Flashback - Celeborn sorties from Eregion

Rhankanann here played by Gillhach. Celeborn by himself.

Behind the Gates
Splendour unrivalled in Middle-Earth begins here, at the very edge of the city. Just within the great gates, a road of smooth marble pavement begins; it follows along the city walls to the north, while another branch leads east, into the heart of the city.

Slender towers rise up into the skyline, their spires all but touching the clouds, while narrow bridges like dangling lace connect various buildings throughout the city, the architecture breathtaking to visitor and resident alike.

So the siege continues. Here and there, boulders and instruments of war arc with deadly precision towards the battered walls of Ost-in-Edhil. Dead and dying, both elf and orc, litter the combat ground while others duck and cover close to the walls. The once white walls of the city are now stained red with blood and the glow of the fires beyond. Of the meager forces, only the hardiest and stoutest remain to defend what was once the crowned jewel of Eregion.

Celeborn, one time co-ruler of the realm, like all the remaining populous, is armored in his glittering mail. Having given up his leadership position to Celebrimbor not long ago, he has instead joined the defenders at the wall as a not-so-common soldier.

On the broad, marble-flagged fairway, hid behind the still splendrous gates of besieged Ost-In-Edhil there rallies the sorry remnant of Celeborns' folk, the greatest lords of the Sindar that remain in middle-earth; all arrayed in the ancient livery of sunken Doriath, sporting gear and finery rescued from the hoardes of Menegroth 'ere mighty Thingol fell. Such as are left are wearied, spent with long fighting on the ramparts and battlements of the city at the first desperate defence. Some swoon, stricken, pierced with fell darts, flesh rent by black and cruel steel. The hardier are with their lord upon the gilded parapet, thankful of the respite that the dark-lords withdrawal has allowed them; one such is Rhankanann, tall and doughty herald of Elwe, who stands beside Celeborn the wise, looking out upon the pitted field beyond... "My lord," Says he, "What came before was but a fraction of the dark host... and by that our loss was grievous. Surely, we cannot hope to stand before the onslought that will surely come, when night descends."

Standing on the wall, looking at the vast host arrayed before him, Celeborn shakes his, "I do not have much in the way of hope." Half turning in the smoke and the poor lighting, he gazes back towards his beloved city -- burning from firey bombs and bloody styfe. Taking a breath, he says, "See you hope from outside of the walls, Herald?"

High upon the battlements, where the stone drinks the blood of the fallen, where sunlight fell not this day, repelled by the darkness which stains the air and taints it with loathsome odor, there stand the archers, the few, the battered, the stubborn.

Supplied in ragged measure by what citizens might have been conscripted in the battle, they loose every arrow brought to them, and unsheath longswords to fight what dares the walls. Exhaustion, desperation, and grief hang as a pall above the city, and hope knows no refuge here.

"There is hope, lord... though the smoke may cloud our eyes." Answers Rhankanann, "Ereinion may come... or Elrond, and the host of Lindon with them." In despair, he shakes his head, "I fear the Naugrim have abandoned us... and Amroth will not come. Oh, for a breeze to lift the smog from the field!" He cries, "At least then, we might espy that black host which brings our doom... or that which brings our salvation from the north."

From Before the Gates, Some of the bolder orcs throw their black bodies against the walls vainly; only to be shot down by the restless archers upon the stone lip above. Already the masses before the gate has swollen some to dismay the unfortunate eyes who dare the attempt of counting or assuming the numbers, but the plains and hills abroad seem empty and desolate.

Nearer the flanks of the gathered host of Sauron stands a huge, black pillar of hunger and impatience which seems to help in holding up the heavy wall of darkness above - Jentil. A smile has managed to find his puffy mouth and adds to the guise of stupidity, though the idea of thought teasing his mind is evident in his roaming eyes and murming lips; one hand probing at a massive hammer propped at his side while the other idly extends a finger to the back of his head to scratch.

"I'm gonna get sum white skin, uh huh!" he finally concludes his insight as the whistle of desperate arrows pierce the wall of haze that engulfs the Eye's army. Wagging his thick finger accusingly at the Great City, Jentil hoists the hammer across his shoulder and moves into the throng.

From Before the Gates, The clouds hang thick and heavy on this warfilled day. Smoke from the various fires on both sides of the wall roll over and surround the city. Two very long dark green skinned arms reach down and pick up another boulder. Maggie hefts the massive load onto her shoulder. She turns to her trollish companions. "Tired of throwing rocks!" she complains. "Iz just want a big leg 'o meat and a deep dark cave." she pouts and turns back to the wall. She grunts as she tosses the rock like a shot put, the chunk of granite smashing into the elven structure.

From Before the Gates, A young orc, trembling with fear and trepidation, barely able to function but driven, moves up through the attacking waves of grotesque and monstrous figures assaulting the city. He beats his sword against his rude shield as he is jostled by those around him, suddenly finding himself close to the gates and pushed to the side to make way for the heavier fighters. His slavering mouth takes up the cry of those around him. "Doom! Doom! Doom!"

A ladder collapses nearby causing a rippling wave effect that knocks Ska'bled to the ground. He regains his feet with a groan and leans against a nearby tree until it moves with the effort of throwing boulders. He pushes himself away from the troll as fast as possible, having seen his comrades mistaken for boulders in the past.

