rumble of the many horse, filters in the sounds of many voices raised up together in song...

>From The Library <SE>, Khazamr +shouts, "Burn them all! Burn them! The Time has come!"

A horn sounds in the distance, and the sound of hoofsteps can be heard thundering through the valley. After a moment, a large phalanx of mounted Knights arrives, led by one tall man wearing a grey cloak, and the winged helmet of a knight of Dol Amroth. The sunlight glints on helm and shield and lance. The tall man in grey leads the men towards the Library, and rises the horn to his lips once more, letting a mighty charge blow, before allowing it to swing on its baldric. He then draws his sword, and standing in his stirrups, shouts, "DOL AMROTH!"

Naiara looks around her at the commotion, moving to place herself in the center of the Haradrim to shield herself from the incoming knights.

Lucasto has held a small phalanx of his most trusted men--veterans all--in reserve from the burning for this moment. Clad in the light armor of the Corsair raider, their scimitars are sharp; the torches in the hands of more pedestrian types who are kept safe from these new attackers by the Corsair ranks forming up between them. "Sons of Castamir, the battle is met!!" The Captain springs forward, crouching, awaiting a charging knight.

Naiara reaches down and pulls a dagger from his boot, holding it ready.

Ithilir lowers his lance, and charges at one of the Corsairs, apparently a leader, who seems to await him in the road. He spurs his horse, Thingweth, and with a spirited snort, she charges full speed at the Man. Abenar curses as he is drawn away from the much more enjoyable employment of arson to meet the advancing Gondos.

A fire starts to dance inside the Library. Its red tongues eat the building from inside and are spurred by evil cheers of the Haradrim inside. A black, thick cloud of smoke starts to gather inside and the smoke spills out from the windows.

His heavy scimitar raised back, behind his head for maximum strength behind a first assault, Lucasto raises a beckoning hand to the charging Knight-Captain, Ithilir. Curling his fingers, he laughs, "Come, Elf-lover! Burn like your accursed edifice!"

Ithilir lowers his visor, and couching his lance, rides down upon the Corsair.

Lucasto, apparently, spends far too much time gloating--that or the Captain has no experience facing a deadly cavalry charge, for he is too slow to dodge the spear that bears down upon him. It cuts into his shoulder, and his return swing goes wild...

Ithilir deflects the vicious attack on his shield, and finding himself running out of room, jumps from his horse, and turns to face his opponent.

You can hear a muffled thud from inside the Library and clouds of smoke puff out. After it, the cheers and shouts get louder.

The battle is joined, the men at arms clashing with the howling Corsairs, swords flashing in the light

Mindell charges in with his brethren and though he is bent down, the point of his long spear darting ahead of him, he still manages to sit tall in his saddle, a determined snarl smudged across his face beneath the nose piece of his helmet. Without mercy he rides down a torcherbearer, the shaft of his weapon first bending as the glittering tip drives through the unfortunate man's exposed back, then splintering as he closes the distance, leaving him with only a haft of useless wood. Even as the man falls the Knight, his age hidden by the concealing rings and plates of metal, springs down from his horse with a twist, pulling a massive blade from its side. His eyes dart around, cool blue-grey but rimmed with fire, as his ride gallops to safety.

The Corsairs circle the defenders, their scimitars arcing in the morning sunlight, and shouts and curses in Haradaic echo around like thunder.

Abenar curses loudly, waving his scimitar in the air, and gets the men to stop their looting and come fight the arriving knights.

Naiara sees a clearing beside her and darts out of the fray to gain an observation point, out of immediate danger.

Lucasto snarls, lips curling back from bared teeth as his foe departs the saddle. Waving his wickedly-curved blade above his head, the Hassadite Captain takes his own turn to charge at the gleaming Knight! The heavy weapon is difficult to swing, and only effective with force behind it--hence another roundhouse arc aimed for the Faithful man's head.

With moves that appear to be in concert, the men at arms move further into the fray, calling out the name of their Leige

After making certain some of his men are coming up behind him, Abenar runs toward the nearest knight, hoping to get in a quick strike before the man notices him.

Almost a moment too late, Ithilir ducks under the cruel blade, and a piece of his winged helmet skitters across the road. He slips to the side, and with a quick thrust, stabs at the Harad's stomach, keeping his shield held steadily and warily before him.

