Setting
The days were growing long for Farineld, but that tends to happen when you're over six-thousand years old. Farineld was born at the end of the First Age, when a kingdom of only Sindarin ruled, a kingdom named Doriath, and life was good for he was part of one of the strongest houses. But then the Dwarven half-swine came down from their mountains and laid waste to the beautiful country while he was only a babe, and his godparent and he had to flee as refugees. However, not long after that, the sons of Feanor attacked our camp and became kin-slayers, but the Edain held them off so we could live another day. He swore to destroy the Ered-Luin dwarves.
Farineld heard the rustling of metal, and he could tell it was moving on the Forest Road. Farineld, without making a sound, got up and hopped from tree to tree swiftly. He came to a stop over a lone dwarf. He wore plate under fancy diplomat clothes, probably because of the dangers in Murkwood, and judging by the colors he was from the lonely mountain. His face was rough and soot covered and had a beard on it that ran well past his bloated gut, but it was well kept and braided to show nobility. Farineld slowly got the longbow off his back and a arrow from his quiver, he notched the arrow and pulled it back with a purr of bending wood. The dwarf suddenly became aware of Farineld's presence, but it was too late and the arrow flew. It sunk into the half-swine's neck and a fountain of red liquid sprayed everywhere, and he coughed blood before his limp body hit the ground. He gurgled for a few seconds before dying.
He continued his slow journey as he had now for a number of weeks, his provisions here getting lower than he liked despite his tight rationing. It was pursuing this line of thought that he heard something that he was sure wasn't the wind. He stopped... There was the noise again, it was almost like... The realisation struck him as he dived to the side as a massive Warg barrelled past him, a green-grey Gundabad Orc perched atop it.
The Warg turned quickly even as he rose, he kept low as he readied his spear and with an practised movement, sidestepped and plunged the heavy spear deep into the beasts chest, piercing its heart and sending its rider flying into the snow. He quickly advanced on the dazed Orc, kicking its sword out its hand as he brought as knee down its chest, the sun glinted off of his brass mask. "You made a bad decision attacking a Black Numenor, Orc." He spat these words into the grovelling creatures face as it realised its terrible mistake, before it could utter a plea for mercy he stood and turning plucked his spear from the dead Warg, using his spin and the weight of the spear he took most of the Orcs head off.
He didn't take any time to search either of the dead creatures, there was no need. Despite the creatures stupidity it had told him one thing, Mount Gundabad was less than a day away. At last there he could finally use his authority brought by his noble blood. And of course punish whoever sent that damned scout.
Faint noises drifted up from below her in Erebor's vast courtyard, and her gaze slowly wandered down to see what was happening. She could see about three-hundred dwarves gathering on the stone paving- preparing for battle? Her curiosity was immediately roused, pulling her out of her dream-like state and back into reality. Kyouki wondered if they were simply taking precautions, or if orcs had already penetrated the borders again. She hoped for the first, but feared the latter. Hardly a day went by without an attack, and so many dwarves lost their lives needlessly in the mad rampages.
She slipped off her perch, landing on the inside of the tower and stepping into the mountain through the small door cut into the stone of the wall. She quickly descended the stairs to ground level and ran outside into the courtyard where the soldiers had just started toward the north of the Mountain. Kyouki watched them leave, standing alone on the massive stone slabs. She knew that most of the men she saw would never return home.
A silent tear slid down her cheek as she suddenly wondered if she knew any of them. Who had just gone to their doom? They were almost out of sight now, so there was no use in calling out.
She hoped the envoy they had sent to Mirkwood was safely delivering their plea for aid to the Elvenking. He was a good diplomat, so she felt sure he could convince them.
Kyouki shivered suddenly as a strange feeling of horror came over her. Her vision blurred and the world became a globe of dying color. And so she stood, alone in the huge, empty courtyard, lost to the world for a time as she was again submerged into a land of dreams- only this time they were nightmares.
Marick's reminiscence was interrupted by the sound of stone on stone, and the screams of orc and shouts of man. He looked about and saw that roughly two streets over a Gondorian unit, the 22nd judging by their banner, were in danger of getting overwhelmed. A bare three hundred men scattered over six blocks struggled against what looked like four times their number of orcs, with maybe three dozen Uruks playing hammer to the orc's anvil. Marick unsheathed his sword and prepped for yet another fight in the endless war that Gondor had fought fought centuries...