Gazing out darkly over the onrushing orc warriors as the assault is started again, Celeborn's catch sight of something in the distance. A flicker of brightened metal? A standard of grey in on a long banner in the distant murky smoke. He cannot see! Braving the black arrows from below, the Doriathian Lord leans forward to see what it could be. With a shout and pointed finger, he calls out, "Rhankanann! What is that there! Can you see?"

Thick and dark, the billowing cloud of smoke hangs over Ost-in-Edhil -- slender towers rising to the skies, fair and jewel-like, walls of alabaster marble, all marred by battle -- akin to a living beast crouching over its prey. And in that moment, when it seems that naught can stem the Dark, and all is lost; in that moment, when hope dies...

Forth he comes from the city, weary and pale, yet proud and stern -- tall and clad in regal panopaly of war, and around him are his Captains, mighty lords of the Noldor all.

And where he passes, thither the darkness is banished, and hope and valour are kindled in the cold ashes. And a great cry rises from those who defend their city in that place.

"Celebrimbor!"

And fire breaks from the ramparts, arcing through the pall of smoke which chokes the night, brave and ephemeral, the arrows flare briefly to brilliant life, and then fall. Neither lethal nor harassing fire this, but arrows of fragile hope, that there might be those on the distant hills who see their bright spark, and know that Ost-in-Edhil yet fights.

From Before the Gates, Standing near the back of his squad Rithgur glares at the silvery gates, his black eyes squinting from the black oily smoke. He lift his head at the sudden shouting, growling softly at the hated name of the Elvish captain

From Before the Gates, The hammer on Jentil's shoulder wags like a stiff banner on top a black, thick prop as the troll makes his way to a small gathering of crude and towering olog alike, all entangled with their own activities and hunger-pains.

He snorts and waves a fist at the walls of Ost-In-Edhil before turning his upset and quite bewildered face to Maggie's complaint. "It ain't nuthin' but stone between us an' a good eet!" he hollers above the clamour of steel on rock and the hiss of elven arrows, skillfully finding their marks.

Now, however, the train of thought in Jentil's sloped head is broken by the opening of the gates to issure forth the host of the Noldo Captains and, for a moment, the troll is awe stricken with a start. This, unfortunately, passes quickly to subside to the thought of the food coming to him! He takes the hammer and plants it in the dirt in front of him to make berth for his huge form; shoving some small orcs from their earlier attained spots with an open palm - his eyes waiting, and even faltering some, on the painful brightness that has welcomed the siege with the song of steel.

Rising in his throat, the heralds' heart is stirred to hope from despair; shielding his eyes from the ugly glare of the pitted fires on the ruinous field, Rhankanann dares look out, out over the raging hordes below to espy... "Many men, my lord... tall and fair, on horses. From lindon?" With a squint he furthers: "They bear the Sigil banner of Earendil! Ereinion has not forsaken us..." But, soon enough a cloud passes o'er his face with a grim realization. "Not enough... master Elronds' force is too small, I fear. He could not hope to reach the citadel, no more than we could hope to defend it."

From Before the Gates, Maggie rubs her tired arms, still scowling. She picks up a boulder and lifts it to her shoulder. The gates suddenly open as the troll watches dumbfoundedly. What passes out of her fang filled mouth can only pass for a squeal of delite. "Lookie!" She points at the approaching Elven host. In her excitement and pointing she forgets that her burden and the rock rolls off of her blocky shoulder and plummets to the ground in the vincinity of Jentil's foot.

Celeborn grips the hilt of his blade as his resolve is renewed. "Indeed, you are right... Rhankanann!", he cries out. Turning about towards the inner courtyard, he says to the Herald, "Gather close what elves of Menegroth we've left. I shall speak to the Lord of this City." Leaping the steps down to a lower landing out of the fire from the host beyond, Celeborn calls out to Celebrimbor and his Captains, his voice ringing above the shouts and cries from he wall beyond, "Noble Celebrimbor! You are now the Lord of the City. And in these dire times, I would ask a favor of you -- for those of sunken Doriath and any who would join us."

From Before the Gates, Rithgar peers in the direction that the troll is pointing at, seeing only more elves, in their shiny armor. He turns his head away and spits on the ground at the sight of the arrow firing into the sky. Looking at the orc next to him he grins, showing yellow teeth and says "They'll find no help from anyone"

From Before the Gates, "Owwwwiiiee!" suddenly shakes those around him as the massive throat of Jentil opens up in a bellow! The huge rock, so cleverly waiting on Maggie's shoulder, finally leapt forward to fall and bite his exposed toe, embedding it into the trodden dirt beneath it!

"Dumb rock! Dumb rock thinkin' to fight me?!" he roars, still wincing before kicking back and pushing the boulder with his hands in a burst of strength which clears a short path through orcs who are lucky enough to evade its charge. The sore troll picks his foot up and nurses it with a rub, forgetting the potential meal several safe yards away and turning to Maggie with an innocent question to his face.

"Now why djoo go an' do that, huh?" he asks before planting his foot firmly on the ground and bending to pick his hammer up which fell during his 'attack'. He averts his eyes back to Maggie's arrived source of excitement and smiles again. "Yum!"

Hargendotaxin's eyes dart back and forth amidst the elven host. Take a step back, the elf slinks amonst his comrades so as not to be among the first line to meet Sauron's forces.

Past the weary warriors Celebrimbor strides -- yet, halting often to speak low words to them. And weary beyond despair or hope, indeed, weary beyond weariness itself -- yet they turn with new resolve to their doomed task.

