North Downs, Deadman's Dike; “Ambush Backfired!”








Glugg (RPC alt by Nob)

Pshpin (RPC alt by Kellan)







[+TIME] Middle-earth time is:

Daytime on Sterday, Day 16 of August.

Execute the +TIMEFRAME command for year information.

Real time is: 19:56:15 MDT on Thur Mar 27 2008.

On the North Downs - Deadman's Dike

Stretching out to the northeast are the lines of the North Downs, long and rolling toward the frozen wastes of Angmar. Empty now, it was Angmar's might that emptied this realm; for all its abrupt and silent majesty, all this expanse lies vacant, undisturbed for long ages by Men.

Yet once high towers stood here, and mighty walls; now only tumbled ruin remains to tell the tale of Fornost Erain here beneath the pale and silver stars. At the broken gates of Isildur's heirs the Greenway ends; in this darkened age, the stars alone bear witness to the fallen glories of Men.







Dwarven Camp



Morian Orc Camp

Obvious exits:

West leads to Escarpment Trail.

North leads to Entrance to Fornost Erain.

NorthEast leads to North Downs.

South leads to Road through the North Downs.

[Thari(#31038)] The light is dying. Orange sunset slanted across the ruins and has been casting long, wobbly shadows from a band of dwarves riding north.

They slow as the orange turns to weak grey light, and finally they stop and dismount near the base of a tower. "Much more of this and I say we turn south," one says-- Thari by name.


One of the Dwarves -- Ovor, Thane Zinbar -- gives a snort of amusement and a nod to Thari's words, hefting his hammer onto his shoulder. "We do have better things to do..." The words are quietly rumbled into his beard as he sighs slightly, shaking his head.


With a look of weariness in his eyes, Gunburrk sighs heavily as he dismounts as well, his feet crunching the earth beneath him as he walks a few paces forward to stare off into the distance. "Aye" Says the dwarf with little to no enthusiasm as he removes his left glove and strokes his beard gently with his bare hand.

[Thari(#31038)] "I still wonder what they're after," Thari says, fist in the small of the back. "Comin' up here. Maybe there's some treasure up here? That the tales Orm was telling is guarding? Maybe something mithril?" The healer runs a hand over the pony's flank.


A grey cloaked figure walks along with the mounted dwarves, though it is clear from his height that he dwells under no mountains. His deep set eyes gaze out from underneath his broad brimmed blue hat, and his gnarled fingers grip a tall wooden staff. "Perhaps." Is the only answer that the Grey Wizard gives in reply to Thari's question.


"Bah. No doubt manling treasure... though, even that has worth." Rumbles the Thane as he looks around, eyes narrowing underneath his helmet as he glances to the Grey Wizard, mail ringing slightly as he rests his free hand on his belt. "It is possible, of course. However, I care not their motivations... as long as they die, I am content." A quiet laugh.


The warder of the Baruk Zirak just shakes his head slightly as he places his black leather glove back onto his hand. "I agree.." He says, his voice low and hoarse. Gunburrk sighs once more as he moves his right hand underneath his black hooded cloak, his hand rests gently on the hilt of his axe. "It shall not bring me any discontent if axe to gets taste of more black blood."


A frown plays across Gandalf's craggy features at Ovor's comment, "The history of this place," Gandalf is clearly referring to Angmar, "and the fact that the orcs move about it again is indeed important. Kill them if you can but their purpose for being here is still important to any that would journey outside their mountain home." The rebuke is only minor as Gandalf's attention seems to be on their surroundings. At Thari's question the old wizard raises one hairy eyebrow as he regards the Dwarf, "My guess? I have many guesses, but I prefer not to guess until I have more facts then I currently possess."


Not far away, in an ancient, rocky crag among the downs, there is indeed an orcish encampment. Even cruder than usual, today. The orcs are high-tailing after heavy losses, evidently chased hotly by the warriors of the Mountains. Orcs are dull-witted, but they are not stupid. They are cunning enough to know that a camp needs lookouts... and lookouts must be silent.

Riding on wolf-back, in the dusking light, a handfull of skulking goblins pass from down to down, riding through the valleys as fish through channels. Occasionally, a dark head will peek over a crest, and vanish again.

Not far from the ruined towers, one scout meets another. The first, a black shadow, lithe and gnarled, red eyed. The second is shorter, squatter, bulkier, grey with eyes of amber. Whispered words are exchanged in gutteral uruk.

The black uruk dashes, then. Re-enforcements will be needed. To the camp he goes, silently alerting his comrades on the way...

The grey uruk creeps forward on his wolf, dismounts, and clambers on his belly to the top of a swell of earth, peering down at the group of mountain-dwellers.

Amber eyes narrow.


A snort comes from the Thane at the rebuke, eyes moving back to Gandalf. "Indeed, their purpose is important: but I would rather leave such thoughts to be figured out after we have slaughtered them." His hammer is swung off his shoulder, its head now resting on his foot.


Surrounded by orcs, most running around like excited bugs, trying to be careful and quiet. The olog keeps distance as best she can, and has finally stopped pacing. On edge, or bored, or both.. neither very good for a troll to be. Lucy lets out a low grown, annoyed.. anxious... hungry.


Another scout hunches in the night, dropping to the ground and wriggling up beside the first. He looks down as well, a wiry hand slithering silently towards the bow slung on his back; and mutters something beneath his breath. It could be a curse.


And so it is that the orcish horde as a bit disorganized, for though there is a camp of sorts, many orcs have been sent out on patrol ahead, as well as some to guard the rear. One such group of Morghash riders is lead by Wark. As they pass the sentry close to camp, he growls softly, "I do not like this night. There are sounds here that do not seems to belong. "Have you seen anything yet? Our pace is slow because of the injured, "We should have just killed them all and made haste back to Moria.

The riders behind him murmur their agreement, for they are uncomfortable in this place.


"I mislike the thought of leaving the orcs here with the Breefolk alone to handle it should the foul beasts decide to attack after all." Thari gives a puff of a sigh, moustache drooping. The healer becomes busy with hobbling the pony.

Thari is crouched on the ground doing this when a groan can be heard from the ruins. The dwarf looks up.


Gandalf glances at Ovor and is about to reply when something in the air catches his attention. "We are being watched. Be ready." As if to emphasize his point Gandalf reaches for the hilt of Glamdring and draws the fell blade from it's sheath. It blazes into life, glowing a dull blue color in the fading light of the setting sun.

[Combat(#13388)] Gandalf draws from its sheath a sword; and O, such a sword as is seldom seen in these younger days.

[#1531] Gandalf unsheaths Glamdring and it blazes to life with a pale blue glow, illuminating On the North Downs - Deadman's Dike!


This place... can still stir the blood, for some. With sadness, or chills, with longing, or memory of stories of the past. To some very few, this place south of Angmar is sacred, and watched. Though unseen, a few others gather here from the east or south; alone they come. For the dwarves and their tall, elderly guide are not alone in this place, to meet the foe.