It was through these dark and croweded halls Deranan strode. His brass mask was tied to his hip so that all could see his grim face. In front of him a small contingent of Orc guards were pushing him a path. Black Numenors always held a higher place over the mud-born Orcs. The few Numenors present in Gundabad were usually those in charge of controlling its multiple legions of Orcs and Goblins, after their wild attack on Erabor they were no longer trusted to lead their own armies.
Eventually he came to a chamber in the heart of the mountain, these were the council chambers. Pushing open the dark iron doors he calmly strode into the now silenced hall. The Orcs, Goblins and Numenorians sat around a large table in the center all turned to see their unannouned, though not unexpected, guest. He took three steps into the hall then paused, his eyes scanning the room. He turned and stepped up to an Orcish captain, the captain of the scouts and drawing a dagger plunged it into its eye just enough to blind it. The Orc guards quickly jumped up and made to attack Deranan when the head of the council shouted at them to stand down, which they reluctantly did.
Deranan then took the further steps to reach the council table and stood over it, making most of the Elders of Gundabad nervous, he had a bit of a reputation as the scout captain discovered. "Captain Deranan." The head Elder began. "We had expected you day ago, what is the reason for your delay?" He turned his grim gaze to the aging man. "I would have overshot the mountain completely, had one of your scouts not attacked me. I hope my recent message was enough to tell them to be more careful from now on?" Meaning the blinding of the captain. "I trust you are aware of why I am here?" The Numenorian Elders nodded whilst the Orcish Elders seemed slightly confused, the head Elder explained for them. "You were sent by Carn Dum to discover the truth of the rumours of Saurons return." Here the Orcs became excited, which needed a call for silence to calm them. "Of course this is only one part of your mission, the other is to return our lord the Witch King to us, so that he may once more lead us into the golden days of old." Though this was hundreds of years ago some of the Elders nodded as if they fondly remembered the days when Angmar ruled the north. Here Deranan nodded his own confirmation. "Indeed, though these lands are strange to me, I am unsure where to procced next, unless I am to head straight through Lothlorian?" The head Elder shook his head and gestured so a map of the world east of the Misty Mountains was brought over, he pointed at Gundabad. "The mountain is bordered from the south by Lothlorian and to the east Mirkwood, both of these woods are home to Elves, to head south is to risk the attention of Galadriel. That would mean death. No, though the Necromancer has long since vanished from Dol Guldur we have recieved word from captured woodsmen that dark forces loyal to Sauron now dwell there. You should venture through Mirkwood, avoiding the Carrock at all costs and following the spiders, whether they are feral is unknown to us. Though to send you into the deep woods alone would be foolish. A contingent of Orcs must be sent with you." It was here that one Orc captain by the name of Grishnahk stood up, Grishnahk was by birth a Mordor Orc. "Me and my Orcs shall venture with you My Lord." He gave a small bow that would have pleased any if they were not Deranan. "Very well." Answered the Elder for him. "You leave in a week, provisions will be made for you. And on behalf of the council of Gundabad I urge you to move with haste, the Witch King must return to us."
However, when he came upon a certain document he halted and nearly tripped off the road, and in shock he jumped swiftly upon a tree and scattered swiftly towards the house of his king. Farineld could hardly hold his excitement as he burst into Thranduil's Hall, the beautiful craftmenship of the elves shimmering in every corner. After rushing up the stairs to the throne, he was disapointed to find Legolas standing next to the great seat instead of Thranduil in it, so he called out in a out-of-breath voice, "Legolas, I must obtain the knowledge of your fathers location." Legolas was a good and old friend for they were both Sindar in a Silvan wood knew there was trouble and asked for an explanation. "This document," began Farineld, "gives confirmed information from the half-swine of Erebor that the mines of Ered Luin have run dry, and a massive caravan of the dwarves moves east. They will be weak on these roads, and an ideal time to avenge Doriath."
Legolas looked confused for a moment but quickly regained understanding, and he spoke in a calm voice, "Do you not hear yourself, brother? The dwarves are already suffering enough to move to the aid of their rivals; it seems the Valar have already avenged your birth-land." However soothing this was to anyone else, Farineld was not convinced and stated his stance on telling Thranduil, but Legolas stressed that it would not be wise. Legolas told bad jokes in a bad attempt to laugh off the high stake situation, and then in a lighter tone Legolas stated, "Lord Elrond has called me forth to Rivendell for a secret council, and seeing how you are an old noble of Doriath, you must come." Farineld accepted, but told them to travel ahead, he must do something first.