And the Son of Curufin turns to Celeborn, and he raises a hand to stay his Captains, "Celeborn! Ask of me what favour you will. And if it still lies within my power to grant it" -- bitter now is his gaze sweeping over the marred beauty of his city -- "you shall have it!"

From Before the Gates, Maggie checks the metal cooking pot on her, finding is secure she smiles. "Need dat later." she notes. Squatting, she fumbles on the ground for her mace and shield. She hastily prepares them for the hunt and regains her feet quickly. Too quickly. "Whoo, my head feels funny. All light." After a moment the feel passes, leaving the troll with a big grin plastered to her green mug. The Elven shouts again capture her short attention. "Lookie dere!" She points again. "I see dem first dey mine!" With a shout she begins to barrel through the lines of orcs, shoving her way closer the slender morsils that await her.

From Before the Gates, Under sky dark and gloomy, naught to be seen of moon or star, a great host moves south and east as swiftly as it may. No crude torches do these warriors bear, and their armor is shining silver, gleaming resplendantly in the light of their lanterns. Many of them are mounted, a large number of cavalry supporting the elven army, yet it is their banners which truly fly before all soldiers; The Star of Earendil upon its banner of blue, and the standards of Gil-galad, the High-King. Too, the Sigil of Cirdan, and countless smaller houses and remnants of the great Realms of Beleriand, their remaning folk come to once again face the black foe, who once faced his master.

Alone, one of the elves at the forefront rides a little further ahead, and rises up upon his mount, calling aloud to the city, his voice carrying by the power of his lineage and lore, "Ost-in-Edhil... Celebrimbor, we come! Celeborn, Lethelindriel... We come!"

From Before the Gates, Pushed aside like food scraps off a placemat, Ska'bled finds himself near the front of the orcish host as the gates open. Fear, horror and glee war within as he leaps wholeheartedly into the fray, swinging his poor blade at the moving shapes in front of him, trying to keep his footing in the sudden surge of angry hunger.

From Before the Gates, Gundmog rests idly in a shadowy area beneath the gates, awaiting the call to advance and meet the approachiing elvish host. By way of passing the time he scrapes the mud from benath his wide flat toenails with a great sword, the like of which is seldom seen.

From Before the Gates, From down the south there comes the sound of light and swift elven horses. There in the distance, grey clad you see a company of riders making their way forward. Coming to a spiny ridge they fan out and then halt, watching with elven-sight.

From Before the Gates, Rithgar grunts as he sees the new hord of elves riding up from the southeast. Nudging his companions he points toward them. "Look, more food." He grins, whiping a a trail of drool from his lips.

Raising his voice again, Celeborn continues on to all would listen, "Celebrimbor, as Lord of the City, I would ask for leave of any elf who wishes to join me in a hopeless venture." Drawing his longblade, he stabs it towards the far side of the wall, "Beyond these gates, and beyond the dreaded host, lies the banners of Elrond and those of Lindon come do our aid. But... too few they are to reach us. And too few there are of us to defend the walls until the end of time. So, I and those remaining with me from the days of Menegroth's glory, will sortie out and divide the enemy, with hope that those of Lindon can reenforce us." Gazing out towards the city, he says, "This city has been good to me and my kin, but I will not perish here within these walls while there is still hope and chance for another end. Would you lend me these gallant of heart?"

From Before the Gates, Jentil's eyes burst wide open now as Maggie takes the lead towards the buffet and frowns as she leaves him, still rubbing his toe with his other foot sorely.

"Don't go an' choke on dem bones, dummy!" he yells as she disappears in the excited host of orcs. However, his attention is swayed to the south as the painful shimmer of spears catch his peripheral and he shades his eyes (from the darkness above?) to stare out to the approaching host. Slapping his knee and nearly squealing anxiously with his discovery, Jentil struggles to keep quiet. "Dem are mine, den! Yummy for me!" he says before dragging his hammer behind him and charging through the sea of orcs, shoving them with ease to one side; his destination now a mission he must accomplish.

He doesn't take his beady eyes away from the approach of the host of Elrond, while the shouting of his captains all around sends him off in quick strides!

From Before the Gates, Rithgar quickly moves out of the way of the greedy troll. Muttering softly he calls, being careful to not be overheard by the beast "Hey leave some for the rest of us you greedy dumb pig"

Guessing his lords intent, Rhankanann makes way down the rampart to the fairway within, followed from the walls by the remnant of Menegroths' host, there are roused such folk as yet ahve will and means to fight. "Horses!" Cries the herald, "Bring up such mounts as you may find, we ride out 'ere long, whatever terrors await!" For himself, this last knight of sunken Doriath calls for his steed from the stables, and with it - woven of old in Neldoreth, by the arts and hand of Melian herself, the tall standard of Doriath, greatest of the realms of Beleriand: embossed in living colours upon a green, more verdant and fresh than the living grasses of the Irmo's own garden; the Hirilorn of Doriath

From Before the Gates, Still the elven riders do not move. Yet one taller than the rest sits upon his steed before them looking out, keen eyes like stars glittering.

From Before the Gates, Gundmog licks the mud and lint from the point of his sword before joining the general rush toward the oncoming elves.

"By the One! Gil-Galad sends aid to succour us?"

And striding past the Lord of the Sindar, Celebrimbor makes his swiftly to the battlements, thither to stand with billowing cloak and streaming hair. To the West he bends his gaze, as if he would pierce the mists of wrack and ruin, and see the hope which lies beyond.