One of these lays quietly on the backside of a large, fallen stone, looking into the ancient track that leads the Dwarves to this place. Fading light, dusk failing, is gathered up by grey eyes as the scene begins to unfold below.


Gunburrk removes his battle-axe from his black leather belt, and hoists it up toward his shoulder, letting the flat side of the blade rest firmly against his the part of his cloak covering his chest. Not saying a word his eyes scan the area head desperately searching for something to catch his eye.


Another of the orcs standing leaned against a post, his sharp eyes peeled into the night in his hands a roughly carved club with a bit of leather wrapped around the bottom as a handle he taps this against the ground a bit as if waiting for them either to move or something to happen. Pshpin scans the distance as best he can.

Thari works quickly to unhobble the pony again then stands to remove a shield and sling it upon arm. The axe is slid free from the belt. "Where?" asks this short dwarf in a tight voice, looking around. "I see nothing! Where, Gandalf?"


Away to the south the night hangs as dark as it is here in the north, and neither moon nor stars light the faint track that is the Greenway enough to show any who walk it. Into the night it disappears, it's overgrown foundations just as barren as the rest of the land. Yet for those with keen hearing, the ears of an elf perhaps and a very silent night, there is the barest hint of noise from the south. Remote at first, and muffled, the sound soon sharpens to the clip-clop of hooves. But as yet, their origin is still some way off.


The grey goblin raises a hand to the other that arrives. He casts him a glance--not yet. As the glowing blade, Glamdring is unsheathed, its light illuminates the area. The grey one hisses, and he is not the only. Perhaps a dozen such noises rise up, apparently from all sides. The growls of wolves accompany the hisses.

"It has an Elven torch," says the amber-eyed goblin, loud enough to echo out among the ruined towers. He whistles, then. His wolf runs up the hill, and its growls resonate.

The goblin mounts his steed, and cries. "Mountain Dung! Go from here, if you value what pathetic excuses you have for lives!"


A laugh is barked by the Thane as he brings his hammer back up, gripping it in both hands; his eyes flick around, narrowing. "Are we now... excellent..." As Thari speaks, the Thane's eyes move to the Dwarf, a slight grin twisting his mouth. He seems about to speak when the cry reaches his ears, causing another laugh to come from the Thane: he does not dignify it with worded response.


Wark nods to the orc named Claw Face and it about to continue the discussion when a sudden glow makes all of the orcs present exclaim loudly. A blue glow suffuses through the ruins and the stark flora around them. The goblins look at each other in some confusion - what could this be?

The captain looks uncertainly at the others and draws the war hammer from his back while turning his warg in the direction of the light. "We could run for it," he says in a loud voice. "Who knows what that is." Then a sudden thought comes to him. "It is the glory of the Flame come to help us in our need!" he yells. "Do not be afraid for it will strike down our enemies so that we can return in safety to Moria from this useless quest."

Thari's axe swings as if to release energy and touches nothing. An orc shouts, and this dwarf, perhaps the smallest around them, shouts back, "Baruk khazad ai-menu!" The healer's voice rings out clear, strong and deep as it passes into the dark ruins.


On comes the clip-clop of light hooves over the hard ground. Experienced ears might place the gait at a steady trot and the equine as smaller than a horse perhaps. But as yet the rider is not visible, not even as a dark shape, and though the sounds grow, it would still take a silent night for those without sharp ears to hear it. And alas, the night is soon disturbed by noises beyond those of nature.

This perhaps, this shouting contest between orc and dwarf, is mayhap what draws the rider on. For, those with very keen hearing indeed, might hear the clip-clop stop for a moment, then a second later pick up renewed, faster now but away from the road.


Glugg winces at the strange light, and yanks the bow from his back, scrambling backwards behind a squatty bush that looks like it wishes it wasn't actually there. "Run for it," he mumbles. "Run for it. Yah, le's run!"


The eerie scream reaches the warders ears, the foul facial expression says it all. "Joyous is the occasion when the orc meet there maker." Gunburrk says in a growling tone. He now grips the hilt of his battle-axe with both of his hands. The leather gloves of the red bearded dwarf grip the dwarven made battle-axe so tight that the color seems to be drained from the face of the dwarf. "It is even greater when I send them to it!"

Pshpin is suddenly made aware the camp in a surge, he pushes himself off where he had been relaxing somewhat. He moves swiftly towards the huddle looking around the same way, but taking time to move the shield to his arm locking it on as he waits for something to happen next.

Lucy does not wield a weapon.. not yet. The yelling back and forth, the SMELL of those beyond the ruins brings Lucy more forward. She pays no mind to the orcs near her feet, and the hulking beast rushes forward as a child would at the promise of tastey treats. She watches the movement in shadows, round eyes reflecting what little light the moon and stars may offer.

Nauthcel arrives from the Road.

Nauthcel has arrived.


Others, yet hidden and silent amid the rolling land, the ruins, the darkness... hear the hisses, the cries, growling and whimpering. They remain hidden, slipping like shadows, few and grey cloaked.

Rhifaroth's own eyes watch the glow of Mithrandir's blade as the last of the sun's light has retreated and night's darkness has enveloped them all. Easing carefully down from his rocky perch, long bow held in his left hand, the man begins to move very carefully closer to the ruins, quietly. He limps a little, pausing often to listen. The sounds of the foe whisper through the stones of this place, drawing them in.


Glugg feels for an arrow, fitting it to his bowstring without ever looking away from the stunty, nasty creatures below. He squints at one in particular and bends the bow and shoots. It might be yet a little far - but it is downhill.


"Do not going rushing off to kill them by yourselves." The wizard replies grimly and grips the hilt of the glowing Glamdring in one hand and his gnarled old staff in the other. Yet somehow that gnarled old staff does not look quite old and unthreatening now. Beneath the brim of his blue hat Gandalf's eyes also seem to glow with a fierce light as he listens the raucous howls and jeers of the orcs and wolves all about them.


Now the riders in Wark's small party are milling around, shouting to each other and drawing their weapons and looking uncertainly at their captain.

The sounds of enemies are very close now, as are evidenced by the unmistakeable sounds of battle - the clash of steal and the cries of the wounded and dying.

"Wait!" Wark commands, though his voice lacks conviction. "Form a line on the crest of the hill," he orders. As the come up we will have the advantage." The small patrol, not more than ten in number move to obey, though there is much casting of glances towards the way home, and supposed safety.

The captain is nearly mowed down by Lucy as she makes her mad dash forward. With an oath that is creative in its use of orcish nasties, Wark pulls his warg out of the way just in time to avoid being made a permanent part of the earth here.


The faint sound of something is heard in the air, suddenly the whizzing sound grows near. "What the.." Says the confused warder when almost instantly an arrow comes slicing through the night sky landing into the tip of the boot of Gunburrk. The arrow just missed the big toe of the red bearded dwarf. "I just bought these!" Exclaims the warrior with annoyance, "They shall pay!"