One of the Princes's men falls as a Corsair strikes at his back, his wicked blade sliding between the gaps in the man's mail

The corsairs hold their ground against the men at arms, their unpredictability keeping the men busy.

A bark of pain passes Lucasto's lips as the man's sharp blade slices his skin again, drawing blood as it graxes his ribcage through now-rent leather armor. dancing back, the Corsair catches his breath, looking for an opening....

Shouting outrage at this act, several of the men at arms work in concert against the wicked Corsair, striking at him agian and again to wear down the man's defenses

No fear of death sits behind the attentive face of Mindell, as he walks into the heart of the fray hurling his mighty sword around with a mounting rage bleeding down from his twisted lips. He clips one unlucky Haradrim with the tip of his blade as he doubles back from a wide sweep, sending the man sprawling to the ground, minus part of his lower jaw. As he whips himself towards Abenar, a lock of hair shakes loose from the rim of his helmet, dark black, stained through with the white of mounting age. He licks his lips and growls, inviting the man forward through the mass of active bodies..

Ithilir rises slowly to his feet, and watches the Corsair warily, awaiting some trick. Ithilir smiles grimly, saying, "Does my sword bite deep?" He keeps his sword and shield ready, but makes no move to attack yet, content to wait for his wounded opponent to make the next move.

A corsair screams in agony as a knight's sword hits home, his body falling to the ground like a ragdoll.

A cheer goes up among the men at arms as they call one another on to greater and greater efforts against the foe

Abenar slows when he sees the knight has noticed him. He gives a ghastly grin, and shouts out. "Old Man! Come meet your fate on my blade." Abenar ends with a quick swing to the knights right leg.

A harsh laugh comes from Lucasto as he exhales mightily, raising his heavy blade with obvious effort to point the dark steel in Ithilir's direction--eyes gleaming as he sees a Corsair coming behind the knight. "Come and face me, imperialist! Finish your dirty work," he taunts, yet even then a stray, riderless horse, frightened, gallops between them! The corsairs ignore the cries of the wounded, their war cries drowning out the agonized ones. Many continue to fight hard, despite severe wounds.

Ithilir is knocked aside by the horse, and quickly regains his feet, only to find that in the pitch of battle, his opponent has vanished! He casts around quickly for another opponent, swinging wildly in his wrath at any corsair in his path, taking down men as if they were wheat to his sickle. He espies another man, obviously one of the Corsair's leaders, and with a cry of "DOL AMROTH!"charges at him, his sword held high. Amid the sounds of pain and rejoicing and the grim din of battle, the footsteps of a lone horseman carry not above the fray. Helorondur arrives from the northeast, mounted, and leading a band of armed men in Blue and Gold liveries. "To arms, Men of Edhellond! Aid our comrades of Dol Amroth, And give them your hearts and sinews! For The Tree!" He raises his blade high and leads the Men of Edhellond into battle!

Naiara looks about her, and steps in to the bloody field to tend to those who are wounded but alive. She looks around warily, so as not to be attacked unawares.

Shouts rise up as the men at arms rally to the call of their Knights and dive into the fray

Havlan turns his head to see one of the Knights charging down at him. With a cry, more fury than fear, he raises his own cutlass against the Gondorian blade.

Lucasto, meanwhile, has availed himself of Ithilir's separation from their duel to lick his wounds, figuratively or not literally. Alone for a spare moment in the thick of battle, he leans on his sword; this peace is fleeting, though--a wounded knight, horseless, stumbles backwards toward him, fending off two Corsairs. The Captain, Lucasto ben-Jabar ben-Hassad al-Sayf, reaches into his shirt for a curved dagger. Simply enough, he plunges it into the poor knight's shoulderblades with an evil grin. The man dies screaming, the last sound he hears a shout of "Umbar!"

Several corsairs look up as the new band joins the battle. Again, they raise their voices in Haradaic shouts to Castamir, issuing their own challenge to the newcomers.

Ithilir lunges at the tall corsair, scowling with anger, and with a quick feint, cuts to his left, then stabs to his right.

Helorondur trots his steed into the melee with blade flashing. He fends off several cruel swipes of the scimitar, and manages to end the life of a southron traitor. "Flee, accursed race of curs! The land is fouled by your presenece!." He espies a grim-looking corsair ending the life of a comrade in arms from Dol Amroth, and guides his mount to seek vengeance.

