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As if by instinct, sensing he had been in one spot for too long, Doderic began to tumble away just as the Orcs spear found its mark, reducing the impact, but the gash had been caused all the same. He struck again, hoping his companions in the back would finish off the last of the spear wielding orcs.
He gives a grateful nod to Ingold, Thanks, I'm really not used to all of this. He manages to spit out before having to raise his shield to parry a blow.
The poultice does its work and staunches Doderic's bleeding wound. The sting of the herbs race through the hobbit giving him just the boost he needs to fend off another goblin assault and with the parry, remove the creature's harassing arm from it ugly body. The goblin falls back screaming before death finally silences it.
The humming *zip* of a arrow passes within mere inches of Doderic. As the hobbit spins in alarm, all he sees is three feet of arrow entering the goblin's mouth and exiting through the back of its skull. The creature which looked poised to jab his knife between the hobbit's exposed shoulder blades simply falls over backward dead before the tumble even started.
A second arrow zips past on the opposite side of Doderic. Although not as keen a shot as the previous one, the heavy hunting arrowhead does its work as it drives deep into the target's chest until eventually meeting the heart. It takes a bit longer, but this goblin also falls to the floor dead in moments.
As quickly as they were surrounded, Doderic and Thorgrim find themselves nearly free of the howling goblins. Thorgrim finishes off the final two pressing against his position while the number accosting the hobbit are suddenly half of what they were.
With most of their goblin fodder lying dead upon the floor the orcs are forced to fight or flee. Surprisingly, they decide to fight. Two step up to engage the big Beorning. Although both manage to slip spear points past his defenses, the weak blows are barely noticed by Thorgrim. The third orc uses the reach of his spear to lunge at Ingold. His efforts focused more on Doderic and the remaining goblins, the healer doesn't see the blow coming until it is too late.
The final orc, still fighting with the few remaining goblins attempts to break through Doderic's reinvigorated defense. He cannot do so. Neither can his allies and the hobbit escapes no worse for wear.
”For the Free Peoples of Eriador!” cries Ingold as he draws his Dwarven shortsword and engages the goblins harassing Doderic, as much providing the hobbit an opportunity to take advantage in the combat as trying to slaughter any of the foul creatures himself.
Cereidh rallies to Thorgrim's defense.
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"Yes! Excellent!" Thorgrim cries in battlejoy as the orcs engage him. He was honestly worried they would flee from him and he'd have to chase them down. That they are choosing to face him in GLORIOUS COMBAT and die with honor is an actual surprise. And a joyous one. He revels as he allows them to draw blood, for to repay such a sliver of valiance with immediate culling would just be rude.
He re-doubles his exultations as familiar elf-fletched arrows fly past him to find warm homes in his new attackers, the best gift he could have ever asked for. He laughs in great joy. "Ha! That's the way, Cereidh! Let us finish this sport in the way we always knew it would end!"
= 21
A part of him realizes that his blows do not land with quite the adroitness that they usually do. Surely his leaping heart must needs play a distraction.
Ingold and Doderic work in tandem, the Dunedain providing the distraction, the Hobbit finding an opening and slipping his blade deep beneath a set of goblin ribs. The result being one less creature harassing either of them.
A pair of feathered shafts suddenly bloom from the chest of one of the orcs attacking Thorgrim. The creature spins away under the force of Bregghar's blows. The sudden shift of position initially throws off Thorgrim's aim, forcing the warrior to take another step forward before he can bring Noctocide in line for the killing blow. This is quickly accomplished and the orcs head goes bouncing across the floor.
With only a fraction of their number remaining, the enemy morale begins to crumble. Never ones for valiant last stands or brave heroics, both orcs and goblins begin to flee screeching and screaming their flight.
Hastily sheathing his still-clean blade, Ingold steadies the bow still in his left hand and draws an arrow, taking aim at the goblin furthest away. He looses the shaft at the creature's torso and hopes to thin the odds further against them as the warriors move in for the kill.
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Cereidh glances sidelong at Ingold, and the swiftest of his response; and then at Thorgrim, and the living battle-lust in his eyes. She shrugs, and draws, and fires, one arrow each at two of the remaining orcs.
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"Ha! Now we have them on the run, friends!" Thorgrim calls out, sprinting headlong in chase of the fleeing enemy.
"Oh no, no no no," he calls out to the demi-humans, like the baying of hounds. "We canst not let so much as the least of you go, whether to warn thy fellows or to simply carry the plague of your evil to another locale would be equal folly. Nay, we are come to make this place clean if your eternal filth, and it makes no cause to leave the job half-done!"
Thorgrim looks down an notices the grip of Noctocide has become slick with the foul blood of the great many of enemy slain. Not only is it fouling his aim but he'll be a goodly amount of time cleaning it if he ever wants to reap so great a harvest again.