The grey uruk, whose face has been maimed by claw, slaps his wolf's side, and lowers his position, striding forth on the beast like a barrel down a hill. His goal? That shining, elven torch. A spear is drawn and thrown in one fluid motion, soaring toward Gandalf the Grey, the most obvious target in a sea of stunties.


"Aaaahhh!" Thari shouts into the night as a hulking mountain of darkness comes pounding towards the dwarves. This one tries to sidestep the rush and, at the same time, place the blade of the small axe-- no mighty battle-axe here-- into the shin of the troll.

Thari attacks Lucy with its Axe, but Lucy parries the attack with her Club!


It is the troll that claims the Thane's attention. A feral grin spreads upon his face, and he charges the beast, swinging his hammer for the knee opposite the leg that Thari has attacked.

Ovor attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.


His first arrow misses. Glugg curses and crawls closer, reaching for another arrow. It is impossible to remain entirely hidden now; but perhaps the shouting and clashing will distract from him. He aims again and shoots.


The spear flies straight and true toward its target, yet that gnarled old staff, seemingly from nowhere, flashes up to knock the projectile out of the air. Gandalf's face is grim as it looks out at the charging Troll and the old wizard grumbles under his breath and starts to make his way toward the Troll.

Glugg launches an arrow...

Glugg's bowshot hits Gunburrk, mildly wounding him.


As soon as he makes his last statement of, "They shall pay!", another arrow comes twirling through the air and finds a new home in the shoulder of Gunburrk, resting nicely in the combination of skin and his ring-mail armor. Engulfed in the mayhem ensuing around him, the red bearded dwarf charges forward into the onslaught his battle-axe held firmly close to him as he searches for a target.


Though Glamdring glows with magical light of old, it is not enough to light all of the foes except those who come close enough into that illumination. Amid the ruins, other lights are kindled and one such is thrown down from the rocks above to aid in throwing targets into relief. A torch, made of stout wood with several layers of oiled cloth afixed to it spins end over end to fall where there are sounds of wargs and orcish cries.

Even as that light has been thrown, Rhifaroth has nocked an arrow and draws on the unfamiliar long bow, taking the barest breath to aim. Then his dart is released. Not waiting to see if it strikes it's mark, a second arrow is drawn and placed. The man limps forward in a short run to closer cover and draws on another target.


Another spear is drawn, but this time it is held in hand. The grey orc swerves, moving to intercept his target. But the old man is so fast! How can that be? No matter. Clawface draws a long dagger in his off hand, and squeezes his wolf tightly with his thighs. The speed increases.

The dagger, thrown.

It hurls through the air toward Gandalf.

"Hyaagh!" the goblin cries.

Lucy stands, minding her own business.. watching all the smaller bodies run at each other. The promise of blood makes the large olog smile. She begins to reach for her club just as she sees not one, but TWO of the little furry faces running for HER. She manages to move away from both of their blows, fingers grip the club tightly. "Lucy said t'go... Lucy warned..." She glares at the two closest to her now, pondering just which to have a go at first. With a downswing of her club, aiming or Ovor's shoulder, she lets out a growlish laugh.

Lucy attacks Ovor with her Club and severely wounds him!


In the bare light of the quarter moon a dark shape can now be seen coming up the Greenway, blacker than the black of night. It is a short figure, though mounted, and the jangle of harness and hauberk accompany the step of the pony. Then the clash of battle rends the night and suddenly the pony breaks into swift movement.

Across the expanse between the rider and the just-started battle comes a shout, at first an angry grunt, then raised to a long, rumbling call. There is at once joy and rage in the voice. "Khazad! Khazad! Khazaaad!" Out of the darkness comes Frarin son of Forli, blue war hammer glinting at his side.

Pshpin rushes forward as the orcs plans seem to crumble with the fight being brought around them his club being raises he looks for who he will go after as he still moves ever closer to the now sound of battle.


This time the glowing blue blade knocks the thrown dagger from the air, and the old man spins with the momentum of his swing. As he comes around to face the orc mounted on the Warg he points the end of his staff at the evil pair, and with a quiet word of power an arc of flame flashes out toward Clawface and his mount.


Passing from rock to overgrown foliage, a figure moves silently among the ruins of Fornost with a sense of familiarity before finally coming to perch low on a former wall. Quiet had the scene been until suddenly dwarf and orc can be heard to be moving against each other. In starlight and by the glow of the wizard's sword, Nauthcel watches as the battle begins. Only moments does he wait before he lifts the longbow that had been held close to his side. Drawing an arrow, he nocks and pulls back on the yew string before letting the dart loose among the clamour that is the dreaded orcs.


Screaming a MOrghash war cry, half of the riders in Wark's command begin rushing down the hill after the Troll. Wark and the rest have little choice but the follow. The wargs zigzag around obstacles uttering full throated howls as they smell the enemy ahead.

Suddenly, the night is illuminated by many spots of light and there is the unmistakeable hum of arrows flying through the darkness. Though he cannot see it, Wark knows that the rider in front of him has fallen, for his warg is airborn as it leaps over the writhing form of one of its brothers. The captain barely manages to stay on by wrapping one clawed hand firmely around the think neck hair of his mount. The warg lands - falters to its knees, regains its feet, and then bounds out beside the troll.

"Nooo," yells Wark as he desperately whacks his mount on the neck to get it to move away from Lucy.

[Clawface(#30188)] Amber eyes widen.

"Skai!" Clawface cries, leaping from his mount and tumbling, leaving the warg to enjoy the bath of flames on its own. It rears up, crying wildly, yowling and snarling, and dashes, kicking and scratching, amid the crowd of Khazad.

Clawface narrows his eyes. Did that thing just shoot fire at me?

He pauses to search his surroundings, hoping for anything that would protect against further jets of flame.


"Skai," he repeats, and lifts his spear, kissing the blade. He runs, then, almost prone, toward the cloaked, bearded figure, and leaps blindly, swinging his spear down, executioner-style. Another visceral roar errupts from his throat.

[<#30188>] Clawface says in Morbeth, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"

[+SET] Dulugobghaash puts on his long black judicial robe.

[Arbiter Globals(#722)] [+TIMEWARP] Dulugobghaash(#28992) timewarps this location to NIGHT.

[<#31993>] Gandalf watches as the flames burn the warg as the vile beast runs off. He then turns to his foe and raises his blade to catch the spear and replies, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" He then sends the blue blade arcing towards the flank of the attacking Orc.


No charge of two enemy lines is this battle, and Frarin pulls his mount up short, swiftly clambering down from the pony as he nears the clashing orcs and dwarves. A loud grunt accompanies the quick dismount, an unexpected barb of pain hunching the dwarf over for a moment. But there is no time for the grimace of old injuries.

The dwarf hefts up his hammer, grasping it with both hands, though the left grip is lighter. Amid the see of battling black shapes, one in particular stands out. The rather large one with the rather hiddeous crown, as it were.