She could see it now, she was with other girls of the city,she played the harp and sang while they made themselves busy weaving a tapestry for a young warrior that had just completed his first Orc battle in the misty Mountains, to tell of his heroic trial and bravery. All of the girls were smiling and laughing and Celebrian joined in, but not as wholeheartedly as she tried to make it seem. She always felt different, from her slightly leaner features to her curly hair and her height. As far as she knew there was no reason for these differences save for that's how she arrived in the realm. Different.
She continue to play a sweet song, but when she prepared herself to sing she felt a twinge at her neck, as if she were being watched. But she wasn't just being watched, something was wrong. Something had changed. She glanced over her shoulder and her eyes widened as she saw Lord Elrond and Galadriel, both looking directly at her unwaveringly. She spun around so quick her head swam and she kept playing, trying not to think of them, trying not to question why they were there.
She had just finished her song when she felt a palm touch her shoulder. She nearly jumped out of her skin at the contact and looked up to see Lord Elrond himself standing there, seemingly absent of the Lady of Light he was with earlier, looking down upon her. She stood and bowed her head while preforming a small curtsy.
"My lord." never lifting her head.
"Celebrian, there is something that you and I must discuss."
That was all that was said before he turned as started up the pathway towards the palace. She looked back at all of the girls making the tapestry, all of them staring curiously at her so she quickened her pace so as to escaped their judgements. She walked alongside him, keeping her eyes straight and towards the path.
"I don't believe we have ever truly spoken before Celebrian, although I have no doubt you know who I am." She nodded, "Yes my lord, I know who you are." They were very close to the royal house now and she grew nervous. "My lord, Is there something I have done to offend or something of the sort?"
Lord Elrond stopped at the main door, two guards were standing watch, unflinching in there duty even when the Lord stood before them. He turned to look at her, "Everything you've been taught, Celebrian, that you were just another elf, that you were a subject to obey the leadership, that you were a musician intended to play for the executives elves of Rivendell. This was all in preparation for your true purpose in life."
She kept her eyes to the ground. What did he mean? She was so confused at his words that she didn't notice the hand that came up to her chin, lifting her eyes to gazed upon his brown ones.
"You need not ever bow again. You will look me in the eyes Celebrian, for what I am about to tell you will come as a shock. But first, " He looked around the path and through the trees, "Let us go inside so I may speak to you in private."
She followed him, not knowing what else to do and being so curious that it almost killed her to wait for the news. Had they found her parents? Were they well?She almost skipped beside Lord Elrond at the mere though, but thought better and remained in control. They walked through the hall and she marveled at its beauty. She had little time to appreciate the craftsman ship before she was led through two sets of doors to a parlor that eventually lead to a balcony. Actually it seemed more like a cave, with a large slab of crystal that the edge of the ciff.
"I assume you know where we are?" he walked towards the slab and she slowed slightly behind him.
"Yes my lord. This is where one goes if one wants to read moon runes."
"Very good", he smiled at her and she couldn't help but smile in return. "Tell me Celebrian, what do you know of your family?"
"Her heart stood still, skipping a beat altogether at the mention of her family. "The truth is my lord I know very little about my family or where it is I come from. The lady who saw after my upbringing told me they were not from here essentially. They were Noldor, but they resided else where. I don't know how I came to be here."
Lord Elrond nodded at this and paced ever so slightly in front of her. Gathering his thoughts and eventually stopping in from of her. "I was there the day you arrived. Your mother brought you directly to me, saying there was no other she could trust. That you were the most valuable thing she had ever held."
Celebrian felt a tear slide down her face at her mothers words. "What was she like?"
He gave her a sympathetic smile, "She was strong, and quite determined. She knew how to command attention and command it she certainly did," he chuckled softly and so did she.
Suddenly, Celebrian's face fell into a scowl. "Why am I here? If my mother was so well, why am I not with her?" The words sounded more venomous than she had probably intended, but she honestly didn't know who she was more angry with. Her mother? Or Lord Elrond?
His head fell and he took a deep breath. "You must understand how hard it was for me not to tall you all of these years. However, your mother insisted that I wait until your 300th birthday to tell you about yourself. Who your family is. However, the impending threat of war and darkness on the horizon has forced me to divulge this now."
