With the splitting of the Orc Captain's head, Hobwise sees the advantage of flight. He was clumsy in his attempt to hide after that shot, and knows well that the small horde will be on him quick.
He bursts from the defense of the boulder, in a dead sprint back toward the rocky outcropping. He tries to be quiet as he goes, if such a thing is possible, as to not completely betray his location in the gloom. His bare feet pick cleanly over the scree, but of course he is far from silent. Better to let them come at him, and position himself to hide and shoot from a distance.
Actions for the turn: Move x2 + Dash Cunning Action for total of 75'. Distance to the party at the end of his turn is 200'. Distance from the enemy prior to their turn is 120'.
Something happened. You hear a roar of orc and goblins in the night, probably beyond short bow range from the rocky outcropping. There is an army. And, they are charging pell-mell toward you from the darkness.
Cunning Action Dash 25'
You roar of orc and goblins in the night increases, they are closing fast. It is an army.
"They will hear of it across the sea!" Cereidh calls back, raising her bow.
Hearing the orcs and goblins start to rile themselves up for a charge, Amalina grabs a few large sticks from the fire. Making sure they are burning brightly, she throws them as far as she can down the slope hoping they'll provide a little additional light for her arrows, or if luck is with her, will catch some of the grasses and scrub on fire providing even further light and another obstacle for the orcs.
Findegil peers into the darkness, squinting to try and make out the form of the foe, that he may draw bow and strike. Should they appear too close, he will hold position with sword and shield.
You roar of orc and goblins in the night crescendos, the army is closing fast.
Amalina throws a flaming branch down the outcropping to shed some light.
Your arrow buries into the wounded Black Uruk who doesn't break stride toward you.
Your arrow buries into the wounded Black Uruk who doesn't break stride toward you.
You sprint to the safety of your companions.
Finally, Hobwise emerges into the light of the fire running as fast as his little legs can drive. Right behind him on his heels is a shield wall of Black Uruk chasing him into the light.
Éothain of East Emnet had faced Black Uruk and goblins before. But, not this many. Especially, dismounted. Fortunately, the outcropping provided a height advantage.
The red rider of Rohan stood next to his new companions silent reflecting his own thoughts. Of home, of his family, of Folc and his future. His shield was battle ready. His spear hung loosely in his right hand ready for an opportunity to loose it at range. Folc had removed and packed the red pennant that usually hung under the metal blade, more out of routine than of hope to use it again.
When the halfling broke into the campfire light at a run, Éothain finally saw the approaching shield wall of the Black Uruk in the umbra. He loosed his spear to give time to draw his sword for the melee.
18 hit
Amalina's eyes strained to pierce the veil of darkness. She could hear the vile creatures out beyond the light, but still couldn't see anything. Winter, simply sat next to her, ear pricked forward and nose working the wind. Suddenly the big dog grumbled low in his belly and moments later she saw Hobwise running toward them, short legs pumping like a crazed cider press.
She raises her bow, lays in a shaft, pulls the string taught, waits a few heartbeats for the first sign of those pursuing the hobbit. Spotting the big Uruk she releases, sending the feathered shaft straight toward the charging orc. Not waiting to see the result, she quickly reaches for a second shaft.
Cereidh sends an arrow speeding after Amalina's.
Findegil swiftly draws bow and looses arrow, eager to slay orc filth.
Hobwise jostles up atop the rocky outcropping and hastily fires another arrow in the direction of the twice-bloodied Uruk.
When the halfling broke into the campfire light at a run, Éothain finally saw the approaching shield wall of the Black Uruk in the umbra. He loosed his spear to give time to draw his sword for the melee.
She raises her bow, lays in a shaft, pulls the string taught, waits a few heartbeats for the first sign of those pursuing the hobbit. Spotting the big Uruk she releases, sending the feathered shaft straight toward the charging orc. Not waiting to see the result, she quickly reaches for a second shaft.
Cereidh sends an arrow speeding after Amalina's.
Findegil swiftly draws bow and looses arrow, eager to slay orc filth.
The shield wall of Black Uruk crash into the companions ready for melee and attacks with their bent swords. You still hear the pitter-patter of goblin feet.
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Hobwise curses his impertinence while drawing the string on another arrow, targeting the black monster that just sliced into Thorgrim.