The old man has little need for speech; a triumphant song or grunt of pain suffices in the thick of dying men and the taunts of the weak and little, tossed from sneering lips to draw him into a mistake, flow only in one direction. Like a hammer his heay weapon drops, clanging out a sharp reprisal on the wicked scimitar as he deflects the blade towards the earth. One hand comes off the long hilt and then that massive paw, riveted with steel punches out at the bent, mocking smile of his would be attacker.

Naiara dodges a man in blue to move to the Captain's side. She presses a small packet into his hand and hoarsely shouts at him over the din, "Here! It will help you forget the pain! Take it!"

Havlan sees the feint too late, and bellows in pain as the sword cuts deep into him. Taking a step back, he takes a simple swing himself, Trying to keep the Knight at bay rather than attack him.

Another man of Gondor falls to Corsair treachery but his fellows honor him by cleaving the miscreant in two, stepping upon the corsair's body as the continue the battle

Havlan yells, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

Ithilir dodges the parry, and swinging around to the man's right, smiles at Havlan, and says, "You purr quite well, for one of your ilk. Has my little cut caused your eloquence?" He continues to move to the side, stepping carefully over a fallen Corsair,  and then with a light step forward, lashes at the tall man's head.

Lucasto's dark eyes flare open in mute surprise that the Dark Priestess would come to his aid, but he follows her directions, pressing the pain-killing pouch to his side, stancing blood and, hopefully, pain. None too soon, it seems, for he spies Helorondur bearing down upon them. "Stand back, Madame," he growls, stepping between Naiara and the Knight, scimitar raised.

The call goes up among the fighting men that the Knight Ithilir is routing his foe and they cheer, fighting with greater heart

Naiara presses her hands on Lucasto's back as the herb packet does its work.
Naiara tends to the injuries on Lucasto.

Abenar jerks back, but the mailed fist still brushes the corsair's nose. Abenar maintains his feral grin, but a hint of worry has crept into it. "To slow, old man. You should have stayed in your bed today." Abenar ducks, and tries an off-balance stab at the man's stomach, trying to get beneath whatever body armor he wears.

A trickle of blood begins to seep from Abenar's nose, and run down over his lips to his chin.

Havlan growls, his westron heavily accented, "You'll pay for that, *dog*"." Clutching at his second wound, he cries out in rage and swings low, hopeing to catch the night on the foot.

Helorondur Cleaves the skull of a sinister-looking foe almost casually, so intent is he on repaying the death of a comrade. And his distraction proves to Helorondur's undoing! For a treacherous foe has assaulted Loro's steed, causing the knight to tumble from the saddle! His armor rings as he unceremoniously meets the earth. Fortunately, though, friendly warriors have surrounded the foe, and battle to subdue him, as Helorondur rights himself to seek othr quarry.

Ithilir steps over the attack lightly, and with a low chuckle, says, "You speak quite well, My friend, but perhaps you need a bit more soprano?" With that, he lunges with a quick jab at his opponent's lower abdomen.

A corsair turns from his now-dead adversary and roughly pushes into one of the knights surrounding Helorondur, knocking the knight off-balance and burrying his blade in the man's head. Another knight steps in and block him from getting any closer to Helorundur, though, and the corsair growls as he engages the knight.

One warrior near Helorondur, however, is anything but friendly. That one, the Captain Lucasto, grins a feral grin as the charging foe's horse is hamstrung, and leaps from where he stands with Naiara as the man goes down. Blade whirling in circles over his head, he meets the rising Helorondur with a powerful swing of his scimitar, arcing upwards toward the Gondorian.

Havlan snorts, sidestepping to one side and letting Ithilir's blade pass through empty air. "Th only singing that's going to be done is yer own funeral durge!" He steps forward, slashing at your own sword arm.

Beladan looks stunned and singed as he leads the MAA from the blazing building, one falling even as he emerges to a Corsair blade.

One of the men at arms catches the striken Knight and bears his body from the field so it will not be trampled underfoot. He refuses to drop his burden even as a corsair buries a blade in his back, still he walks until he falls, dying at the edge of the field.

About five Corsairs leap out from the burning building chasing hte Gondorian warriors. Although they are sooty and tired, they are in an excellent mood to fight.