"Bit far from home," mutters Frarin, jogging painfully towards Lucy and her attackers. "Back you go now." And the dwarf gives a cry of "Khazad ai Menu!" before charging the olog, the spike of his war hammer aiming for Lucy's, for want of a better word, knee.

Frarin attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but he misses by a long shot.

Thari stumbles back and ducks as a club passes over and hits the unfortunate Ovor. Above the sounds of the night comes that of another dwarf. "Khazaaaad!" Thari cries again. The healer's axe swings for the back of Lucy's knee just as Frarin's warhammer swings for the front.

Another 'warcry' is added. "Frarin! NO!"

Thari attacks Lucy with its Axe and mildly wounds her!


Ah, the Thane is not quick. This is clearly seen by the fact that the club of the troll manages to land nicely on Ovor's shoulder with an audible crack. A most interesting string of curses comes from the Thane as he drops to his knees. After a few minutes, he pushes himself up and backwards, hammer in his good hand, dragging along the ground. But instead of attacking, the Thane instead backs away, trying to make his way south.


Clawface raises his spear to block, and snarls, "Ha!"

But there's one problem. His spear snaps in two, steel though it is, and the blade nicks the poor bugger accross what used to be a nose. Black blood spurts out at Gandalf, and Clawface lets out a shrill shriek, and swings the remnants of his spear at the wizard, still foolish enough to brave the encounter.

A flaming warg leaps through the mess of combat, snarling and shrieking.


Ovor tries to flee from Lucy, but he fails!

Lucy watches the dwarf go down and smiles a wicked smile. She turns, starting toward the other that had attacked her. She watches Thari, lifting her club in a side swing just as yet another comes at her. Frarin's attack barely misses her, causing her to take a step back and away. As she does, Thari returns with a vengence, connecting with her blow to Lucy's knee. It does little harm, but it certainly gets the olog's attention! The club comes up again swinging in a low arch as if to hit Thari's side and sweep her away.

Lucy attacks Thari with her Club and severely wounds it!


Moving again, limping a bit and dragging his weak leg a little, Rhifaroth moves closer still to seek another target. Arrow nocked, he is watching the area around one of the thrown torches for just such an orc to show itself when up out of the darkness nearer to hand looms a warg without a rider!

The man twists and releases his arrow at the beast as it leaps, throwing his shoulder against a stone of the ruin to help him keep his feet. In an instant the beast has gone past. Rhifaroth draws another arrow, not even sure if he hit it, watching the darkness - but the thing seems to have already been engaged as sounds of fighting near by erupt in the night.

Moving again, the man watches until he catches sight of a movement, another warg rider below, not far from the troll. Another arrow is released to rain down in the night.


A whistle of glee is interrupted by a shout of disappointment as Glugg's arrow does much less damage than he hopes. He hops up in a rage, and grabs another arrow, shooting wildly towards the fray. Dumb goblin. Aiming generally helps.


Ah, the troll is distracted. Good news for the Thane. He continues his southward path, slowed by his arm but steadily.


As the steel spear shatters under the impact of the elven wrought blade, the old wizard, not looking quite so old or frail now, raises his staff to block the uruk's retaliatory strike. As both hands seem to be occupied he raises one booted foot and kicks at the creature's chest, all the while his grey robes sling about him making him appear as if he were a thunderstorm.

Ovor has left.


Several small cracking noises can be heard as Thari is struck on the side. The small dwarf's breath is pushed out in a grunt. Thari's form is lifted from the ground to fly into the darkness before landing with a hard thud some distance away from Lucy. The healer lies there, crumpled.


His desperate whacking at the neck of the warg seems to finally register in its brain, for Wark's mount suddenly peels off to one side - luckily for it, for the club that is aimed at Thari narrowly misses the captain. He casts about for another taraget and begins to bear down on something white in what little light there is.

"Aiyeeeeahssssss," Wark yells as he bears down on what turns out to be one of the stunted ones. His war hammer hovers for an instant and then arcs downward for Gunburrk's helm.

Wark attacks Gunburrk with his War Hammer and lightly wounds him!


"Thari!" cries Frarin, momentary relief raising his voice for a moment, even though her own 'greeting' is less than happy. But the silver merchant's relief is short lived, for even as his own hammer soars harmlessly past the towering olog and Thari's axe takes a small hit, so also does Lucy's sweeping club strike the dwarf healer mercilessly in the side.

"Hoh!" Frarin grunts with sudden surprise, anger renewed. Every inch of his will is required to keep the merchant from following Thari, to check his friend, to protect her. But no greater protection is there than distracting the hungry Lucy. "Leave her alone!" cries the raged Frarin. And in he goes for another attack, this time swinging the mallet of his hammer up and towards Lucy's thigh.

You paged Thari with 'Ut oh... maybe you need to be dragged out?'.

Frarin attacks Lucy with his War Hammer, but he misses by an arm's length.

Pshpin rushes into the confusion of battle and find himself near the most dangerous foe this side of the troll. The gray cloaked man, he grins a foul evil grin and moves raising his club he takes a over head strike at the figure.

[Clawface(#30188)] CRACK!

As foot collides with chest, Clawface is stunned. His spear, in two halves, flies out at odd angles, tinged blue. Clawface arcs through the air gracefully, landing with a KRUNCH on the back of his head, toppling over himself, unconcious, bleeding from the mouth. His body twitching occasionaly, lay in a smoldering heap on the ground.

Pshpin attacks Gandalf with his Mace, but he misses by a mile.

Lucy's brows raise... if a troll HAD brows.. as she looks down at the persistant little furryfaced Frarin. She tilts her head, looking from him to the fallen Thari and back. "Lucy has room for both.." she assures, leaving Thari be for the moment to step toward Frarin. The club is raised again and brought down hard toward Frarin's head and shoulders.

Lucy attacks Frarin with her Club and badly wounds him!


Gunburrk, dashing into the fray struggles to gain his overwhelmed senses. His moment of hesitation does not benefit him in anyway as the cruel feeling of pain comes crashing down toward his shoulder, crushing his ring-mail into his skin. Stumbling to his knees he quickly gets back up as quickly as he fell and grips his battle-axe tight as he swings it blindly behind him trying to hit the foul beast that attacked him.

Gunburrk attacks Wark with his Battle Axe, but Wark parries the attack with his War Hammer!


The momentum of the kick carries Gandalf forward, just in time to avoid the slash of a downward falling sword. The blade slices by him, barely missing. He turns to face his foe, the menacing glow of the Foe Hammer making his craggy features seems even more stony and cold then they usually are. He stands ready waiting for his opponents next attack.


Rhifaroth is suddenly down to his last arrow - already! But there was so little time for fletching, once he got to Bree for supplies. Gritting his teeth, the man is now at edge of the main fighting around the dwarves and the tall Wizard's gleaming blade.

Taking careful aim to make his last arrow count, the man lifts the long bow Strider gave to him and let's the dart loose ... aimed yet again for one of the wargs, this one ridden by Wark.