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As the black orc bears down on Thorgrim, like a coild spring he releases the tension in his arm to DRIVE the point of his greatsword down!
= 13
= 15
Noctiscide dons a faint shimmer of blue as the heavy blade weaves a web of STEEL before the weaponmaster. Again and again it's metal blade crashes and cuts, slices and dices into the dreadful beast. At last, punctured by an arrow that sinks feather-deep into it vitals, even the unnatural vitality of the Uruk is spent to crash down into the earth.
Thorgrim takes a moment only to look back to the half-man and nods gratitude before again looking into the heart of the battle.
Amalina fires another arrow at the first big orc scrambling up the slop to attack Anar.
Findegil shouts, as he draws up shield and sword:
"Free folk of the North! Bring ruin to the orcs! Thorgrim, there!"
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Once per battle, you may have a nearby ally automatically
hit on what was a missed attack.
Findegil hacks furiously at the mass of orcs before him, seemingly intent on being able to see through the shattered bodies.
Cereidh stares down at the mass of foes, before lifting her arrow from the felled Uruk before Thorgrim and sending it flying alongside Findegil's words and sword to the two Uruk closing on him.
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Hobwise curses his impertinence while drawing the string on another arrow, targeting the black monster that just sliced into Thorgrim.
As the black orc bears down on Thorgrim, like a coild spring he releases the tension in his arm to DRIVE the point of his greatsword down!
The dwarf attacks the nearest foe.
Amalina fires another arrow at the first big orc scrambling up the slop to attack Anar.
Findegil hacks furiously at the mass of orcs before him, seemingly intent on being able to see through the shattered bodies.
Cereidh stares down at the mass of foes, before lifting her arrow from the felled Uruk before Thorgrim and sending it flying alongside Findegil's words and sword to the two Uruk closing on him.
Éothain gives a battle cry of Rohan and slashes at a Black Uruk.
Black Uruk step over their fallen brethren to attack the company.
Then, the goblin arrows start falling on the company's archers.
Hobwise maintains a steady stream of arrows into the horde falling around Thorgrim.
Seeing no end to the enemy's numbers, Hobwise shouts to the indomitable women on the rock. "Ceriedh, can you use Elf-lights on our arrows, to fire them behind the shield wall and slow the advance?"
Then, he looks to Lady Irimë. "And what of you, Lady?" He feels a surge of Thorgrim's ire course across his tongue. "Have you no Elf magic to aid us in this final hour? If not, I will hand you my dagger and we can jump into the pit with those brave men who would die for you tonight!"
Amalina grimaces as the orc arrow rips through her leg. Ignoring the flowing blood she sets another arrow and sends it toward the same Uruk as before. She then releases Winter to join the fray and with a growl the hound slips near Anar and sinks his teeth into the same Uruk his mistress hit with her arrow.
"FOR ROHAN! ROHIRRIM! EMNET!" Éothain screams at the shield wall of Black Uruk.
"It may be but an annoyance, but I admit an annoyance to them would bring a little consolation." She eases her most recently fetched-up arrow from the taut string, shifting only slightly from her strong stance to hold the neck of it in the flame. Whispering something to it in Sindar, she aims - not into the Uruk, but at any patch of dry grass visible through their storming boots.
Out of concern that a fatal blow to any of them might snuff this particular arrow.
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You continue to cut down the Black Uruk who are consistently replaced by an army. Replacing a fallen Black Uruk, an Orc Soldier tries to hurl a jar of liquid into the face and eyes of Éothain. The splash of some vile concoction; it looks like tar, but clings and burns without heat or fire. One suicidally brave Goblin leaps over the front lines and attacks the rear guard. Winter reacts and pulls down goblin but is greatly wounded whimpering in pain.
The relentless assault continues for another couple dozen seconds when all hope is lost and you have accepted certain defeat. Then, you feel a wind rush by overhead, and you hear the beating of tremendous wings. The Orcs fall back in terror as a flight of gigantic birds swoops upon you from above! First Irimë, then your wounded companions, and finally Thorgrim are picked up by the Great Eagles of the Misty Mountains. Other Eagles grab Orcs in their talons and fly off with them, then drop them from a great height to break on the rocks below.
An Orc (because Hobwise sniped the orc-captain) roars to rally the troops: “Stand and fight, you maggots! They’re only feathery cows!” He grabs a huge black bow and looses an arrow at one of the departing Eagles. The arrow flies straight and true, piercing the Eagle’s breast. The bird does not fall, but its flight becomes more labored.