Ithilir takes a shallow cut to his arm, and stepping back, looks down at the wound. Seeing that little damage has occurred, he looks at the Corsair coolly, and with a careful movement, salutes him with his sword, saying, "Nicely done, my friend, I see that you have learned from my tutelage. But I fear that now the lesson must end." He feints at the Corsair's chest, and then with a movement almost too fast to be seen, slashes across his eyes.

Prudence dictates it is best to try to avoid any incoming attack. Yet instead of drawing back or turning aside, the grizzled old man steps into the short blade, trusting in woven rings of steel to protect him as he presses his advantage, unwilling to give up the slight initial advantage he has. Whether his trust is well placed remains a mystery.Far from crumpling over in pain, he shoves both arms out with a determined grunt, pushing the man back to upset his feet. A second later his hand rejoins the hilt  of his blade, which grows tall in the sun as he raises it aloft  to cleave down in a killing blow.

Khazamr overruns Beladan and tries to slice the man's back with his scimitar.

Helorondur grimaces in pain as the thin lips of a scimitar bite into the flesh of his left shoulder, for He had not yet raised his shield high enough. "Flee now, knave. you trespass on my land! The debt shall be your blood!" With that, he bears down with  his longsword onto Lucasto's head, as if to remove it in a lone stroke!

Naiara shrieks in rage as a knight surprises her, his blade slicing across her ribcage as she spins away from him. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" She steps in close to him, surprising him in her bold move, and buries her dagger in his throat, falling over with him as he topples.

Lucasto's face grimaces in pain, yet the drugs administered to him by Naiara have the Captain higher than simple adrenaline. This might explain his laughter when he should, perhaps, be crying in agony, and his free hand pointing at Helorondur's shield... "Aha ha ha! Girithlin! Hassadites slew your Calimendil! Now I shall add to our ledger!" Springing forward with a manic burst of laughter, Lucasto again aims a heavy-bladed swipe for his opponent's skull.

Beladan stumbles and almost falls as the blade of Khazamr bites deep into his back. Yet he recovers, blood welling out from underneath his rent leathers, and turns to face the man who would strike him without honour in the back. He lifts his blade and swings in a braod arc towards Khazamr's midrif, seeking to cleave him in half.

One of the men is suddenly at Beladan's side, striking at Khazamr, shouting angrily at the treacherous blow at the Squire's back

The old man's unexpected move catches Abenar off-guard, and he his thrown onto his back, kicking his legs to continue the roll so he ends up on his knees. Fortunately, he maintains his grip on his scimitar. But when he sees the old knight bearing down on him, he quickly grabs a handfull of earth with his left hand, casting it at the knight's face, while rolling to his left to avoid the coming blade.

Havlan steps back, just barely in time to see the blade flash before his very eyes, paleing a bit at the sight. Regaining his courage, he presses his attack yet again with a flurry of slashes aimed against the other man's chest.

Helorondur Grins as he neatly sidesteps the foreigner's stroke, his knight's training clearly coming into play. "You're an exceptional member of your race," taunts Helorondur, as he feints and withdraws, "If you can reckon sums like a schoolboy. Prepare for the last accounting, villein!" He suddenly turns his mock-retreat into a fullscale lunge towards Lucasto's legs.

Ithilir takes the brunt of Havlan's attack on his shield, but with a misstep, he moves his shield aside minutely to retain his balance. He remains standing, but at the cost of a slight cut to his chest, which separates a few links of his chainmail, and causes blood to well up slightly. He looks down at his ruined tabard, and with a wild laugh, says, "My tailor will wish to have words with you, My Friend. That is if you survive, which I have my doubts of. You have the energy no doubt, but do you have the heart? And speaking of heart...." He jabs out quickly at Havlan's chest.

A shout fills the air. A shout of the kind that pauses everyone. Khazamr spins to his right and shouts as if dying. His scimitar leaves his grip and he falls. He touches his insides with his hand and gets into shock. He starts to wriggle on the ground like a poor animal. The pain overwhelms him and he loses his touch to this world completely.

Khazamr puts down a Scimitar.

His lighter armour and even airier state of mind allow Lucasto to dodge helorondur's swipe by--of all things--jumping over the low sweep of steel. Unfortunately, his body does not follow entirely along, and the knight's sword finds a partial target in his foot. Knocked off-balance, the Captain flails out with his sword as he falls, screaming incoherently in rage!