Something though is thrown through the night's air to land with a sickening sound very close to the grey clad man. Rhifaroth's instinct is to draw back and reach with his right hand for the hilt of his blade - but it is no warg or orc. It is the familiar if crumpled form of Thari!

Hastily throwing his bow over his head and left arm, Rhifaroth leaves the cover of foliage and ruins and moves to the fallen Dwarven healer.


As chaos takes hold of the night, it grows increasingly hard to distinguish who is getting the better of this ambush. Blades and blood abound. As the force of the ambush slows against the adept skills of its intended victims, a small second wave enters the fray. A few orcs with swords and spears rush out from whence the previous surge came. Among them is the guard Dulugobghaash, who cries out "Break them!" as he charges forth with blade aloft.

Pshpin misses recovering from the first strike, the old man is faster than he seems but this orc is determined to prove himself abit foolishly perhaps his next strike is a baseball bat swing at the old man.


Glugg's arrow flies wild - and wide - almost hitting the troll who is on /his/ side. He snarls, and shoots again; aiming almost at random.


Wark's beast sails past the Dwarf but comes to a sliding stop as it digs its powerful forepaws into the rocky soil. As it turns back a malicious grin comes over the face of the captain for he knows that his blow landed, though in the dim light, he cannot tell how badly off his enemy is.

The captain's booted heels dig into the warg urging it to leap at Gunburrk once more.

"I need a new skull for drinking my ale from! Aieyeeeeah!" Wark screams as he bears down on the short one once more. The war hammer descends once more for the helm of his enemy - the distance to the ground causing Wark to have to lean over on his mount as he aims for the dwarf's shoulder.

Wark attacks Gunburrk with his War Hammer and mildly wounds him!

Pshpin attacks Gandalf with his Mace and mildly wounds him!

Thari's head shifts. The healer's head tilts back, and grey eyes sheening blue with the distant light of Gandalf's sword give a look to the approaching Rhifaroth.

Conciousness is not a blessing. Thari's expression is crumpled into pain, terror, and perhaps something else. "He's going to die." The deep voice cracks from strain, face paling in the darkness.


Down falls Lucy's relentless club and Frarin is caught once more by it. The dwarf's hammer swings wide and meets only air, but he skips back with a painful grunt, thus perhaps saving his life by a thread. For the troll's crude weapon crushes down from the sky and catches Frarin, not directly atop the head, but falls upon his left shoulder. The outstretched left arm gives a sudden, ringing crack as recently-mended bone is broken anew. Indeed, it is luck only that keeps the left shoulder from being ripped away entirely by the force of the blow.

Frarin stumbles back with a pained grunt and a huff of expelled air. His jaw tightens and his eyes narrow, but even stumbling, the dwarf remains upright. A half glance goes to Thari's prostrate form again and that seems enough to spur the silver merchant forward once more. His left arm hanging useless at his side, Frarin swings his hammer with his good right hand only, aiming the spike at Lucy's thight once more.

Frarin attacks Lucy with his War Hammer and moderately wounds her!

Glugg launches an arrow...

Glugg's arrow flies wide, doing no harm.


The sharp sound of steel on steel rings through glade as the mighty swing of the orc Pshpin is caught on the glowing blade of Gandalf. The old wizard grunts with the impact and retaliates with a swing of his own. This one is aimed at the orc's neck, just above the armor, in short it is meant to decapitate his adversary.

Gandalf attacks Pshpin with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.


Once again the red bearded warrior wears an expression of pain as his left shoulder is slouched greatly in pain. Still managing to grip his battle-axe with both hands, another blow from the darkness comes crippling down toward the warder, this time Gunburrk attempts to sidestep but his oafish movement is too slow and his left arm meets the hammer of the orc. "This isn't good", mutters the warrior to himself as his eyes struggle to make out the figures in the darkness when suddenly he lunges forward with great pain as his axe is raised high above his head. With great force he brings it down on a large mass, he can just make out the silhouette of an orc mounted on a beast.


Nauthcel continues to release arrows into the foray while the dwarves and wizard challenge the yrch. Not long does it take before an arrow is heard zooming by the Ranger on his perch. In response, he attempts to let how own dart loose in the direction that the arrow came from.

Gunburrk attacks Wark with his Battle Axe, but he misses by a handspan.

Nauthcel launches an arrow...

Nauthcel's bowshot hits Glugg, badly wounding him.


Tattooed hands grip at Thari even as Rhifaroth glances up to keep an eye on what is going on around them. Calloused fingers dig into the Dwarf healer's bloodied armour and he heaves, forcing Thari half up enough to drag her. The tall man grunts with the effort, his bad left leg still weak from long recovery.

Adrenalin is a wonderful thing and lends strength. Rhifaroth drags Thari back towards the limited cover of the stones and foliage of the ruins, "Who, Thari?"

Lucy starts to step back toward Thari, only to be attacked YET AGAIN by Frarin. This time, however, his blow connects.. hard. The sharp point stabs deep into her thick skin, bringing a strangled grunt from the big beast. She glares down at him then to her wound, watchin the dark blood slowly trickle down her leg. No more words now, the club is brought up high and swept in another low arch, intended to bat him hard in the side and away from her.

Lucy attacks Frarin with her Club and terribly wounds him!


As orcs look to cull the wounded and beaten, there are few such prey to seek. It seems that all of those who might be ripe for slaying are disappearing into the darkness as if by some magic spell! Orcs instead work to try to encircle the foes. Dulugobghaash is among that group, sliding around the side of battle to cut off one escape route.

[Clawface(#30188)] A grey heap of flesh rolls, groaning. The sounds of battle? Get up, oaf. More to be done.

Though Clawface's eyes never shut, there was definitely a moment there, when he was not all there.

He staggers up, and pats himself down. I need a weapon. Any weapon.

A dagger at his side. It will have to do. He wields it, ready to stab at a second's notice.

He staggers, and regains some composure. That old fart did this! I'll show him... Now where is he?

There... Tangling with that other orc. Psh. Take my revenge, eh? Not bloody likely.

He takes caution. Approach from behind. Don't let him see your approach.

You might even have a chance at cutting him.


Glugg is dancing a happy dance of triumph when the return arrow bites deep into his leg, and sticks there. Shrieking, the goblin drops his bow, and grabs his leg, then tries to work the arrow out. Unable to do so, he draws a wickedly sharp scimitar and hacks at the arrow, finally getting it out. Blood gushes from his calf, as he ties a rag around his leg; then looks up, snarling with both hatred and pain, to find the one who did this to him.

Thari's left leg shifts while being lifted and a hard grunt of pain is given. The dwarf's entire left side from thigh to the bottom of the ribs seems crumpled in. "Frarin!" the healer grunts to Rhifaroth. The dwarf is heavy while being dragged, and strong hands reach up to curl around the man's wrists as if to aid him.


Thari tries to flee from Lucy, but it fails!


