Post by Aris on Oct 12, 2008 7:36:04 GMT -5
........Blue light glinted off of Gondorian steel as the ranks of the company marched south through muck, mire, and deep puddles cleverly disguising the heavily traveled road beneath. They had been on the move for three days and the only sounds they could hear were the crack of thunder, the falling rain, and the steady beat of their blistered, bruised, and mud-stained feet. The burden of their gear and arms were nigh unbearable, and heavier still with the added weight of water sodden packs. Another bolt seemed to come as an angry dart from the heavens, illuminating the company like so many shining trumpets on the high walls of Minas Tirith; the forest around them seemed for an instant to be bathed in the bright rays of a rising sun, and the trickery of light created a thousand angry faces within the tree-line. As the light of the flash faded, an angrily rolling blast of thunder drowned the company in a sea of deafness and bewilderment, perfectly covering the blast of so many orc horns in the night.
........The club came down upon the helm of the weary soldier on Aristhir's left, blood spewing forth from the open face of the helm as the soldier fell face first into the mire with broken skull. Almost at once the company was beset on all sides, and some ran this way and that in horror, fearing that the storm had turned against them. The clash of steel rang through the woods, bouncing from tree to tree as many men fell before they could even draw a weapon. Struggling to draw his blade, Aristhir was knocked off-balance by the shoulder of an orc, and thrown further aside by the weight of his water-laden pack. Stumbling backward, his sword stuck in its sheath and tripping over a fallen soldier, he fell as a stone backward into a deep puddle, narrowly avoiding the shrieking axe of a tall and powerful Uruk warrior. Desperation took him momentarily and he struggled to tear the pack from his shoulders. Cutting the straps with a curved dagger, he threw it aside and managed to pull his sword free from its sheath. He rose like a man possessed and his blade tore through the air wildly as he sought to strike down anything that happened to be standing around him, blind to the difference between friend and foe. He swung his blade in a wide arc, blood crazed and fighting like a trapped animal, he felt the sweet joy of steel through sinew and bone as he hewed an orc from shoulder to ribs. The sounds of battle were all around him, and gathering his wits he rallied to a lone Gondorian horn call. Another flash of lightning revealed his father tall upon the back of a white mount, a horn to his lips, a dozen men of the company encircling their lord, defending him from the onslaught. Aristhir hewed the arm from a large Uruk as it raised an axe to smote him, and with a cry the Uruk fell as his arm, still holding the axe, dropped useless to the ground. Having dispatched his opponent he moved as quickly as his body could to the side of his father and took his place among the men.
........Aristhir's father, seeing him standing before him, smiled upon his son with a proud face and began to point and call out orders to what was left of the men of the company. The orcs advanced in waves, and each time Aristhir and the other men of Gondor hewed them down, but they themselves were also losing men, and with every fallen man the orcs came closer to victory. The men began to lose heart, and a few turned and fled. All would soon come to ruin if something was not done quickly, but Aristhir, still a young man while mighty among the company froze and did not know what then to do. His father, reigning in his steed let forth a blast from his great horn and raising his sword he leaped forth in a mighty charge with the war cry of his house upon his lips, "Death for Gondor!!" The bravery of his father stunned Aristhir momentarily and he delayed in following him. Regaining his wits, and realizing the danger, Aristhir ran forth after his father into the mist shrouded forest, as he was battered by the pouring rain. The rest of the company followed forth after him and they sought their lord in the gloom but all was still, and the sounds of battle were replaced by the suffering of the dead and dying. The gentle neigh of a horse caught Aristhir's ear and he ran toward it like a man crazed. He stood still in the dawn mist as the rising sun slowly warmed his face which had become twisted into an expression of horror. The great neck of his father's mount was arched down, its head hanging and gently nosing the remains of Aristhir's ruined father. He lay there with broken mail, and cloven helm, his sword notched upon the ground, and fallen orcs about him in a ring. He did not move or breath. Aristhir stood as though his heart had been pierced by a venomed arrow and did not cry out. The rain subsided in honor of his father and the horrible site was bathed in the light of morning. Death for Gondor.
........To be continued.[/i]
........The club came down upon the helm of the weary soldier on Aristhir's left, blood spewing forth from the open face of the helm as the soldier fell face first into the mire with broken skull. Almost at once the company was beset on all sides, and some ran this way and that in horror, fearing that the storm had turned against them. The clash of steel rang through the woods, bouncing from tree to tree as many men fell before they could even draw a weapon. Struggling to draw his blade, Aristhir was knocked off-balance by the shoulder of an orc, and thrown further aside by the weight of his water-laden pack. Stumbling backward, his sword stuck in its sheath and tripping over a fallen soldier, he fell as a stone backward into a deep puddle, narrowly avoiding the shrieking axe of a tall and powerful Uruk warrior. Desperation took him momentarily and he struggled to tear the pack from his shoulders. Cutting the straps with a curved dagger, he threw it aside and managed to pull his sword free from its sheath. He rose like a man possessed and his blade tore through the air wildly as he sought to strike down anything that happened to be standing around him, blind to the difference between friend and foe. He swung his blade in a wide arc, blood crazed and fighting like a trapped animal, he felt the sweet joy of steel through sinew and bone as he hewed an orc from shoulder to ribs. The sounds of battle were all around him, and gathering his wits he rallied to a lone Gondorian horn call. Another flash of lightning revealed his father tall upon the back of a white mount, a horn to his lips, a dozen men of the company encircling their lord, defending him from the onslaught. Aristhir hewed the arm from a large Uruk as it raised an axe to smote him, and with a cry the Uruk fell as his arm, still holding the axe, dropped useless to the ground. Having dispatched his opponent he moved as quickly as his body could to the side of his father and took his place among the men.
........Aristhir's father, seeing him standing before him, smiled upon his son with a proud face and began to point and call out orders to what was left of the men of the company. The orcs advanced in waves, and each time Aristhir and the other men of Gondor hewed them down, but they themselves were also losing men, and with every fallen man the orcs came closer to victory. The men began to lose heart, and a few turned and fled. All would soon come to ruin if something was not done quickly, but Aristhir, still a young man while mighty among the company froze and did not know what then to do. His father, reigning in his steed let forth a blast from his great horn and raising his sword he leaped forth in a mighty charge with the war cry of his house upon his lips, "Death for Gondor!!" The bravery of his father stunned Aristhir momentarily and he delayed in following him. Regaining his wits, and realizing the danger, Aristhir ran forth after his father into the mist shrouded forest, as he was battered by the pouring rain. The rest of the company followed forth after him and they sought their lord in the gloom but all was still, and the sounds of battle were replaced by the suffering of the dead and dying. The gentle neigh of a horse caught Aristhir's ear and he ran toward it like a man crazed. He stood still in the dawn mist as the rising sun slowly warmed his face which had become twisted into an expression of horror. The great neck of his father's mount was arched down, its head hanging and gently nosing the remains of Aristhir's ruined father. He lay there with broken mail, and cloven helm, his sword notched upon the ground, and fallen orcs about him in a ring. He did not move or breath. Aristhir stood as though his heart had been pierced by a venomed arrow and did not cry out. The rain subsided in honor of his father and the horrible site was bathed in the light of morning. Death for Gondor.
........To be continued.[/i]