Celebrian was taken aback, but she needed answers to these questions she has kept to herself for so many years, assuming she was orphaned. "Who Am I?"
He came closer and looked deep into her Amber eyes, "You are Celebrian, daughter of Marklon, son of Mahtan, of house Mahtan which was fused with house Finwe. You are the pure blood. Your father was born to a mighty elven huntress, as well as Mahtan's first wife. They were separated in battle, and shortly after the birth of your father she died." He paused gaging a her reaction but she couldn't speak, she couldn't even breathe. "The renegade group of elves your mother found shortly after the battle raised your father until meeting your mother. They did not produce any children until almost 300 years ago. You, a child destined for greatness." At this he placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and offered a small smile but it fell as he continued. "Your mother knew who you were and although your father wanted nothing to do with his titles, she wanted the world for you. So she brought you here. To be raised humbly and safe from danger and worry."
"Celebrian took a step towards the cliff and looked away from Lord Elrond as she tried to understand his words. "I do not understand. I am no one. I am just another elf like everyone else."
Lord Elrond exhaled and moved to stand beside her. "I understand how you must feel. Your mother, and I as well, felt it best that you were brought up humbly and respectively until it was your time to lead, to ensure that you were calm, respectful, and mature enough to lead. We both sensed, as well as Galadriel, that you would be coming to power a lot quicker than expected. The impending conflict in Mordor and in the areas surrounding the realm of man can be ignored no longer. As you know, my sons left us long ago, " She wanted to reach out and offer him a consoling gesture, but she was in absolute shock. She couldn't move if she wanted to. "And my daughter, she has no interest." He looked to her now, a solemn vow in his eyes. "I vow to you now, Celebrian, daughter of Marklon of the House of Mahtan. In the event of my death or resignation, you alone will be my successor with Lady Galadriel, daughter of Finarfin of the house of Finwe until such a time as you are ready to assume power."
She almost collapsed at the memory, but instead she just stood in solemn silence. In one afternoon her entire world had changed.And it would never be the same again.
A further day into the march the light was all but gone, taken from them by the thick covering of trees, the Orcs had began muttering that they swore that something was following them, a fact Deranan had also noticed which was reflected by his tightened grip on his spear. It wasn't until the next day that their pursuers made themselves known.
The party had stopped for a short break, in truth it was the Orcs who had stopped and Deranan was reluctant to move into the forest on his own, more because with the Orcs at his back there was one less place to be attacked, as it was he stood on the road, looking out. The Orcs were talking loudly and mostly complaining about the journey when their moans were replaced by squeals of shock. Spinning on the spot Deranan was almost surprised to see the group rushing to fend off giant spiders. Evil, black and completely feral spiders. He swung into action quickly, using his spear as both a club and a blade he personally killed a number of the beasts, whilst the Orcs mostly slashed wildly at the dark, hardly doing much real damage.
After a few frantic minutes of fighting the wounded spiders retreated out of fear of the deadly spear and the group was given a moments to breath. In total only a single Orc had fallen prey to spiders venom, luckily for them those spiders were smaller than those who served the dark forces. Deranan slowly rotated and froze, there was movement in the tree above him, plucking the dead Orcs scimitar he spun and tossed it up into the dark, severing a spiders rope and causing the giant beast to fall to the ground. He was about to slay it when it quickly spoke up. "No no! Aranack not foe. Aranack wish to serve. Aranack not feral spider." Deranan lowered his spear. "You wish to serve me? How?" The spider rose up a little. "Aranack strong, Aranack show way to ruin-castle. Aranack carry master to ruin-castle and beyond." This caused Deranan to pause, then moved around the giant spider and quickly placed himself on the spiders back. "If you take me to Dul-Guldur, then you will serve me well beyond there." With that the group set off, the speed of his new mount giving him a great boost across the uneven ground.
Clang. Left.
Clang. Right
Clang. Left
Clang. Shove, and then take another right.
This went on for roughly an hour when the orcs decided to flee. Marick was bone tired by this time, and had received an gash across his forehead. As he staggered around the battle site looking for survivors among the dead, he realized how few men had made it out. Of the three hundred or so men that he had seen, only about one hundred were walking around...
He was mulling over this when a man walked up to him and said "Lord Boromir wishes to see you sir! He is over by the Dome of Stars. Go see him as soon as you can." and then the man ran off. Marick sighed, and then began slowly making his way to the dome, roughly in the center of Osgiliath.