Again the war hammer makes contact! Now the fangy grin on Wark's face makes him look hideous indeed. The warg rushes past the dwarf and then, resistant to the commands of the captain, angles off to take a bite out of one of its own as it passes. The body of the orc is shaken and tossed aside as Wark struggles to regain control of his recalcitrant beast. It is only after he whacks it smartly on the muzzle that it finally turns back towards Gunburrk.

This time he runs at the dwarf full speed - the war hammer circling - gaining momentum to come down on the enemy's head with a crushing force.

But it is not to be! Out of the darkness comes another slavering warg, this one with a rider flopping as dead weight from the crudely constructed saddle. The two collide at full speed, and stagger backwards, the captain's mount being knocked back on its haunches.


No longer is the bow needed as Nauthcel prepares himself for close combat. With the weapon being returned to his back, longsword is drawn and shield equipped. He then begins to move towards the heat of the battle ready to engage any who care to challenge him.

[Combat(#13388)] Nauthcel unwields Analyth.

[Combat(#13388)] Nauthcel swiftly draws his longsword Lothwin from it's sheath.

[Combat(#13388)] Nauthcel puts on Leather Shield.


Again that sickening crunch of new bone re-broken rends the night air. For Lucy's blow is once again successful, just as had been more than a month ago. And this time it does not break merely break an arm. Into Frarin's side crashes the troll's club, and the ribs seem to know the blunt weapon only too well, for the crumple beneath it with ease.

The dwarf is lifted into the air as if jerked suddenly by some invisible string, violently flying to his right. He soars into the darkness, gone from the centre of the battle, but landing with a rasp of iron near the edge of it. Fate is not so kind to Frarin this time, however, for even as he lands like a rag doll upon his back, body and arm broken anew, he sputters up a wracking cough once more. Consciousness, it seems, has yet to leave him, even if any semblence of movement has.


Although the perimeter formed by the orcs' second wave seems to be leaking escapees, the group holds firm and begin to close. With a voice like sandpaper, Dulugobghaash rasps a command as the circle tightens: "Gather tighter. Choke them."


Rhifaroth manages to get Thari from from the fray, half lifting the Dwarven healer and still otherwise dragging the Dwarf. The man limps but keeps his own feet, turning his head often to look where he is going. He hisses between his teeth, "Frarin's still hurt - saw him this morning."

But even as the man gets Thari out, orcs and wargs can be seen circling and closing in around the defenders, likely cutting off further escape for the wounded without hewing a new path through them.

Laying Thari down, Rhifaroth looks around quickly, "There's a pony I saw straying... I'll bring it. If there is time, I'll look for Frarin."

Pshpin is lucky the blade of the man misses him so closely he can feel it's wind at his neck, he gulps before moving back attacking with his crude mace at the arm of the man

Pshpin attacks Gandalf with his Mace, but he misses by an arm's length.


"Course he's still hurt!" Thari gasps. The healer's head tosses and fists tear at the dirt. Blood seeps thickly from the dwarf's poor hip. "Ah! Baruk Khazad! Where is my axe?" Thari looks around with eyes that roll in their sockets. There is a battle against unconsciousness.


As Dulugobghaash gestures to direct the guards' movement, the circle grows slowly tighter. Like a noose, the loose formation of orcs draws tighter around its intended victims.

Gandalf easily sways out of reach of Pshpin's mace, the hideous weapon coming nowhere close to the old wizard. He grumbles about quick orcs and his glowing blue blade flashes out like a snake, this time aiming for orcs unarmored arm that holds the mace. In the fray he seems to have not noticed the advance of Clawface, but as with all things about the old wizard looks can be deceiving.

Gandalf attacks Pshpin with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!


The warder as best as he can attempts to keep his eyes on his target, revenge manifesting itself inside of him as he does so. Sweat begins to pour down the face and down the gloves of the red bearded warrior. The pace of his heart quickens with every passing moment, when suddenly the collision between the orcish riders happen. Taking full advantage of the situation Gunburrk raises his battle-axe into the air with great effort as he lets out a howling scream into the air, charging forward toward the wreck. The warrior quickens his pace, his heart racing, the rage building inside of him. So close in the darkness he can see the huddled mass of beast and orc, when suddenly the dwarf falls flat on his face, stumbling over a groaning mass.

"Gunburrk! Help me!", groans the fallen dwarf beneath him, blood trickling down his forhead, becoming matted in his beard. Gunburrk arrives to his feet squinting down quickly, "Ganlin, I shall return too you, stay with the fight!" Gunburrk hops over his mortal wounded friend, and mutters a quick praryer for him and himself as he once again with great effort raises his axe into the air and leaps forward toward the collision in front of him bringing his axe into the heart of it.


Glugg staggers upright, grabbing for his shield and taking his scimitar in a different grip. He heads furiously towards a man nearby - whether he is the One or not, it hardly matters. Limping a bit, he slashes out at him.

Gunburrk attacks Wark with his Battle Axe, but he misses by an arm's length.

Glugg removes Bow.

Glugg puts down a Bow.

[Combat(#13388)] Glugg puts on Wooden Shield.

[Combat(#13388)] Glugg wields Scimitar.

Lucy stands back, watching the battle for a moment. Many have fallen, on both sides, and Lucy begins to eye those bodies with hungry interest. She steps back, club still in hand, ready in case another decides to take a shot. With eyes on the action, she reaches for a few of the scattered and broken, clutching them tight in her hand, caring not if they are orc or dwarf. Again, she backs away... satisfied with the catch, at least for now. At least she wont go to bed hungry.


No sooner has he turned away to find that pony he saw than Rhifaroth has to jerk his long sword free of its scabbard to defend himself as an orc leaps out of the brush! Long blade meets scimitar and he manages a parry with the ring of steel. It is too dark to see much, this far from Gandalf's glowing blade and staff, too far from the torches and oiled rags for the archers. But a lucky thrust into the heart of the dark silhouette wounds the creature which shrieks and leaps back. For a moment, Rhifaroth disappears into the night and pursues the foe only long enough to be certain that it won't ravage Thari while he goes for the pony.

A few minutes later, the man comes back leading a very frightened, small, fat pony - it looks like it is Frarin's own but in the dark, it's hard to tell. Rhifaroth sheaths his blade for the moment - his hands are not gentle as he moves to lift Thari to that small saddle, "Go! Get out of here, Thari! I'll look for you come the light, if I am able."

Lucy has disconnected.

Glugg attacks Nauthcel with his Scimitar, but he misses by a mile.


Nauthcel is ready as an orc approaches him and attempts to free him of a limb for the attack does not land its intended mark as the Ranger sidesteps the blade. Taking only a moment to find footing, the Constant counters with his own slash that is aimed towards the soft spot between the collar bone and neck. As he swings, he says in the Westron tongue, "You shall not foul a place of former peace."

Nauthcel attacks Glugg with his Longsword and moderately wounds him!

Thari's right hand scrabbles around in the dirt but no axe is found. The shield is lifted over head as battle goes on, exposing the dwarf's more-useless lower half. Suddenly, hands are again lifting the heavy dwarf.