Thus he stays for long moments, ere turning with a great cry, "Ah! The Star of Earendil I see, and the banner of Cirdan, and Amroth the Golden-haired, like a beacon in the dark! You shall have your wish, Celeborn. Indeed, would that I could ride forth with you, but my Doom is to stand with this city or fall with it, this I percieve!"

Hargendotaxin begins to look decidedly ill. Gulping heavilly and cursing his fate, the elf looks for a quick exit but alas his fellows press about him not leaving him room to escape. A sense of urgency fills this poor elf, as he watches his Lord Celeborn announce plans for a sorty. Cursing his fate, the elf takes a tighter grip on his axe.

From Before the Gates, The enemy may be dismayed at the arrival of Gil-galad's army, led by Elrond Half-Elven, son of Earendil, but its numbers falter not even when surprised. "Forward!" cries Elrond, urging his horse in a charge toward the city, surrounded by others of the Eldar mighty and fell. "We must reach the city, and lend our aid to their defences, before it fails!"

From Before the Gates, On the southward ridge the Elven Prince then motions to one of his number. A kinsman proud. Then suddenly their comes a great cry from the ridge and the echoes of the horns of the Elf-Riders multiply over the great Holly Trees. Then at last they come, swift horse and rider bearing bow and spear!

"Indeed then, Celebrimbor. Such is your doom," comes Celeborn's reply. Rising tall, the Sindar noble gazes solemnly towards that of the Noldor Lord, "Were it not such, between us, Celebrimbor -- but I would wish you the greatest of blessings here. And should we not reach the other end, or should we not return through the darkness before us... we shall meet again beyond the sea in the great halls."With swiftness of motion, Celeborn turns about and calls forth to his elves, "To horse! We leave now, as the star of Earendil shines in the distance!"

Those of Doriath leap down from their places at the battlements and horses are rushed to the gates.

From Before the Gates, The dark and gloom of the sky suddenly erupts in violent clouds. Black boiling clouds grow, tumbling over themselves, almost competing with the violence that goes forth on the ground. The mountainous ominous clouds continue to boil, bolts of lightening appearing as they streak from cloud head to cloud head. Then off in the distance a massive bolt of lightening streaks down to touch the ground, sending thunderous clap across the sky. Blinding is the light as it barrels into the ground.

From Before the Gates, The horses of the Elf Prince rear in dismay, at that unholy dart! Yet Amroth masters them at length and orders their small company once more.

From Before the Gates, Whinnying wildly, Lumenar's horse rears and plunges at the sudden lighting, then checks and joins the troops, white with foam.

From Before the Gates, Rithgar cringes at the sudden thunderclap, covering his ears. After a few seconds he rises from the ground cursing and starts to push his way to the forefront of the army.

From Before the Gates, Encouraged by the omen of lightening and the boiling sky, Gundmog holds his sword at the ready, standing firm against the oncoming horses, as a boulder planted eons ago by the mountaiins, here to obstruct this plain

From Before the Gates, Gundmog draws forth a deadly greatsword of fire, glowing and hissing as it's wielded from the hidden restingplace, next to the flaming Beast.

From Before the Gates, Makachzoch wadles around in the mud, his enormous, but very rusty, battle axe trailing behind him. He is abviously confused about the general surroundings, but he looks with a great pleasure, and hunger, at the horses to the south. After using the axe to scratch his back a few times, he starts to walk south, looking warily around him at every thunderclap

At the call of his Lord, Hargendotaxin waddles toward his horse. With obvious effort the elf attempts climbs up into the saddle. Unfortunately, his horse, sensing the presense of the fat elf, moves quickly to the side. Hargendotaxin, with one foot in a stirrup, begins to hop up and down to keep his balance while saying unsavory words to his horse. The horse whinnies in response, quite possibly a retort to the elf but more than likely a complaint about the elf's girth. The elf finally mounts the horse, but a crash of thunder echoes before the gate, sending his horse rearing and the elf head over heels to the cobblestones. Hargendotaxin curses fluently.

From Before the Gates, Tralegh roars angrily as she pulls her scimitar closer to her body and begins running toward the enemy, the troops behind herr following suit, brandishing a wide selection of weapons and thundering down towards the elves and their kin who seek to obstruct the progress of the army of Sauron. Tralegh snarls inwardly, her muscles pumping with blood and anger as she drives at the enemy, her scimitar held at the ready and sheild forfront like a battering ram.

From Before the Gates, Ska'bled is dazzled momentarily by the lightning and as he curses and snarls, a spear touches his chest at the sternum and moves abruptly up through the side of his face, laying open what took a few years to grow in a trice. His curses spill out the side of his face as he recoils back into the mass of the orcish host.

Up, set now astride his mount; a roan charger, Rhankanann takes up the banner of the sunken realm; reigning in 'longside lord Celeborn, as the host muster before the gate, 'ere it opens onto the tumult and ruin of war without, "My lord," Says he, "I could not wish for one greater than thou, not even Elwe himself... pray lead us to glory, and deliver us from this doom;" With that, he raises the sigil pennant, and it unfurls, streaming in the wind even as the portcullis is raised, and the gates open out on to the field.

From Before the Gates, Elinalwen runs to a horse and jumps astride it, plunging after Lumenar. She grasps on tightly her her cloak pulled around her.