She didn't understand what made her do it- the long periods of what seemed like unconsciousness, when she no-longer saw the living world, but a strangely distorted version that swayed and rippled like grey mist on a clear pond. She saw things then that no mortal would be able to see... like the dead body of a dwarf lying inches deep in a decaying mixture of blood and leaves. She saw images of the dead often, but rarely were they recognizable to her. And this one she knew well.
Kyouki brought both hands to her head, forcing her breaths in and out. "It's okay," she whispered, though there was no-one there to hear. "It's all okay, it's alright, he's fine, it's not real, none of it's...." she bit back a sob, "None of it's real......."
But it was always real. And she knew it.
Not that anyone else ever believed her. And that was what hurt. She could see these things, but as long as she was viewed as crazy, she could do nothing about them.
Solidly refusing to cry, she turned to enter the mountain's main gate when a thought struck her and she pulled up short. The envoy! He was carrying the messages to the elvenking, and now those messages would never be delivered. The elves would not show peace toward the immigrants of the Blue Mountains, and they would most certainly not come to the aid of Erebor during the war.
Making up her mind quickly, Kyouki turned and ran in the opposite direction, towards Esgaroth, the Long Lake, and Mirkwood. Thranduil had to be reached- the elves had to know of their plight. And now that she had taken it upon herself to deliver the messages, she was determined that nothing could keep her from the Mirkwood king.
Silently but surely, Farineld pulled his bow and aimed it at the fell sentient's skull when genius struck my mind, and even this foul meeting had light to it. In the black speech of Mordor Farineld cried out, "Listen or die old fiend!" Farineld saw his face grow paler than it already was as his eyes moved upward to meet the elf's, and with that the orcs drew their bows. But fate would have that the Numenoruean signaled his monsters to hold fire, so Farineld rushed the words, "I have information that could lead to the destruction to the Ered-luin dwarves."
Her black leather boots pressed lightly into the damp soil, leaving a small line of tracks which soon were erased by lakewater. Her mind wandered as she stared distantly at the forest, trying to reclaim the image of her dead kinsman while effectively desensitizing herself to the thought. It was real, she told herself. The things she saw were always real. But where the strange thoughts came from, she could not tell. Apparently none of her kinsmen experienced the absence of physical form as she could, and almost all were convinced that was insane, if not posessed.
As morning drew nearer, she began to approach the edge of the forest. She could just make out the slight path along the river, beaten down by years of barrel transporation between Laketown and the Elven Realm.
Her feet found the trail easily enough, once she reached the treeline, and soon it widened out to a lane of sorts. She slowed her pace a little, searching the surrounding space with her mind, even though her skills didn't quite work like that. She could tell that there was some sort of action taking place nearby- but as to what it was, she could not say. Only that the smell of death was becoming stronger.
It was the strangled screams of one of these Orcs that gave the group pause, hearing it at a distance away they had more than enough time to slow down and try to figure out a plan. The one Deranan came up with was simple and effective, half the Orcs were to go charging through the undergrowth ahead of the Numenor so if there was danger they would die first, with that out of the way the party picked up the pace and came across the dead bodies of Orcs a short way along the path.
With his eyes searching the tree line he ordered his Orcs to spread out and see if there were any survivors. Aranack moved a little further into the clearing and stepped this way and that in trepidation. A noise from high up in the tree caused them all to turn. He heard in the Black Tongue. "listen or die old fiend!" It took him a moment to catch sight of the speaker, a single Elf, though one that talked before killing was rare enough for him to bother listening too, he heard around him the creaking of Orcish bows and raised his spare hand in a motion to tell them to not loose, but to also not put their weapons down. It took him a moment to understand the rushed words spoken by the Elf, and to remember where were, though he didn't let that show on his impassive face, he replied in the refined version of one who spoke the Black Tongue frequently. "I had thought the animosity between Dwarf and Elf had ended, though I care little for your wars. Come down from your perch and tell me what you know." Aranack rose a little bit taller, even though he didn't understand the language he wanted to look as large as possible.
Farineld threw down the scroll which in fact was a pathetic excuse for a call-to-arms and ran, hopping so quicly from tree to tree that he knew no orc, or spider, could folow.