Thari collapses on the back of the pony, head on its neck. "M'family won't forget this, Rhiffrath." Dark blood stains the left leg, but the right taps at the pony's side.

Strangely, rather than turning straight south, the fist in the pony's mane is directing the beast back to where the troll was, and Frarin.

[Clawface(#30188)] Clawface slinks. His blade ready, he skulks closer, but keeps his distance, wary of flame or electricity. He moves in for an attack, but feigns, gauging the wizard's reaction-time.


Wark desperately kicks at his warg, trying to get it to regain its feet, but it appears to be dazed and only shakes its large head. "Move! Get up, you maggot!" Wark screams at the top of his lungs.

He is dimly aware of a figure rushing towards him in the dim light, and his beady eyes widen in fear because he is in no position to attack. As the dwarf swings, he can only duck and hope for the best. It seems as if the luck of the Flame is with him tonight, for Gunburrk's axe sails harmlessly over his head. A second or two later and it would have cut through his neck, for the warg finally struggles to its feet only a short distance from the dwarf. A sharp blow to its neck makes it turn growling, the saliva dripping from those awesome jaws.

"You shall have a nice feast tonight, me pretty," Wark croons as he trots towards the dwarf, swinging the war hammer once more in an arc for his enemie's helmet as he leans over to deliver the blow.

Wark attacks Gunburrk with his War Hammer and moderately wounds him!


Poor Glugg. Not only has he been stuck through the leg with an arrow, but the man's sword has sliced off a healthy ribbon of skin from his arm. More blood splashes out, spilling blackly over the ground. The orc wavers, then gathers himself for another blow - not a very strong one, missing half its hitting power.

Glugg attacks Nauthcel with his Scimitar and moderately wounds him!


The second attack from the orc is able to make contact with the Ranger's upper arm causing the fabric and skin to be sliced over. The Man winces in pain before he regains focus. "That was not very nice," are his words to his opponent as he once again swings his blade appearing to aim for the neck of the creature to cleave the head from body. As if in mimicry of the night, the blade that glides through the air is now darkened by the orc blood.

Nauthcel attacks Glugg with his Longsword, but he misses by a handspan.


He misses, to the total disbelief of the dwarf his attack to the mass of the collision misses. Suddenly the impact of an unbearable weight comes crashing into his chest, pressing in the painful ring-mail deeply into his chest, causing blood to trickle out from underneath. Needless to say the mighty blow has sent Gunburrk flying into the darkness a few feet beyond where he lands on top of another mass, by the feel of it he would guess dwarf. There he lays motionlessly temporarily paralyzed he breathes heavily. Moments pass as he manages to get himself on his stomach, slowly he begins to crawl to safety.


Gandalf's last strike seems to have frightened Pshpin off. The old wizard glances around to see who is still standing and who else might need aid. He begins to head in the direction of a few beleaguered dwarves.

Dulugobghaash eyes the horrid countenance of Clawface from across the handful of combatants as the perimeter of orcs draws nearer. "On my signal," he barks at Clawface and the other encircling orcs. "Crush them from all sides."


When Gandalf casts his gaze upon the dwarves, that's when Clawface strikes! He leaps forward, bounding on three of his four limbs, dagger at the ready. He builds up speed and swings the dagger under-handed, straight for Gandalf's buttocks.

[<#30188>] Clawface says in Morbeth, "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>"


There might have been a muttered curse as the pony he thrust Thari upon doesn't disappear into the southern darkness, but is turned sharply to head back towards the battle. But there's no time for it.

Rhifaroth draws for his blade once more and is kept busy for several moments with an orc who prowls outside of the main ring. There is more light here, if dim, caught and reflected upon leaping steel. A scimitar licks out and opens up a slice across Rhifaroth's upper left arm - him not having any armour anymore and only a ragged shirt on beneath his grey cloak.

The man sidesteps but manages to likewise wound the creature, forcing it back. Already wounded earlier, it turns and flees into the darkness, freeing up the man to turn once more and pursue Thari in the search for Frarin.


A solid hit this time! Wark is already beginning to salivate at the thought of carving up his prey, but as yet with the battle continuing this is neither the time nor the place. In addition, as the captain he turns the warg around, his dinner seems to have disappeared.

"What th'?!" he growls, and then begins moving backwards and forwards trying to find the dwarf while avoiding being killed by the enemy and errant wargs alike.


Some say that old men cannot hear as well as younger men, well such is not the case with Gandalf the Grey. He hears the approach of Clawface and at the last moment pivots on one leg, but not in time to totally avoid the stab of the dagger. It grazes the old man's hip, and as punishment for the blow he brings his staff down viciously aiming it at the lunging orc's heavily scared head.


"Not nice!" chitters Glugg, cackling drunkenly. "Glugg's not nice!" He grins evilly, showing jagged teeth, and ducks under the swinging blade, stabbing his own towards the ranger's legs.

Glugg attacks Nauthcel with his Scimitar, but he misses by a mile.


Clawface's attack is unanticipated by the others surrounding the combatants, causing a rift in the ring of orcs. The group rushes to close it, but the opportunity remains for a quick mover to dash through the circle of orcs and break free.

[Frarin(#31050)] Were Frarin to be stood up at that moment, the entirety of his left side would appear significantly flatter than the right. And indeed, it is no illusion of the eyes. Even splayed outas he is upon his back, Frarin's left shoulder rests lower than the right and a dark stain spreads between the shoulder and neck where the skin has been ripped by the sheer force of Lucy's first strike.

As for his side, the dwarf's hip seems also to have suffered from Lucy's relentless strength this time, for there is another dark blotch spreading there. Again a gurgling cough spews forth from Frarin's chest and the dwarf's dull eyes careen around the sky about him, head shaking from side to side. Oh but for the relief of unconsciousness! The gaze is misting over, clawing for a departure from the world of living.

Thari! The thought seems to rip through Frarin's muddled thoughts. It may be the only comprehensible thought to push past everything else jostling for a place in Frarin's mind. And perhaps that fading mind sees itself rising and charging back to battle, but whatever the hallucination, the dwarf's good right hand barely manages to claw the dirt at his side. That, it seems, is the extent of his counter attack.


"Skai!" calls out a frustrated Dulugobghaash as the ambush group pushes to close the escape route.


Clawface, mirthful, is struck upon the bean with a crunch. His eyes roll into his head, and he stumbles, waving his arms drunkenly. Dagger, dropped. Equalibreum? Wassat?

Clawface somersaults backwards, entirely by accident.


Clawface seems to be beaten back for the moment, and Gandalf observes the opening that has been created and calls loudly over the din of battle. "Rally to me!" He cries. He holds up his staff and points it toward the enclosing line of orcs and again a gout of flame lashes out toward them from the end of the gnarled staff. Again he cries, "To me! Flee this way friends!"

Thari's pony maneouvers back to the site of the troll battle and hesitates beside fallen forms. The dwarf's whole body leans forward on the beast's neck and it is like this that at last Frarin is found, with Thari half leaning over the side, nearly falling off.