One of the orcs tumbles to the ground, shafts from both Cereidh and Ingold sprouting from its back. Thorgrim catches up to the fleeing goblins first, the unfortunate creatures having been closest to the Beorning at the beginning of their cowardly flight. Although Noctocide is covered in gore and the warrior's grip is less sure than usual, fleeing goblins are no match for the pair. The blows fall less sure and less clean, but fall they do and so the final goblins join their brethren, their blood slowly dousing the forges of the shadow.
Still two orcs remain.
Doderic leaps after one, but his wild swing misses and the slippery orc dives for the door. Unhindered by the need to duck or dodge, his companion dashes ahead, arms and leg pumping for all they are worth until his finally disappears through the dim exit.
Ingold moves ahead and to the side, trying to stay out of the way of the others and get a clear shot at the farther orc, as he is confident the thirsty blades of his friends would end the life of the closer one.
Cereidh considers the chance of simply losing her arrows and embarrassing herself, but follows Ingold's lead.
Ingold raises his bow, aims, waits, waits, and releases. The arrow flies down the passage and clips the fleeing orc in the back sending it staggering forward. The break in its stride opens an opportunity for Cereidh and the elf sinks another shaft into its back and it slumps to the floor dead. Her second flight takes the closer orc in the leg and slows him up enough that both Doderic and Thorgrim converge upon the wounded creature and quickly end its days of spreading fear and darkness through the north.
The ringing of the forge is silenced as you all have a moment to catch your breath with the fall of the final foe.
Taking a deep breath and retrieving his sword, Ingold sheathes it and looks at his companions, saying, "That was well-done. Is anyone badly hurt, bleeding, or otherwise in need of swift medicine?"
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"That was well done, my friends. Well done indeed," Thorgrim says, wiping his blade on a fallen orc's tunic. "And aye, Ingold, I'm not so done in that I need something swift, but some of your ministrations might go amiss.
Now I feel we have interrupted some evil works of some import, but we've a decision to make. Do we skulk about here, trying to see what it is that we've undone? Or do we keep on? Those that tried to flee were, perhaps, trying to flee to something. I wonder if they were simply making to save their own skins, or trying to warn some force of greater power?"
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"My vote is for keeping on. We can always circle back, but should something worse be warned of us ... Well, we can't ask it to wait for us." Cereidh gives Thorgrim a quick look, but quickly decides her lover is still hale and capable of looking after himself.
"In that case, I can bind our wounds quickly, but I will be out of healing capability until after we rest and I have a chance to replenish my poultices," Ingold replies, binding wounds (with a focus on his own and Thorgrim's).
Feeling that time and momentum are key, Ingold only spends a few moments applying his healing arts to himself and Thorgrim before everyone hurries onward. These instincts prove themselves accurate after you've made it only a few dozen feet down the next tunnel. Ingold and Thorgrim are the first to hear the telltale sounds of more of the enemy moving to investigate the screams and shouts heard echoing among the tunnels only a few short minutes earlier.
The voices of at least three orcs come drifting up the tunnel along with the hard snapping of ironshod boots.
"Fruz hokur pounders, what's got ul uluk stirred nalt rad. " One gravely voice says.
"Hammered ulub pulkir kul izub bet." A laughing reply.
"Izg'll marr za. Izg ghashn ulu stuck an apprentice ishi the fark for lunch. " A third growling voice filled with annoyance.
"Harharhar!" Harsh, nasty laughter that grows louder as it comes closer.
"Hammered their thumb is my bet." A laughing reply.
"I'll take that. I say they stuck an apprentice in the forge for lunch." A third voice filled with annoyance.
"Harharhar!"
Ingold stops and slowly draws his bow, nocking an arrow and waiting for the others to move ahead...
Cereidh glances sidelong at Thorgrim, guessing that here the Browning would be the accelerant to their fight, and steps back beside Thorgrim, drawing her bowstring.
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"Aye, you have the right of it," Thorgrim whispers to Ingold and Cereidh as they nock arrows.
"I'll stand with you and wait for you to loose. Then, once the enemy charges close, I'll meet them in what is sure to be another rousing battle!
I feel it best to wait, lest if I charge upon the heels of your shafts, they might just retreat anonce, and lead us into a place of ambush. I would rather meet them here, in this hall, where we can see what to expect."
As soon as the orcs are visible in the hallway, Ingold will loose his arrow as Thorgrim suggests.
"Ulu maaz leave izishu a kamb nanulg izg'll pik ash ob...Blaarg!" The orc's voice ends with a surprised screech as three arrows suddenly bloom upon his bulky chest. His body lurches backward into one of his companions before spinning to the floor.