Beladan picks up a Scimitar.

The man at arm bears up the bleeding Beladan, holding his own sword at the ready for the next attack.

Lucasto lands on the ground with a thump, possibly cracking a rib as he grunts in pain. He scrambles quickly to his feet, taking a few quick, shuffling steps back.

The men of Edhellond struggle to find sense in the chaotic melee. They battle the corsairs savagely, yet with some measure of fear. Huddling round a purple-and bronze-standard, they once more renew their assaults, and the corpses around that know of men begin to pile.

Ah, such a rough old trick surely has been used on this weary veteran before; the fire of youth, though hot, recoils from a splash of water seeking to preserve itself. The glowing coals of age, however, merely sputter and blacken, with their core still hot and smouldering. His sword continues to fall, the downward sweep of his arms scattering the vast majority of the grit. What falls against his cheeks and eyes; his rapid blinking, as automatic as his continued attack, seeks to clear away the debris. He is blind, but only for a second, unable to see if his sword strikes earth, or hard Haradrim flesh.

Havlan dives to the ground as the blade darts forward to pierce his heart. Quickly regaining his feet, he begins to circle the Gondorian, his eyes burning with anger, "You *Dare* to call one of the House Hassad a _coward_?!" With an angry gry he brings both hands to bear on his hilt and swings wildly for your neck.

Naiara gets to her knees, clutching at her bleeding sides. She scrambles out of the way of a charging knight, still clutching her bloody dagger in her other hand. When she gets to the edge of the field, she wipes the blade off on a blue-clad corpse, and collapses there to tend to her own wound for a moment.

Beladan stoops to recover the blade, thrusting it into his belt quickly. He motions for one of the Gondorian pages to come and remove the man from the field to the healers tent. As the page and a companion bear the mad away, he charges the young squire to place the blade in the leech's tent should the man survive, but under careful watch lest he should weild it again against Gondorian flesh.

Sevil has arrived.

Beladan puts down a Scimitar.

Ithilir blocks the blow with his sword, but the scimitar slides down the edge of his sword, and deflects into his leg, cutting shallowly into the muscle below his chainmail. With a grunt of pain, Ithilir wheels to his left, keeping his shield forward to protect him, as his movement is hampered. He says with a low growl, "Aye, Coward I call you, and worse, but now I call you dead!" He rushes at Havlan, and with his sword held at his side, swings overhand at the Harad's unprotected head.

The brave man at arms looks to the bleeding Beladan, "Are you well Squire? You should be tended

Helorondur curses loudly as he stumbles, his footing thrown because his expected target was not there. He catches the weight of Lucasto's retaliation on his shield, but the effort causes the knight to struggle for breath. With great strain, he regains fighting posture once more, and attempts to knock Lucasto on the head with the pommel of his weapon! "'Ware the lord of this land, foe, for He'll not tolerate your ilk as long as he draws breath!"

Abenar curses as the Gondo's blade clips his right arm as he rolls away. He desperately scrambles to his feet and looks around to see if any are around to aid him. Seeing none of his countrymen nearby, he grimly switches his scimitar to his left hand, and shouts out, (sputtering blood where the flow from his nose crosses his mouth) "Your flesh is tough, old buzzard. But I'll bet you've tired yourself out." Abenar doesn't sound very confident as he makes a off-handed blow to the old knight's right elbow.

Havlan raises his own blade to meet the Knight's charge, but luck is not with him. The jar send his own sword flying, and although Ithilir's blow misses his head, it bites deep in the Haradrim's left shoulder. Stunned, Havlan drops to one knee.

Lucasto stumbles aside, the bold Hassadite bleeding from a myriad of cuts and wounds both deep and shallow. Luckily, Helorondur's swipe is wide of its mark, and this gives the Captain a chance for breath--which he promptly spits out in a curse! "Lord only of your little fair-skinned whores, elf-lover! I hope you've got a sister for me when I'm done with you!" Laughing harshly, he brings his heavy-handed blade across the foe's chest, aiming for a clean strike.

Ithilir stands over the Harad, and raises his sword for the killing blow. He brings it down in a mighty swing, but pommel first, onto the injured man's head.

With a horrible crack, a part of the Library's roof falls down to the ground and lits some bushes. From the hole, some flames and a lot of smoke rise.

