(Woops! Sorry, I nearly forgot about this rp. I'll have my post up soon.)

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Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

Maethoriel had done what she did best, kill. She had cut out a circle in the ranks of the orcs, and was more than a little pleased with her performance. Her face was split with a horrendous mockery of a grin as she surveyed the pile of bodies that surrounded her, the crows would be about soon to pick them off.However, she had little time to review her handy work before another group of orcs had noticed her.


It was odd, she felt more comfortable now, nearly all her energy spent. Although she looked more disturbing than before, she was painted black and red with her own blood and that of her enemies-her own warpaint. The comparison made her smile all the more.

She laughed visciously as one attacked and ducked under the first swing. They knew her, perhaps by another name a cruel beast told of in old wives tales, but they would recognize her as they dropped to the ground and their vision faded black. It was a feeling like no other, to be the last haunting memory of this world before the despicable beings were cast into shadows in the darkest of Namo's halls. Her first and final blow to the creature struck true- a skull crushing blow with the hilt of her sickle.

Another orc rose to challenge her, and she welcomed it. This creature was more cunning than its comrade, and brought out a bit more of her talent.

It was an odd way of fighting her's -not quite the deadly and graceful dance of the elves nor the methodical cutting of dwarves. She fought with everything not just blades. Her movements were quick and precise, with the smallest pauses that she used to weigh reactions.

Her opponent managed to force her to release one of her sickles. In response, she moved faster, issuing a sharp upward cut towards his arms severing it completely. The creature howled in pain and she grinned triumphantly. The curved blade caught behind the things neck, while her foot pushed against the orcs broad chest. All she did was straighten her leg and pull the sickle- the orcs head fell from his shoulders, spraying a shower of blood onto his killer.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

"You aren't thinking of going back yet, are you?" Maenel asked, furrowing her brow. "At least rest for an hour or so, let the herbs take effect."

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

"Rest? No, there will be no rest until this is done. Then..." He did not bother saying what.

Maenel inwardly cursed the insolence of commanders. "I understand and I don't understand. It is usually this way with any soldier." She looked him in the face. "Be careful."

Just then, another batch of wounded arrived, and she was called away to a man with a gash in his stomach. The battle must be getting grim, she thought te herself. From that moment on, the tide of wounded began to quicken.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

He smiled at her, "Of course."

His sword stood against the cot that he had used, and he took it up as he left the tent. He discarded the pauldron altogether once he was outside, rejecting the idea of putting it back on over the wound after a moment's consideration.
He joined the battle.

For hours it continued, the fight raging savagely back and forth across the ditch, which was no longer a ditch. Arandur's wound no longer pained him, nor the others that he received, as the heat of battle drown out all else.
Time held no meaning. He fought beside half-elf, Maethoriel, who carved a circle of destruction about her with her sickles. The tide of battle swept them apart, and he found himself holding the end of a bridge with handful of soldiers. Orcs came, and they died, and came again, and the blood flowed. At one point he and one of his captains fought, back to back and surrounded, slaying dozens of orcs as their blades danced, seeming possessed of a life all their own.

Yet it could not go on forever.

Deawen reluctantally agreed. " we better fet moving then." she said catching Bredol. " If our luck hasn't run out we can reach the phantoms camp in an hour.

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Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(So, anyone have any objections to losing the fight and being captured? Unless Deawens people arrive pretty soon, that's going to happen.)

(Nope, go on.)

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

(actually I think it would be rather interesting to have the whole capture thing go on. Sides I'm too lazy to act out a whole debate anyway. And realistically the phantoms wouldn't stay in the same camp site for long so it'a hopeless quest.)

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(actually I think it would be rather interesting to have the whole capture thing go on. Sides I'm too lazy to act out a whole debate anyway. And realistically the phantoms wouldn't stay in the same camp site for long so it'a hopeless quest.)

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Slowly, relentlessly, they were forced back. The trench had been taken, and with it any advantage it gave. Now they were retreating, step by precious step across the tower top, the enemy paying dearly for every inch they gained. It could almost have been monotonous, the killing that went on. It was desperate, the blows he laid about with, but orcs died beneath his blade with every other strike. One would jump forward, and Arandur would meet it with a cut that would send it down, or a thrust to impale it. There was no time to trade blows; no niceties beyond staying alive and slaying any and all that came.

They stood in a circle now, around the largest tent; there were less than fifty remaining, but they still fought. Those Gondorians that had shields locked them together to form a wall, but the orcs simply brought up wicked looking hooked pikes and one by one, caught men by the shield or shoulder and dragged them from it, to be swarmed under. One such pike caught Arandur in the side, the barb biting deep. He hacked at is, even as he was pulled forward, but lost his footing in the blood-slicked grass and fell. They were on him in an instant.

(Sounds good)
Maenel was completely out of supplies by this time. The best she could do was tie rags around wounds and set the men around in the tent. The severely wounded she was forced to let alone. Several of the aides were set to the task of moving the dead out of the tent. Maenel was making rounds through the moaning bodies, checking pulses and motioning to the aides to take them. For every body removed, three more were there to fill the space. She pulled a blanket up on one of the soldiers lucky enough to get a cot and medicine when she noticed the change in the din of the battle.

The background roar was getting louder, while the clash of steel on steel became the pounding of metal on wood. A cold stone formed in the bottom of her stomach. They had lost. Most of the men were silent, and the aides had stopped moving. Dread fell over everyone. Her practical mind immediately began to scheme. "Those of you who can stand, find a weapon. We may soon need it!" she said calmly. She put away her surgical knives in their leather case, rolled it up, and tied it to the inside of her belt. She strapped a dagger to her side (not that she could use it effectively). All that was left to do was wait.

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Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Bad luck was an understatement after two hours of riding around the forest searching for any trace of the phantom camp. They found none, the phantoms had done what they did best, vanish into thin air. " I.."Deawen started to say as she spun Bredol around searching for clues. " I don't understand! They should be here.." she said her voice thin.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Maethoriel clawed viciously at an attacker words from every language flying from her mouth that frothed red from her biting her tongue. The most common of her curses were those in the language of the orcs themselves, if she was going to terrify them then she'd be understood.

Somewhere along the line she had put her weapons back into their holsters and was literally ripping those who opposed her to shreds with the gauntlets that had taken the place of her leather gloves. The battle had been lost, but she knew that orcs were rather superstitious in their ways and if she put fear into them now then it was likely she could escape. An orc swung an ill aimed sword towards her torso. The half-elf wrenched him forward with all her might so that the orc was on his knees and he was dead before he had a chance to scream - his neck twisted at a horrendous angle.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

"Perhaps they moved." Fearan suggested, pulling Silmiel to a halt. "They are known for appearing and dissapearing like, well, phantoms." He glanced around furtively, hoping for any clues. Suddenly he spotted somthing hidden under the shade of a tree. It looked like the remains of a fire. He dismounted and checked it out. Sure enough, he found burnt wood and ashes. It was small and half hidden by dirt that had been thrown over it. "This is old." He commented. "And either covered in a hurry or without care. Probably a personal fire, but the looks of it. But I cannot find any other tracks, or marks, not a single wisp of information that they made camp here." He whistled in amazement, mounting Silmiel yet again.