The other two orcs look up in wide eyed surprise. The first draws a short curved blade and takes a defensive posture. The second pulls a short horn from his belt and begins blowing it in a series of rapid ear rattling notes.
Ingold will loose another arrow the the evasive orc he sees.
Cereidh shoots the orc blowing his horn.
Ingold will loose another arrow the the evasive orc he sees.
[dice=Shortbow Attack]1d20+8
[dice=Disadvantage]1d20+8
[dice=Damage]1d6+3
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"Why would he blow the horn? How many can be left?" Thorgrim wonders aloud as his thews start pumping to bring him quickly within range of the remaining vanguard.
"Are you really using The Tide Goes Out against me?" the warrior wonders, having not encountered a defensive fighting style amongst the orc in...well he can't recall having ever seen it. "This is a very, very strange day.
Okay, Mr. Fencing Orc. Can you handle Crashing Mountain?"
'No, no I don't think you can,' Thorgrim thinks.
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"Don't tempt fate," Cereidh tells Thorgrim.
Arrows fly toward the orc attempting to rouse whatever allies lurk within these dark tunnels. Although all three steel tipped shafts find their target, none provide a killing blow. Instead they simply wound the creature, lending more urgency to his flight and his horn calls.
Thorgrim faces off against the closer orc. For a pair of heartbeats, the fiends defense holds up. But only that long. There is a great shattering as Noctocide shears the orc's curved blade asunder and shards of poor quality iron tinkle upon the stone. The Beorning's blade does not stop with iron. It continues on to hew flesh and bone like so much firewood. An arm falls away followed by a chest opening return stroke and the orc falls to the ground, it's life blood quickly pooling on the floor.
Just then a trio of answering calls can be heard echoing from deeper within the tunnels. Answers to the dire warnings being belted out by the fleeing orc. A fourth horn blast soon ripples from behind your position signalling potential foes to the rear as well as in front.
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"Excellent. I prefer a straight fight to all this sneaking around," Thorgrim says. "And, apologies, Cereidh. It looks like I'm about to get the answer to my question." He smiles, feeling no pressure.
"Let us away to the smithy room. There we can make barricades and create such a choke point where we might defend ourselves better."
Thorgrim starts a loping jog back the way they came, already making a mental note for their defense.
“Given that there was a responding horn from behind, we should use our entry tunnel into the smithy as a fallback location, as we are reasonably certain there are at least no orcs the way we came,” adds Ingold, following quickly.
Cereidh tags along, in agreement.
You all quickly fall back to the forge where the fires continue to burn and bodies lie in pools of bloody ooze. Horns continue to sound from both tunnels leading into the chamber. The blaring blasts coming from behind sound as if they are the closest. With the others from the corridor you recently returned from being a bit further off.
”Thorgrim, they are coming from both directions! If we fight here in the open we may be overwhelmed! Let us charge down the original tunnel from which we entered and dispatch the closer foe, fighting in a tunnel to limit the orc’s ability to swarm us!” counsels Ingold.
The scholar looks around to see if there is any way to use the forges for added light or to direct heated slag to a tunnel to hinder the orcish pursuit.
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"You are right, Ingold. But we can't just let our rear be without obstacle." His head swivels around, a plan forming, until at last his eyes settle on the forge. "We canst not make a gate, but there is something else orcs hate more than a barred entrance."
Thorgrim quickly gathers up two goblin bodies, one in each meaty hand, and tosses them into the tunnel they just came from, toward the multiple horns. Then another pair nearby follow, forming a good-sized cord of not wood, but bodies.
Then he jobs over to the forge and his workman's eyes quickly spy a pot of bubbling steel. It's not good quality stuff, no, but it laid undisturbed in its heavy ladle, and now it would do good work.
Walking quickly, he takes the molten metal over to the stand of bodies and carefully pours the stuff over them, covering as much as he can. The air immediately begins to smoke and stink...and burn. Everywhere the hot liquid touched it immediately brought whatever it was, be it cloth or flesh, up to its flashpoint and soon the fire of meat and fat made a good-sized pyre.
"That should slow them a bit," Thorgrim observes before sprinting toward the single horn sound.
Smoke and the foul stench of burning orc flesh quickly fill the tunnel and the forge chamber. Fortunately, you are all already charging down the tunnel back toward the ancient throne room and thus avoid most of the nauseating cloud. More importantly after a few minutes the horns blowing from that direction take on a different tone and seem to retreat at least for a time.
The horn blowing from the tunnel you are now moving down has gone silent until you round a corner. At least a dozen orcs hurry along the passage in a very ragged two by two fashion. You spot each other at about the same moment. There's a second of hesitation before they charge with a bestial roar.