Naiara looks towards the library, having momentarily forgotten that it was the objective. She smiles in satisfaction as she watches it start to collapse.

Beladan wheels and draws his blade across the stomach of another Harad, disemboweling him. He cries to the pages watching the conflict to form a bucket chain and begin to douse the flames. He strides quickly to the centre of the conflict and without concern for himself continues the battle.

Helorondur repels the Harad's assault with renewed vigor. "Don't make me preserve your life, cur, that it might end more painfully. But end it must, for your blood shall water our fields, worm!" He probes once or twice before detecting a weak spot in Lucasto's guard, and swings with lightning-like quicness towards the gap with full force.

Sevil emerges from a large pile of Corsairs as they overpower a young knight.. he glances around quickly, and eyeing his fellow shipmate has fallen, he quickly makes haste for his side.

Havlan's eyes roll up into his head as Ithilir's Pommel connects with his skull with a muffled crack. Without a word, he slumps to the rgownd. Motionless.

The wobbling blow connects with Mindell's arm as he recovers his tall blade from the ground, disadvantaged by the weight of the blood-smeared tip, lodged as it is in the ground. His elbow bends in as the curved steel slaps against the tendons there, causing his great sword to waver about as he lifts it. His eyes flash sideways, narrowing to bitter slits as he contourts his visage into a mask of fleshy rage. The unsteady gleam levels out as it seeks to follow his eyes, whistling through the air with a force that will not be denied the bitter taste of soiled blood.

A small breeze catches a tail of smoke and pulls it across the field, burning Gondor and Haradrim eyes alike and choking lungs. Many stop their fighting to wipe at their eyes. When another breeze clears the field, one body is missing - Havlan.

Lucasto's loud snarl of pain as yet another strike of cruel steel thrusts home is telling; yet even as he is pushed back by the contact, the library-blaze becomes clear to him, and he laughs through the haze of blood. "The elf-house burns!! The ship, my hearties, back to the ship O ye Sons of Castamir!!" With that, he begins to lead the Corsairs in disengaging, falling back.

The man at arms who had defended Beladad follows him back now into the fray. He deflects a blow aimed for the Squires back but he deflects too high and is pierced by his enemies blade, falling to the bloodsoaked ground with a sigh

Ithilir stands amidst the clearing street, and looks at the place where the fallen Harad had lain but a moment earlier. With a heavy sigh, he joins the other knights in chasing the Harad back to their vessel.

Naiara pulls herself to her feet, gritting her teeth as she does so. She moves to place herself between two severely wounded corsairs who are attempting to head back to the ship, assisting them as best she can. She sees them on their way, and turns to help others get moving as well.

Sevil dashes up to Khazamr, his scimitar gleaming red.. With a quick cry, he distracts the page long enough to engage him. With a few deft moves, he manages to knock the page off his feet, but does not attempt to finish him off. He quickly grabs his shipmate khazamr by the collar and waste, and hoists him over his shoulder.

The corsairs begin to extract themselves from the battle, breaking off and moving together back in the direction they came from in a slow trickle at first, which grows as more and more manage to retreat.

Helorondur makes one last attempt to end Lucasto's life, but it is half-hearted, as the truth in the Southerner's words hit him. He looks at Lucasto as he utters a grim message of parting: "Your reckoning will come, as sure as I stand, recreant." He wades his way away from the Captain towards the edge of the fray, trying to assess the state of the library as he wards off attacks of fleeing corsairs.

Ithilir assists his men in harrying the retreating Corsairs, but prevents any from trying to attack. Seeing the ships nearby in the bay are small, and ill suited to combat, he stands on the shore, watching the Raiders board with gritted teeth. As he espies one carried on board, a familiar chuckle escapes his visored face, and he calls out. "The battle is ours, see to the wounded! Put out the fires! Gather the prisoners!"

Sevil scoops up a scimitar in his path, carrying both of them and his fallen comrade.. "Dont ye worry Khaz, we'll git ye back." he says, his face turning red from the extersion of carrying the man, who's blood drips all over him.

The Corsairs of Umbar fall back toward their black-sailed ship--which some few Gondorians might recognise as the Antildar, once a capital ship of their own fleet, seized by infamous Dubhglas of House Hassad. As they retreat, numbers lessened somewhat by death, the men of Umbar take heart from the ugly, inky black smoke rising still from the ruin of the Library.