The Eagles fly you into the mountains. The flight would be terrifying if you could see your surroundings, but in the darkness, all you can feel is the rush of the wind and the beating of the Eagles’ wings. Birds carrying the companions with the heaviest armor and other gear makes several cutting remarks about the adventurer’s weight and choice of armor, but all the Eagles manage to escape the hail of Orc-arrows and fly off into the night. After a short but exhilarating flight, the Eagles bring you to their eyries.
Dawn finds the company on a narrow stony ledge, high in the mountains. Those who know the mountains well (or who have studied maps in Dale, Erebor or Hobbiton that showed Thorin’s journey) might deduce that you are not at the main eyrie of the Eagles, but at some other outpost nearby.
The Lord of the Eagles arrives shortly after you wake. With a wingspan of more than 100 feet, his arrival is a sight to behold. He lands on the edge of the platform, his dwarf-wrought golden crown glittering in the morning light. He addresses Irimë first of all, and she thanks him for heeding her prayers. “We heard your song on the wind, but it was the light that guided us to you. Long has there been friendship between your kind and mine, and we came when we were needed.”
Next, the Lord of the Eagles turns to you. “Gaerthor, one of my chieftains, was grievously wounded as he rescued you from the Orcs. Tell me, whose lives did he buy with his courage?”
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Anar is amazed as he flies to eyrie. Upon arriving and hearing the speech of the Lord of the Eagles. He wipes his face and bows "I am Anar Broadanvil and these are my companions. Thank you oh lord. We are in your debt and weep for your chieftain. I have a bit of healing. I would try to help him if I can"
Seeing Winter take a fell wound from the goblin, Amalina grabs the axe from her belt and charges forward to sink the blade deep into the goblin's skull. Standing over her fallen hound she fights fiercely with the others slicing at Uruk and goblin alike. The stench of blood, sweat, and orcs fills her nose as she swings again and again. Blood runs from half a dozen minor cuts, but none worse than the original arrow that still sticks from her leg.
More Uruk fall under Thorgrim's, Findigal's and Eothain's blade but more keep coming, until suddenly the assault waivers and the breaks. Amazed and unbelieving Amalina starts to check on Winter, when she and the dog are whisked from the ground and the cry of the eagles echoes through the air. She is barely able to contain her own frightened scream as the land quickly recedes beneath her feet. The big fire quickly becoming little more than a distant dot before it she could no longer see it at all. The wind rushing by her face was exhilarating and after a short time she had to stifle a giddy laughter as flight, perhaps combined with the blood loss, made her feel not only tingly and woozy physically but free of her mind and spirit as well. Her only concern being Winter and the hounds wounds.
It takes several moments for her weakened legs to recover when they land, but eventually she steadies herself enough to bow low to the great creature standing before her.
"I am Amalina of the Woodfolk." She says in response to the eagle's question. "And I too thank you for your timely and unexpected aid and am saddened to hear that your chieftain was gravely injured."
She also turns and bows to the Lady Irime, "And I thank you as well My Lady, for it seems your song was what alerted the eagles to our need."
Cereidh sweeps a courtly bow to the king, watching Irime with concern - and perhaps, a sticky sort of slowness to understand that she's free from that desperate last stand against the Uruks. She speaks, to the King, eyes squinting against the dawn on his crown and feathers. "Lady Cereidh of the Greenwood, Your Majesty. I am glad for my life but more glad for my Lady Irime's. I will speak of this to my court, although the most fitting words might be ill-believed in the fantastical breadth of your bravery and wisdom."
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"WHAARRRGGHGHH???" Thorgrim shouts in rage and confusion as he is carried bodily from the battlefield, voice raging in crimson curses. "WHAT right have you? I had them where I wanted them! Confound you absconding bird you'll find me a hard meal to crack if you mean to steal a meal from the orcs! I'll shred your beak to dining-forks! I'll carve your...." he goes on for awhile until he tires and comes to accept the flight, at one point even dozing briefly during the trip.
When he is at last dropped unharmed unto firm ground, he is a simmering foul mood, robbed of dignity and an honest fight. "I am called Thorgrim, Oh Your Lordship of Birds, but as I was put into that scrape by whim of nobility, you will pardon me if I fail to bow and scrape at yet another of my so-called betters steering my fate.