From Before the Gates, Elrond's horse snorts in fear, eyes rolling wildly, yet it does not bolt or shy under its master's touch. "Annatar!" cries Elrond darkly, glancing away southward and east. "You thought to deceive us, yet in Lindon never we believed your lies. Sauron the black, the shadow! Defeated you have been before, and shall be again!" Anger fills him, and he dashes forth, ahead of horsemen and warrior, toward the very heart of the front lines of orcs, the fury of his heart given free rein today

Mounting up high, Celeborn gazes sadly towards the beleagered defenders from atop his horse -- a hint of guilt crossing his eyes. His fate before him is almost assured, and the army that he seeks to plunge in to deep and deadly. But there, out there, his wyrd has not yet been determined unlike those who defend these walls. Turning to Rhan, Celeborn calls, "As well as you, Herald. As well as all of you. Now," he puts his horse into a trot... slowly building to a gallop towards the gates, "So und the horn, and OPEN THE GATES!"

From Before the Gates, Hellish flames erupt from the ground where the lightening struck, their tongues reaching hungerly into the dark skies. From the midsts of the fires a form moves out, the blaze making the figure's shadow the size of a mountain. Appearing to float down towards the troops, the shadow continues to grow, the air grows heavier and charged with energy as the figure looks on.

Tall and lordly Celebrimbor stands, and he inclines his head to the kinsman of Elu Thingol, "Fare you well, Celeborn -- and may the Valar grant you their grace!" Yet, he lingers in that place, and his gaze is keen upon the Sindar Lord -- and heavy with the weight of ancient sorrow and tears shed by the Eldar beyond counting in all the ages of Arda, and softly he speaks, as if to himself, "Beyond the Circles of the World we will meet again -- for thus our paths are sundered." And turning, he looks upon the black hosts thither, a silent sentinel before whom even the Darkness must quail...

Hargendotaxin rises slowly from the ground. His horse whinnies a bit, a sound resembling a snicker. With unprecedented speed, the elf places both hands on the rear of the horse and vaults into his saddle. The horse, appearantly expecting something else, whinies in terror as other equines shudder in terror. The elf lands with a resounding "Wooof" and a sudden scream of pain. Eyeballs rolling up into his head, the elf slides from his saddle unto the ground, curling up into a fetal position. The horse snickers.

From Before the Gates, Standing out above the orcs like an island from the sea, Ernie the Troll pats his club, too massive for normal people to lift, against one palm. The weapon is made of some hard wood, widening out from the handgrip, with a sharp spike sticking out near the top. The whole thing is battered and bloodstained with heavy use. "Ho ho ho," the brutish troll chuckles to no one in particular, "Dey jus' keep coming to the slaughter. Dey stupider than me!"

From Before the Gates, Tralegh lifts a long black scimitar from the rope loop she wears at her side. Her hand holding the hilt of the weapon with perfect balance as she turns the midnight balck weapon before her, the wickedly sharp edge gleaming sullenly.

From Before the Gates, Rithgar pauses behind the trolls, let them bare the first waves of attack on their host.

From Before the Gates, As she draws her blade, light flashing from it's diamond cut edge, Lumenar rasises her head with a wild battle cry, guiding her horse into the melee.

From Before the Gates, Rithgar peering around the bulk of the trolls he grasps his spear nervously as the command to open the gates reachs his ears.

From Before the Gates, Makachzoch's eyes light up as Elronds troops begin to charge. Fully focused on the horses, he begins to trot towards the charging army, totally headless of the denger. His enormous axe is swung back and forth above his head, quite out of controll.

From Before the Gates, The sounds of battle, and lightning.. Not to mention the other terrors occurring on the field seem to have a horrible side effect. They wake Bzzargh from his slumber, clearly evident by the grumble that pours forth from a hole in the ground. Suddenly two massive hands grapple the edges of the hole, and a Olog pulls himself out.. Looking around the field with a look of disgust. Bending back down, he pulls his battle axe out of the hole and lays it near the entrance before turning to grab hold of a massive boulder, both hands grabbing it tightly as he lifts it above his head and cries out, "Ya wan' somma dis elfseses?!"

From Before the Gates, Black tongue lolling out of the side of the grotesque grimace caused by the errant spearhead, Ska'bled once again braves the front lines, his slavering drool mixed with his blood pooling in darkness at his feet.

From Before the Gates, Elinalwen slows momentarily in her flight, looking around and surveying the awful scene. She takes out a bow she has been hiding from under her cape and steadies herself before once again plunging on after the rest of the Elven host.

With the names of Ecthelion and Glorfindel, greatest champions of the Eldar foremost on their lips; the host of Celeborn issues forth, fell and terrible all, like a knife they slice into the hordes without the wall and do not falter, but ride on; great harm they deal on the goblins and trolls, for each is ancient and doughty, and their swords long and pale; steel of nogrod that no hide may turn aside nor hinder they cleave a path towards Elronds' host, rallying about the prince and the banner of Doriath.

Eyes glazed, the elf rises yet again to mount his horse. Hunched over, Hargendotaxin walks toward his horse and begins to whisper pleadingly into its ear. The horse sighs, and with an almost delicate motion, Hangendotaxin rises into his saddle. Pulling his axe out and swinging it wildly about his head, the elf lift his voice....a pain filled voice...to support his lord. With a begging look toward his horse, the elf commands the beast to head toward the gate. The horse in response whinnies and grunts following his equine companions out the gate.

