Cuwe quietly helped to build the mound, carrying large rocks from nearby, then from farther away as others helped to gather him. The wind dried to the tears on his cheeks as he worked.

I've kind of been waiting before posting because I think Morwen should be able to post something with Aesuthiel, but if she hasn't posted by tommorrow, then we'll move on.

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((BEFORE ANYONE GETS MAD AT ME FOR NOT POSTING IN A WHILE, LET ME EXPLAIN. I've been at my gradnparents house for the past week and there computer wouldn't let me log into A-U forum. So all is well and I'm back. And I think it would be a good idea to move on.))

Aesuthiel shoved Glorfindels sword into her belt and moved away from the mound that was his tomb. With her bad arm in a sling, Aesuthiel began helping those who where more greviously injured. Her felt pity for a little boy that had managed to get outside of the protective ring of warriors, and had been attached by an orc. The boy rubbed his snotty nose on his sleeve as Aesuthiel wound a bandage around his head. H e had lost part of his ear, but the little boy bore the pain bravely. "There now, that wasn't so bad. You where very brave, you'll make a great warrior one day." Aesuthiel forced a cheeri mood while she was around children, it didn't do to distress them more.

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Welcome back, Aesuthiel.

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Sirithadar wearily wrapped a bandage around his own wound, tying it tightly before he put his shirt, tunic, gambeson, and armor back on. It would take a while to heal, but less time than it would take for a human to heal. As the weary and grief-ridden refugees began to start walking, Sirithadar remained towards the back again, noticing several others were doing the same (hinthint). If more Orcs came, they would not escape, either.

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Cuwe purposely lagged a bit behind the main part of the group. He didn't want to be in the middle of a group at the moment, he just wanted to be alone with his own thoughts.

Atalante wearily joined the group again, feeling as though she'd experienced enough emotion that day to be numb for the next week or so. She put a hand to her aching head and sighed, unconsciously falling back a little as her steps lagged slightly.

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"Are you unwell?" Cuwe put out a hand to steady Atalante as she fell behind the main group a bit.

Atalante looked up, and managed a tired smile. "No, I assure you I'm quite well," she told him, the ache in her head increasing rapidly. "Perhaps I am only tired."

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(Okay, sosososososososoooo sorry for not having been on , but here's my bio:

Name: Sorontur Mabwedritad
hair: long, dark, kept in check by simple silver coronet
weapon: glaive and longbow (from Valinorean mallorn!)
Background: Born under the shadow of the Lord of eagles in flight, hence the name; of the House of the Sacred Heart and fiercely loyal to Turgon.)

Sorontur was as shell-shocked as the rest. He had aided his contryelves in quenching the fire-serpent in the king's fountain, and reeked still from the sulfurous steamy exhalation from the fountain. When the King fell wtih his tower, sorontur had rushed back and found his King beyond help. Sorontur shut Turgon's eyes and sang a prayer in his head. He took Glamdring, the only artifact not crushed beneath the defiled stones. In the battle, he had sot arrows at the orcs. Before Glorfindel sacrificed himself, he had leapt in and seized the Balrog's whip. This was foolish for two reasons: one, the balrog could summon another from its sorcery. Two: He succeeded in burning off his arm just barely above his elbow. He was nursing the burn with certain herbs he never went to battle without, but they were not of much avail. He wept for his fallen comrades, Glorfindel notable among them. He could not bear to see the cairn piled around his body, for he was too well reminded of his King, crushed and mangled beneath a pile of stones.

(Sorry if this was bad, obsolete, or the sword bit was too cheesy. I'll do some editing if y'all want.)

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

(And Mel, you're calling yourself "Downfallen"? That's actually one of Prof. Tolkien's best linguistic jokes. "akallabeth" means "Downfallen" in Adunaic, and is the title of the account of the Fall f Numenor. Translated into Quenya, "Akallabeth" becomes "Atalante"! That always gives me a hearty chuckle [sorry about the last; couldn't resist,eh.])

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Can you even dare to look or bear to think of me: this loathsome gargoyle, who burns in hell, but secretly yearns for heaven, secretly... secretly.... Fear can turn to love- you'll learn to see, to find the man behind the monster: this repulsive carcasse who seems a beast, but secretly dreams of beauty, secretly... secretly....

((Yes - it fits Atalante's history. Plus, it's a pretty name, if not entirely run-of-the-mill I've always been a sucker for names))

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Aesuthiel lagged a little ways behind Sirithadar, her feet wearily plodded the earth. With her bad arm resting on the pommel of Glorfindel's sword, Aesuthiel ran to catch up with Sirithadar. "I fear tha..." she swallowed hard, talking was still difficult, "sorry, what I ment to say was, that unless we make camp soon, I fear the weaker one will collapse fom exhaustion."

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((I'm sooo sorry for not posting in here, but somehow I don't have the time... I will have to drop out, sorry! )

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Sirithadar nodded. "It looks as though Tuor is thinking along much the same lines. But I fear what a rest might bring upon us. Hordes of Orcs to slay tired fugitives in their sleep? I fear for us during this night."

As they neared a narrow spot on the trail, with the walls of the gorge stretching high overhead, a crashing sound was heard from above. Sirithadar spun around, and his tired eyes widened. Enormous boulders were tumbling down the hillside, directly towards the group. "Move, move, move!" he shouted, shoving people away from the area the boulders would likely hit. It was only after the first rocks hit that it dawned on him that they were between the small group of refugees who had walked in the rear, and the main body of them. His heart sank to his heels as he watched the tumbling rocks pile up. There was no way they would be able to get past that.

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Kind of lame, but I'm not feeling very creative, and that was the most plausible idea I could come up with right now, so it'll have to do. Everyone in this RPG should be on the same side as Sirithadar, plus a few other NPCs.

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Atalante gave a little cry and dove out of the path of a boulder as they fell. As the dust cleared she blinked grime out of her eyes, coughing, and lookied uncomprehendingly at the mound of rocks before realization dawned. "Oh..." she said, trailing off. "Oh no..."

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Aesuthiel watched the boulders come crashing down without moving a muscle. At this point nothing could scare her and she cared not wether she lived or died. Her only concern was for the refugees trapped on the other side. How would they fare with most of thier warriors seperated from them? She reached out a hand to steady Atalante, and began sneezing violently.

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