Abenar actually looks surprised that his blow seems to have done some damage. But his look quickly turns to fear as he sees the old knight's determination. He stumbles backward, unsure of his next move, when he hears the Captain sound the call to retreat. While the fear in his face does not dissappear entirely, a look of relief is now evident. He sets his feet as if to attack, then states, "Another day, Buzzard!" With that, Abenar spins on his feet and breaks into a run toward the river, trailing blood behind him.

Beladan wheels as a brave man falls to protect his back and espies the Harad carrying a prone form. Hearing the call of the Knight-Captain he turns to the wounded page.

Sevil picks up a Scimitar.

Naiara turns and stares at the burning building once more, ignoring the corsairs moving past her. She smiles coldly, and nods to herself. "The Dark One has been served well today, indeed..." she murmurs to no one in particular. She turns on a heel and follows the corsairs quickly.

The fallen man who Beladan tends clutches the Squire's hand and smiles, "We routed them?

As Abenar flees like the wretched dog he is, with his tail tucked between his legs and the acrid scent of urine likely running down his legs, Mindell merely disengages and steps off in another direction, splitting the skulls of a foundered Haradrim as he seeks to stumble off in the direction of his honourless friends. It seems the death of one Haradrim is as good as another.

Beladan smiles warmly. "Yea, stout fellow. That we did."

Beladan tends to the injuries on his own person.

The man smiles again, wincing as he is touched, "Dont bother good Squire, tis mortal"

Helorondur frees himself of the fleeing throng, finally, and strides towards the library as quickly as his wearied frame will carry him. He notes his squire tending to the wounded. "Beladan! Well met! I espied thee not in the heat of the fray! Thank the lords of battle you live!" He runs past the squire, however, and calls to the Men of Edhellond. "Comrades! Tend to the injured!"

Ithilir turns finally from the sea, as the ship passes beyond the edge of the small inlet. He looks sadly at the ruin, and mortality. He seems to slump for a moment, and then with a light laugh, stands tall once more, and returns to the field, tending to the injured and dying with what little aid he can, often merely a soft word of comfort, and a hand to a shoulder. He leans over one young man, who has a huge chest wound, and speaks to him softly for a few moments, holding his hand. Then he lightly lays his hands on the boy's face, and closing his eyes for the last time, rises.

Fading down into a cold fury Mindell walks the length of bodies, scattered about like scarecrows, their innards no more than moist straw hanging out of deep wounds and poisoning the ground. Each fallen form he passes that wears the blazoned scarlet or carries the curved blade of the honourless Southrons gains no respect but only the passing swipe of a deadly blade, severing heads from bodies, splitting sweaty brows, cleaving through hard breastbones. The dead ones do not move save to shudder at the old man's thudding blows, but some of the bodies twitch and flail as he gives them their earnings without remorse, erasing their lives with the casual ease of farmer sowing ripe fields.

Helorondur ignores the flaming buildings as he notes the extensive numbers of dead and dying men. UNder his breath, he utters a lament for the day. "What great loss of the flowering youth of this land! Words and scrolls shall not record all the woes of war." He discards his shield carelessly and kneels to aid a young man of the Guard.

The dying man grips Beladan's hand and smiles as he bleeds, "It was.. an honor to serve with you today. And.. I am proud to have fought at your side" he shudders then and winces once before his breath leaves him in a sigh

Ithilir whistles shrilly, and from behind a building, Thingweth trots up. She gallops to Ithilir, and nuzzling his neck, stands still as he slowly and painfully mounts. He looks about him at the field, and says, "Make ready those that may ride, and return to Dol Amroth as you may. I will return anon, and report to the Prince." He looks to Sir Helorondur, and says, "In my absence, see to the wounded, and the repairs of the city. I shall inform the Prince, and labourers and supplies shall be sent to you as  soon as may be." Thus, he turns his horse and rides off slowly to Dol Amroth.

Beladan weeps softly as the man dies in his arms before he stands and begins to shake from his own wound and exhaustion.

Helorondur looks up to the knight Captain, but only after a moment in which he finishes tending to one of the injured. "I shall remain here and see to the infirm, and of what salvage may be made of the village. Fare thee well, Ithilir."