From Before the Gates, The shadow in the distance suddenly erupts in a blinding light, the darkness draws off for a moment to reveal a being of emmense stature. With dark robes flying about, the Lord of Darkness throws out his hands,small bolts of lighting flowing from his fingers. Blazing eyes glare down across his troops as they lay illuminated in the immaculate light of Sauron. As the lights dance about the god, his mouth rises in a scornful smile. Then with a flare of light that blinds those looking towards him, the god King disappears back into the darkness, the flames and lights plunging the land back into the unnatural darkness and gloom.

From Before the Gates, Through the darkness of the night, the chaos of the battle, and the gloom of Sauron himself, there rides forward a star fallen from heaven. With the brilliance of Earendil, his father, Master Elrond races foward, toward the city. Orcs are hewn by his sword, or trampled under his great steed, else they fly from his charge; like a silver bolt fired by the Valar he comes, the vengeance of the West upon the army of darkness. "To the city!" he calls again, though he outdistances herald, horseman, and warrior alike, alone being spurred on by the blood of Men which flows in his veins, and gives fire to his heart. "The darknes will ever shirk from the Light of the West, and the Eldar who have beheld it!" Only the two trolls appearing suddenly on the battlefield give him any pause, and that is only to orient himself toward them, and to race through the fray toward them.

From Before the Gates, As the battle rages on and the meeting of mounted and orcish host lay about, a horn calls out from the city, and the gates open -- spitting forth a doughty command of mounted elves, charging into the belly of the beast

Before the Gates
Before the great Gates of Eregion, all else is dwarfed by their towering splendour, and the walls of the city stretch almost out of sight to the north and south. Their smooth marble surface gleams with a white brilliance of its own, striking against the dark granite upon which the city has its foundations. The broad gates themselves shine like silver; for indeed they are mithril and steel, steadfastly barring the way to the city of the elves. Tall holly trees grow to either side of the gates, and in small groves beside the road which cuts its way north-south through the grassland around the city.

Tralegh roars angrily as she now hurtles towards the enemy across the distance, the entire army filled with the charge, sweeping up any who try to stray back and propelling them forward with the enourmous momentum of the wave of darkness. The Tek'rak pounds across the ground, one foot after the other, shield held steady before her as she is pushed ever faster by those behind. The warrior charges along the front line, her eyes seeking her first victim as do many of those around her.

The Elven-Riders of Amroth fan out at the rear of the sortie and taking their bows they begin to launch into the Enemy. Amroth himself watches steadily, his hand bearing openly a naked blade of silver.

Bouncing wildly on his horse, Hargendotaxin hangs on for dear life as he follows the host out of the gates. A meek cry of Celeborn escapes his lips, lost in the din of battle.

Taking advantage of her horse's timely blow, Lumenar brings her sword down upon the incapacitated Makachzoc, eyes full of fire.

Elinalwen rides on keeping out of the main fray to allow her clear vision for her arrows which shoot with deadly accuracy

Khoroesh is thrust about randomly in the press of the orcish horde. His grey-black face pales as the gates burst open for he finds himself in the front rank.

Rithgar cries out, throwing himself on the ground as his Lord briefly shows himself to both his army and his enemy. Arrows whistle overhead as the approching army attempts to halt the hord of uruk and trolls. Rithgar staggers to feet as a larger orc shouts at him, hiting him on the head and pushes him toward Amroth's calvery.

But wait.. That boulder isn't for throwing! Bzzargh's massive toeless foot kicks the battle axe down into the hole before he too jumps in. The boulder still being held above his head, and a scream resounds within the hole as he squashes his fingers and begins to cuss, though fortunately the rock above muffles it. Once more he lifts it slightly, and then rapidly pulls his hands into the hole behind him forming a seal above to protect him from the sounds of battle. His hands pick the axe up again, as he cuddles up with the weapon like one would a teddy-bear and goes back to sleep in the inner-sanctity of his lair.

Ska'bled steps into the opening caused by Makachzoch's brave attack and manages to hamstring a horse as it plunges past. His eyes gleam wildly with battle lust and hunger.

Makachzoch manages to take 2 more steps forward before crashing down with a silent, dissapointed murmur. Then he just lies there, quite dead.

Amroth then without helm charges forth, his blade shimmering. Then among the Sindar a cry leaps up to the sky: AMROTH! Amroth for Eregion! His white horse shimmers and tears up the green in his speed.

Bright blades chop and slash as the small company from Ost-In-Edhil smashes through, into the Dark Lord's lines. Glittering mail shines old, from the ancient armories of sunken Doriath. At their head, Celeborn rides, shouting encouragements to his riders. Bearing down, his blade is like lightning -- deadly and quick. Echoing the cry of Amroth, the shout of "Eregion! Eregion!" cries up from Celeborn's lips.

Ska'bled steps to the side of the plunging horse and swings on the next to enter his range. It's a long, high reach, but he swings at the exposed legs of one of the elf riders, no longer content with spilling horses.

Espying the banner of Celeborn his company lends aid, shoting before him from the east into the clusters of the great army. No one has come to oppose Amroth in his wrath, woodland king most fair. Again and again they fire, soaring arrows whispering high.

Ska'bled steps to the side of the plunging horse and swings on the next to enter his range. It's a long, high reach, but he swings at the exposed legs of one of the elf riders, no longer content with spilling horses.

Rithgar looks around the teeming battlefield. The grass is soaked in blood, much of it Orc. Screaming a curse he charges the nearest Elf, his spear held and shield held high. Rithgar attacks Hargendotaxin with his Spear, but he misses by a long shot.