The healer's face is shadow as it looks down at the gravely wounded silversmith. "Frarin," comes Thari's groaning words. "Forli's son. Don't die. Come with me."


In a step that shrinks the amount of space the orc can target, Nauthcel moves himself out of the blade jab. In this new position, the Ranger attempts to return the stab at the enemy. "This shall teach you a lesson." His words are firm as they ring in unison with din of battle.

Nauthcel attacks Glugg with his Longsword and severely wounds him!

[Glugg(#28384)] ...And nearly loses his balance in the process. And his eye. Glugg's own blade slices sharply through empty air, cutting it to shreds; while the ranger's gashes open his forehead, sliding up along the skullbone and over the top. The orc shrieks in pain, both hands going to his face as he drops his scimitar entirely. He ducks backwards, tries to stumble away, but goes in a half-crazed circle; blinded by the blood that runs down his face and into his eyes.

Dulugobghaash is knocked back by the flames from the old man's staff. Rolling about on the ground to stifle the flames that lick at him, the guard abandons altogether his plans to throttle the ambushed group. "This is a foe beyond any of us!" comes his squealing cry. "Fly!"

Glugg removes Scimitar.

Glugg puts down a Scimitar.


Wark is becoming increasingly agitated at the thought that his prey has disappeared for he knows that the orc band is not likely to linger here after the battle, for the enemy is sure to return in strength. He turns in search of other prey and spots not only a Dwarf but a tasty pony it is sitting on.

With a cry of delight, the captain viciously swings his warg around and charges in that direction - only to be met with a sudden wall of flame! The warg stops dead in its tracks uttering the most hideous cries as the fire lashes at its face and chest. It begins to turn, but that only opens its side to the Flame as well. And now Wark is also exposed to it! "Aieeeoweeoee," he screams and struggles to get off the beast as it literally flames up under him. There is a very unpleasant smell of burning hair, as Wark scrambles to cover behind a handy rock.


Rhifaroth catches up to Thari and that pony. Once more the limping man must sheath his long sword to free up his hands. Even as he bends and squats to reach for Frarin's form he tilts his head back up to glance over the fighting, concerned about the others.

"Come on Frarin!" Gritting his teeth in his scarred face, Rhifaroth begins once more to haul upon a fallen Dwarf. Sun and Wind, but Dwarves are heavy in their mail!

No time for being nice and gentle. The Dunadan lifts Frarin's body and thrusts the bloodied silversmith over the whithers and neck of the stout pony even as he shoulders Thari roughly out of his way. "Now, damn you Thari - GO!" There is no waiting to see if the Dwarves will this time. Rhifaroth grabs the pony's head and turns it, then slaps the poor animal hard on the haunch to get it moving.


The unfocused eyes, grown dull and flickering, blink rapidly as Frarin struggles to keep his consciousness. It seems to be a losing battle though, for he registers no outward recognition as a grey pony and rider loom above him. Still his head rolls from side to side, the eyes scrunching tight then snapping open in a fume of muzzy thoughts and instincts. Thari's groaned words, however, if their owner is not recognised, seem to force their way into Frarin's feverish mind. The silver merchant limply rolls his head to his right.

He looks almost as if he is about the drop off to sleep, but the pause is soon overcome. With a long moan, Frarin attempts to roll to his side, but the effort is weak, pathetic at best. His right arm scrabbles against the earth, but he collapses after barely rising. "Augh! Grarin!" Whatever the pained cry may mean, it sounds tortured in both body and mind.

Then suddenly Frarin is hauled up and a shout escapes him. "Don't you--" he slurs out before being roughly drapped across Barim's stout shoulders. The silver merchant's dull gaze flickers, heading for unconsciousness.

Dulugobghaash rolls about on the ground, then remains prone with fear and exhaustion. The orcs' line has been broken. This ragtag quarry has bested them.


The orc then skreeches in pain which causes the Ranger to wince more out of irritation than pain. As the creature passes near him, Nauthcel lunches forward saying, "Let me put you out of your misery." The orc-bloodied blade cuts through the air towards the vile creature.

Nauthcel attacks Glugg with his Longsword, but he misses by a mile.


Glugg is entirely unaware of his narrow escape from death. He scrubs at his eyes, whimpering from the pain, and then trips and falls over a rock, rolling down the hill, yelping every time his leg, or head, or arm, meets the ground.


Rhifaroth has redrawn his blade but flinches in the motion as he was turning - for a great gout of flame as lept forth in the darkness in his general direction! But he is too far from it to feel it's hunger as orcs and wargs are consumed and wreathed in Gandalf's magic.

Still, having had a close brush with a collapsing, burning building just days before, the man blinks and lowers his arm as his eyes try to readjust to the recovered dimness. There is no Giliath here to aid him tonight.

Moving towards the line of scattering orcs, Rhifaroth briefly engages one, trying to help in the scatter to free those who were trapped within that ring only moments before...

Thari is pushed back and the whole head falls back. The healer grips Frarin's tunic to keeps from tumbling off, and lolling eyes look at Rhifaroth. This is all the thanks the man will get now.

Thari leans on Frarin's prone form, fisting the pony's mane as it starts a jarring trot. "Frarin, Frarin, stay, stay," the healer mumbles as if knowing he likely can't hear. The trot eases to a walk, but southward still they go. "I'll take care of you. Just... Just in a minute." The healer's words start to slur.


Nauthcel does not chase after the creature as it rolls down the hill seeming to consider the surrounding action to be enough for his attention. The Ranger chooses to engage other yrch as they more towards him taking a hit here or there in return for his own aggressive attacks.


Draped over Barim's neck, Frarin's legs and arms flap helplessly at the stout pony's sides. The grey hairs of the pony's shoulders are smeared with red by the injured dwarf, but onward the beast trots at Thari's bidding.

But the jolting of the trot does not seem to pain Frarin anymore. Indeed, not much does. For even as Thari directs their course south and leaves the battle behind, the silver merchant's head lolls and his eyes close. Into the relief of unconsciousness or something else, who can say.


Wark cowers behind his rock until the flame dies down. Only then does he hazard a glance around the edge. The sight and smell before him is enough to make him see that fleeing is a very good option. With this in mind, he crawls rapidly on his belly for the concealment of some bushes, and from thence down the slope.


Thanks to Mithrandir's flames, an assistance that they did not have at other such grusome meetings, the foe is broken and scattered into the darkness! Everywhere the orcs, half burned wargs, hobble and flee into the night. The stench of burnt flesh and fur has perhaps never been so welcome.

The ancient ruins, old and yet sacred to some, watch and loom still amid the darkness. The clamor of battle dies down, echoes pursued.

Rhifaroth pauses, looking around and seeing no more to fight. Blade drawn, only a little bloody himself for a change, the man moves to find a light. There are yet wounded here, and a pony to be tracked come first light.

-------------------------------------------------- End of RP Log -------------------------------------------