...
No chance of any decent wine in this perchy loft? I'm finding flying to be a thirsty work."
Hobwise found the sensation of flight to be extremely unpleasant - nauseatingly so, and he lost track of how often he retched his last supper during the ceaseless and bitterly cold aerial excursion. The hobbit passed out at some point, only to reawaken still clenched tightly in scythe-like claws, but instead of beating through the sky they were hurtling downward in a death dive. At least this unprecedented misery would soon end as he was pitted atop the tallest spire of the mountain range.
Not that he wanted to go back.
Hobwise had discovered a new talent: slaying orc from the high ground. The desperation of the hour had given him preternatural focus, and each arrow from his bow pierced either the head of some foul adversary, or a soft spot in the armor where the frozen iron found warm purchase in the vitals. As he was surely about to die, he had decided to enjoy this moment and not be ashamed of it. And so he did. And between mighty Thorgrim and himself they were murdering Black Uruk at a pace of one per volley, which might have been impressive had the ranks not seemed inexhaustible. Indeed, where did so many Uruks, Orcs, and Goblins come from, and how did they know that the patchwork party of would-be heroes might travel through that exact trail at that exact day? These were questions Hobwise would not bother to ask himself until after the waves of nausea, tremors, and aches subsided. Hours would seem like days.
And so it came to pass that a great winged creature, a feathery dragon, he guessed, whom Hobwise understood was their king or something, asked the party to present themselves and account for the injury of one of its own. Soaked to the core as he was in blood, sweat, and vomit, and freezing to death as they lolligagged, Hobwise managed only to chatter, "Hob-b-b-b-Sh-sh-sh-ire," and then plant his face into the snowpack, where he hoped to suffocate rather than prolong the indignity of the moment.
Later, much later, he would be thankful. And in the quieter moments of their journeys he would smile and think of the excitement Mister Bilbo would have when Hobwise shared this part of his adventure.
Éothain fought in a battle fury until he was snatched away by a giant claw. He slashed at the Black Uruks as he flew overhead in the clutches of an eagle who complained incessantly about the weight of his armor. After the red mist of his rage passed, he looked around and spotted Folc wide-eyed and smiling carried by another Eagle.
===============================================
In the morning, the tall Red Rider of Rohan introduces himself, "I am Éothain of East Emnet in the Kingdom of Rohan. This is Folc, my esquire. We are indebted to your Eagles. I apologize for the weight of my armor. It protects me from the soldiers of the Shadow."
"Oh dear," Cereidh mutters, and excuses herself from her social duties with a shallow bobbed bow to the King before extracting Hobwise from the drift, brusquely cleaning his face with a bit of snow and his own cloak before looking for at least a bare bit of stone to set him - face-up this time.
After most of you introduce you, the Lord of the Eagles, "Thank you Anar for the offer, but we will take care of our own."
"And no, Thorgrim. We have no wine to offer you."
"Something has stirred up the Orcs in recent weeks."
"What shall we do with you?"
"Highness, if that's a genuine offer, I - we all here have already risked our lives in our attempt to discharge our honorable duty to the Lady Irime. While I can't say that we've done right by her, it is still my obligation to take her to the High Pass. If you can carry us there, I can retain some threads of my own honor and we'll all be out of your, er, feathers. And I should think that you would be delivering us further from death." She sketches a short bow.
"If we owe a debt to you - and we do owe you a debt! - there's little, I think, an elf can do to be useful to an eagle's aerie. Maybe less so, many of my companions."
The Lord of the Eagles replies, "Aye Greenwood Elf, we will take you to the High Pass but not over."
"On one of our more far-reaching flights, we have seen something in the West Nether Vales, a new fortress on the moors south of the River Gladden. I don't know what it is, but I dislike it."
"If you return to that area, please look into it."
Findegil throws Thorgrim a displeased look at his comments on his betters.
I shall speak with him later on manners!
"Your Majesty, I am Findegil, son of Durothil, knight of Minas Tirith. And I am grateful for your timely intervention. We have indeed accepted the task of escorting Lady Irime westwards. We would gladly scout the common threat of this fortress."
"After giving the goblins and suchlike time to return to their holes, I hope." More to Findegil than to the King.