A fan of red splashes and another orc body goes limp as Celeborn rides by. Ducking down low, the elvish Lord fends off a spear point with his shield and smashes a blow back in return. As he breaks through the first line, Celeborn turns about to watch as his elves trickle through in bunches and groups -- then, with a wave of his sword, he urges his mount further towards the far-flung battle lines on the opposite side.

Hargendotaxin cries out as his horse wickedly jumps over a large pile of orcish bodies. The elf begins to turn green but has enough moxy to keep his axe in a threatening manner in what he vainly hopes will keep foul Sauron's beasts away from him. Alas, this fat elf is without luck today as an orc climbs forward to launch a spear attack at him. With extreme skill...okay, okay, really good luck, the elf manages to dodge the spear. The elf shift in the saddle slightly, panic in his eyes and swings down toward the orc.

Ernie holds his ground in the battle, swinging his pillar-like club about him wildly in great arcs. The troll has already swept two elves who came too close from their saddles, armor and body crushed beneath the enormous inertia of his blows. The arrows that come his way simply bounce off his rocky hide, sometimes taking a few chips with them, but never doing any real damage.

Hargendotaxin attacks Rithgar with his Bare Hands and lightly wounds him!

Checking his horse, assailed with piteous blows; Rhankanann, the herald of Doriath wheels about. Passing the banner from his hand to a fellow of his company, with free hand he draws forth his ancient blade, Aglarlaure from the vaults of Menegroth; pale steel glitters in the sun as he deals a stroke in answer, down from the saddle onto his pitiable foe.

The horns of Amroth call to Celeborn and his company surges into the fray. Now coming to the lines the Elves sweep out their spears and Amroth with blade pierce into the line swiftly like a knife. Forth he rides and undismayed by the horror of the armies of Sauron.

Tralegh roars as she comes to the front of the battle where screaming elves and uruk fill the air along with the death cries opf horses caught up in the battle and brough to death at the hands of hte evil forces. The Tek'rak roars a battle cry as she runs. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" Her scimitar dancing through the ranks of enemy as she drives forward looking for a worthy opponent. Suddenly she spies a tall and graceful elf astride a horse of great beuaty itself. She snarls a curse and pushes towards him, hacking at a fallen body as she goes, ever one to be sure of an enemies death. She rises up before Rhankanann with shiled and scimitar raised as she leaps over a fallen uruk to get to where a uruk batters at the stolid elf. She grins and roars out angrily. "<UNINTELLIGIBLE SPEECH>" as she leaps up at the behorsed creature, striking forward with her sword at the elfs body, hoping to force him off the beast.

Rithgar staggers and grunts as the axe stikes his shoulder and black blood flows out to join the blood of his companions. Still, he is on his feet and thus must keep attacking. Once again he thrusts his spear at the elf. Rithgar attacks Hargendotaxin with his Spear and mildly wounds him!

Hargendotaxin lets out a loud effeminate scream as the spear pinks his delicate flesh. Several elves nearby turn to see Hargendotaxin's final death scream only to be sadly disappointed by the sight of a slight rent in his tunic...they turn away in disgust to battle their worthy foes. The fat elf gives a look of pure fear at the orc and again swings wildly at the creature, while urging his horse to move forward. The horse snickers and holds its ground. Hargendotaxin attacks Rithgar with his Axe and badly wounds him!

Ska'bled reels back from the frightening blow of Rhankanann, his shield and arm flying off like a child's discarded toy. In grave shock and darkening vision, he launches himself at the brave elf, still trying for the leg of the elf rather than the horse.

Rithgar staggers and falls to his knees, groaning as the axe removes a finger. Luckly it is on his left hand so he still swing his spear at the elf's leg Rithgar attacks Hargendotaxin with his Spear, but Hargendotaxin parries the attack with his Axe!

Espying now the great force of the Hosts of Sauron, the Elven riders of Amroth turn to flight, with a trumpet sound, heading swiftly south and east off of the field...

Another elf warror charges Ernie, lance set for the troll's belly, and one of it's wild club swings catches the lance just in the knick of time, sending it flying off, and unbalancing the elf for a moment. A moment too late. Even as the warrior is drawing his sword, Ernie grabs ahold of the elf's helmeted head as he charges by, and yanks him out of the saddle. Shaking the body like a chewtowy, the troll snaps the elf's neck, and drops the corpse. Taking a moment now to look around him at the carnage going the other way in most parts of the battle, Ernie shouts to the orcs. "Ha! What you doings? These elfs aren't tough! I seen PIGS that bite harder!"

Blue steel is raised once more, now whetted black with goblin blood from the first of Rhankananns' foes; he reigns his horse once more, mayhap he thinks the first dead, as he wheels about, and bears down on the second of his assailants: Tralegh, that one who cries out in the blasphemous tongue; becomes his chiefest concern, but his blow is stayed, and the dread steel of Aglarlaure does not fall, as Ska'bled near grapples him from atop his steed.

Hargendotaxin lets out another scream as he sense his impending doom. His horse however is far more reliable in saving his own hide and scampers out of the way of the spear. Crying horribly, the fat elf blindly swings again at his opponent.

Grux totters around in the mud of the battlefield, shooting arrows whenever he can.

Rithgar gets to his feet, just in time for the axe to miss him as it swings right where his head was a second ago. Growling low in his throat he charges the fat elf.

Ska'bled's universe has narrowed to a fine point where his beady red eyes can discern only Rhankanann on his horse. With a grunt of pain that is all that fuels his grotesque body he gargles his defiance of life and stabs upward again at the elf.