It is a beautiful, clear-skied day. The sun shines bright on a field of pure blue, illuminating the flowing green and gold fields of Eastemnet, much to the chagrin of Gorthak the Piercer, one of the leaders of Saruman's Fighting Uruk-hai. He looks over his shoulder at his legion, shielding his eyes from the annoyance that is the sun and growling at the competence of his troops. He prides himself on having one of the best-trained troops in Isengard's force, though the accuracy of that is disputed by some. Today, though, he simply needs to kill something. He hasn't seen battle in a long while, and executing incompetent Orc Snagas had gone from fun to grating. If he didn't get to feast on some man-flesh prior to getting to Helm's Deep, he just might go mad(er).
As luck would have it, heading in their direction was a large detachment of Rohirrim Forces, lead by an equally ill-tempered Rohan Captain named Mordren whose weary men had just had a run in with White Hand warg riders. They had defeated the riders with few casualties, but the experience of chasing down and killing riderless wargs was one that could make any man or horse tired and annoyed, and his men had the same general feeling. Currently he just wanted to run into some small band of Uruk-hai or Orc scouts to make short work with an raise the morale of his men.
Neither were close enough to spot each other just yet, but their meeting is inevitable, and wherever the Horse Lords and the White Hand meet, there's sure to be blood, black or red...
(Also...ignore the "Ian" character I tagged. He'd been rejected already. Not sure how he got on there.)
(Does it count as necromancy to bring this back? Seriously people, this was allowed to be dead for too long. So please come back!)
After a long silence shared between the two parties, Gorthak makes the first move, retrieving his bow from his back and loosing a long black barbed arrow at the leader of the band, a man who looked almost as angry as he was on a horse covered with scale, letting out a guttural battle cry as he does. "Uruk-hai!" it means, in the Black Speech, "Charge the enemy! Tear their flesh and skewer their precious horses!"
He is, as usual, deadly accurate, and might just hit the guy in the facial area if he doesn't move. With that, his "men" yell their own war cries, and the wargs are the first down the hill, moving with unnatural speed over the grassy plains, the sight reminiscent of pitch dripping down a torch, black consuming the green and gold-brown below. The wargs and riders themselves are about one-hundred strong, and his host as a whole is about twice the size of Mordren's (though it's worth noting that Orcs carry less well-made weaponry and are usually not as well trained as hardened Rohan riders, despite Gorthak's somewhat above-par troops). Not far behind the wargs are Gorthak's infantry, mostly consisting of Uruk-hai swordsmen and pikemen, the latter leading in a strangely organised fashion, creating a deadly mobile spear wall with the former following like a swarm of angry hornets, and they're much louder, their terrible Uruk yells ringing out over the fields.
His archers, famed throughout Isengard as slightly more accurate than your average Uruk-hai scout, maintain their position atop the hill, loosing a volley of nasty barbed-tip Isen arrows, the painful serrated tips raining down on the Rohirrim. Time to raise shields or become a pincushion.
What he sees is not a pretty sight -- or wouldn't be to any but an Uruk-hai. While horses may be somewhat faster and larger than wargs, wargs are undoubtedly more intelligent and maneuverable, meaning that in the initial clash many a warg fell to the more powerful charge but they were beginning to turn the tide in their favour as the beasts tear at the throats of horses and men alike an d deftly dodge multiple attempts to stab them. Even the wargs who lost their rider continue to fight, tearing into flesh with powerful jaws unbridled by the urgings of any orc or goblin. Some of those that still have riders quickly disengage from the fighting and circle around the madness, throwing long, bladed darts into the battle, using them to similar effect as the javelins of the Rohirrim.
Gorthak looses his second arrow and the just as the pikemen slow to a stop before the main battle and begin to try and envelop the mad skirmish, spear tips always pointing inwards toward the horsemen. Horses and spears, as they knew, did not mix, and if the horsemen could be encircled, they would quickly be eliminated. Meanwhile, upon Gorthak's loosing of his second arrow, the rest of the archers loose their own, the volley blocking out the sky. He had many troops, but none were so numerous as his archers.
It is at that point that Gorthak joins the frey, elbowing past the lines of spearmen to get into the heat of it, running a man through right next to Mordren. The man's eyes go foggy as he collapses to the ground, and Gorthak turns his attention to Mordren as he pulls the spear out with a sickening crunch of ribs. He gives the captain one of his trademark grins and thrusts the spear toward his heart, planning on this being an easy kill...
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