At the sight of the charging orc, Hargendotaxin lets out another scream of terror and begins to weave a complicated pattern with his axe presenting an impassible barrier of chops. This of course looks to any decent warrior like random, panicked filled, wild strikes. The horse, on the other hand, has a lot more sense and simply sidesteps the orc

Then with hard vengeance and white anger, the Elven Prince turns his steed toward that vicious troll, Ernie. His sword on high he rides swift in his wrath, slender blade preparing to pierce its thick hide.

Rithgar snerks at the wild elf, mocking laughter bubbling up in his throat. "I'll make a good meal of you elfie, you'll feed five of us." With that he brings his spear around, stabing at the elfs chest.

Grux decides he isn't getting what is due to him on the battle-field, and throws his bow aside. Instead he draws out a black and worn dagger about the length of his forearm. With the dull blade raised, he charges forward, towards the thinck of the battle.

Roudabout turns Rhankanann, steadied now atop his steed; Ska'bled he sees, is pitted to the death, and through some superhuman feat assails him still, but the heralds' eyes are pitiless, as he deliver what must surely be the finishing stroke; Aglarlaure speeds with a steely whistle, that it might nestle in whatsoever grey matter might reside within the Goblins hideous head.

The fat elf comes to his senses as his horse again sidesteps the blow. With great effort, Hargendotaxin brings his axe back in a violent arc to cleave the orc in twain. Madness begins to glitter in the elf's eyes as he begins to scream himself hoarse.

Ska'bled flies back from the terrible blow of Rhankanann. The front of his pitiful armor sliced open much like his face, but intestines and gore pouring out rather than just a tongue. As he falls under the hooves of another brave elf his dark world turns darker and he becomes part of the landscape to be trod on and mixed with the rest of the dead.

Rithgar Laughs as the wicked axe misses him again and stabs at the elf's leg again

Grux scans the battlefied, and notices Rhankanann standing a biot away. With a scream, including something about pots and cooking, he lunges forward knife in hand.

The horse finally having enough of the overweight and noisy occupant rears. The fat elf barely hangs on for dear life. With unimagined skill, and darned good luck, the fat elf manages to hang onto hi axe. An evil gleam in his eyes, he swings the flat of the blade down on the horses rump. The creature lets out a horrid scream and begins to run into the elven host, as the fat elf unceremoniously and with great relief bounces up and down with each stride of the horse.

Tralegh snarls defiance as the other uruk battleing the elf lordling is thrown backwards by a blow to be trampled to death under the hooves of milling horses. The leiutenant of Barad Dur growls a cry of defiance as another orc comes at her opponent and charges at the elf, being wary to avoid the weapon of the creature of light, she simply strikes at the neck of the horse beneath him, intention to bring the elf down to the bloody floor below, under the horse if possible so she can have free reign to slaughter him as she wishes on the mud turned ground below.

Stricken, Rhankananns' Roan steed falls into ruin; and of a moment, the mighty sindar lord founders 'neath a sea of grappling goblin arms; but shirks them off, and stands unscathed; her girds his shining helm and shield more tightly, shoring orcish heads, as one might ears of corn in the harvest time; for horse, the lord looks to Tralegh for revenge, and bears down upon her with his blade

Tralegh is forced back with a cry of pain and alarm as all goblin kind are at heart timid and weak. She holds her scimitar tighter, lifting her shield up to fend off any more blows and drops into a fighting stance, ignoring the burst of blood which envelops her left shoulder, staining the black armour. She shouts suddenly, "Elf Lord is down, kill him!" before she lunges forward in an almost graceful move, slashing the scimitar at the now standing elflings neck, her eyes as solid and sharp as the balde she bears.

The party of Amroth now turned fights their way toward the horsemen of Celeborn. Then espying Rhankanann on the stricken field, the Prince of Lorinand hacks his way toward him. The steady rumbling of his steed grows to a sudden storm. As for Tralegh, the wound she deals on the elf-lord is as for nought; as might not be said for that one with which he answers, a swift and deadly stroke with his blade, and the goblin falls headless, sagging to the ground. As for Rhankanann? Amroth the golden-haired he espies, and makes to meet him on the field, cleaving his way through the sea of yrch that sunder them. Amroth turns on his steed and then leaps off his stallion, his riders hem around him clearing space. He then cries to the fell Tralegh, "Come!" He whips his sword on high and yea, verily he has come into possession of one of the blades of old for it burns bright and blue.

In kind, Aglarlaure; Rhankananns' fell blade from Menegroth glares palest blue, e'en through the black blood that soaks it; the herald of Elwe is come well nigh unto the side of Amdirs' son, and cries over the blamour of the field: "Well met, lord of Lorinand!" And, ever the blaggard he adds: "It does not bode well... a horse I would beg of ye, and a swift retreat... the day closes, and the dark lord himself will come with the night."

"Well met valiant," says Amroth, his eyes turning toward him, "Nay, and I have not the strength to bring thee to the gates. Come, mount my steed and you shall retreat with me to the South!" "As you would, lord," Answers the herald, "From Ost-in-edhil I have fled... and now to the host of Elrond I would go, with my master Celeborn. But, the south shall suffice... better there than on this field."

Helping the Elf onto the bareback of the horse, Amroth leaps before him and swings his steed about, "Forth then. Time for vengeance shall come soon enough. We go to the Dwarves!" Then with a single clarion note the riders of Amroth speed south, their mission done.