Pulling up to allow the melee warriors pass him, Ingold fires a quick shot at one of the two lead orcs and ponders what other tricks he might have up his sleeve should things go poorly here.
Doderic goes about setting several rushed traps in the area. Largely, traps designed to slow and impede. Rope, used to trip the unwary, and fishing net to stall their recovery. While surely he would get little of his rope or net back, if it was of any aid then it was a price worth paying.
Upon encountering the rear orc band, Doderic as ever remained in the shadows. Drawing his bow, he fires an arrow at the orc Ingold shot at, catching it straight in the neck.
He quickly drops the bow and readies his shield, preparing to once again act as a wall alongside Thorgrim for Ingold and Cereidh.
Ingold fires at the lead orc, but the Dunedian's arrow flight is a bit wobbly and the arrow ends up simply snagging in the orcs armor. Grinning with over confidence the villainous orc charges forward.
Out of the darkness a second feathered shaft hisses through the stagnant tunnel air. Neither of elf make or dwarf make or even of those ancient smiths of Numenor. Nay, it is from the hands of the good stout Took fletchers that this arrow was born. Designed to catch a rabbit on the run or quickly bring down a Shire deer. But much like its hobbit creators, when threatened with the forces of shadow, the arrow becomes so much more.
The stout willow shaft with its gray goose feathers flies straight and true according to Doderic's keen-eyed aim. Puncturing the lead orc in the neck, the arrow continues on. Even as the lead orc falls, the second in the order finds its right eye suddenly no longer works as steel rams through the soft orb and into the orc's brain. A few signals continue to pass from brain to arms and legs, but not for long. Within moments the second creature staggers forward and collapses atop the leader, its feet still twitching against the cold stone floor.
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"Ha! An excellent shot, Doderic! You see that, Cereidh? It seems you have a rival for the post of Marksman!
And now someone should really take advantage of their shock and awe before they recover."
Ever thinking that the best defense was a good offense, Thorgrim CHARGES into melee, bowling into the blood-spattered orcish ranks.
"Challenge accepted!" Cereidh shouts. The elf the proceeds to unleash a deadly barrage of arrows that zip past Thorgrim's ear to puncture the eye of the next orc in line as well as it's heart. The enemy falls to the floor adding to the already growing barrier of its former fellows.
Talandil adds to the feathered doom hissing through the dim tunnel, catching one of the creatures in the leg even as it gets caught up in one of Doderic's makeshift traps. The delay is fortunate for the orc as it allows several others to pass him even as Thorgrim charges up the tunnel.
Beorning steel meets Orcish steel. It is no contest. Noctocide cleaves through the defending blow of the first orc, removing the creatures hand at the risk. The return swing guts him and he collapses to the floor.
Despite a quarter of their initial strength gone in a moment, the orcs continue to press forward, for elf flesh is a delectable delicacy not tasted for many long years. Two more orcs step to the fore and hack at the Beorning. Their blows are wild, but within the tight confines of the tunnel they also end up being somewhat effective. Each score a hit upon the big warrior even as arrows from the rear ranks fly down the tunnel toward Ingold and Cereidh. The Dunedain ducks aside but one black feathered shaft catches the elf in the side opening up a small wound.
Ingold turns back to the fray after dodging the arrows from further down the hall and looks for an opportunity to return fire. Aiming for the ensnared foe before it thinks to pull out its own bow, Ingold looses his next arrow at the distracted creature!
In his excitement, Ingold fails to properly nock the arrow and it flies off at a crazy angle, caroming off the tunnel wall ineffectively.
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"I do not know if the orcish habit of fighting on in the face of hopelessness is admirable or despicable!" Thorgrim calls, giving voice to his own curiosity. "Or perhaps they know their own evil, and seek to do one last good deed by meeting their end on our steel!
If so, let us not disappoint them!"
Noctocide certainly has no problems with this philosophy. The steely blade, ever sharp and ever ready, leaps into the enemy ranks and plays with their entrails the way a dog might play with newly fallen snow.
Doderic rushes forward to aid Thorgrim in the melee. Shield leading the way in a mock bull rush before rolling off to the side and shanking the Orc most focused on his companion.
Cereidh finishes off the orc she wounded with her previous flight of arrows as two more shafts slam into the struggling creature. Even as Ingold's arrow clatters along the stone wall, Thorgrim cleaves into one of the front rank creatures sending it sprawling. Doderic slips his blade between the ribs of another, and the orc spins away bleeding out even as it tries to struggle backward. With three more of their band suddenly out of the fight the group of five which used to be twelve only moments before breaks.
The creatures turn and flee as fast as they can back into the darkness of the tunnels. The rush of yet another victory only lasts a few moments as horns continue to blare behind and again from somewhere deeper within the ruins ahead. It's clear this blighted city is teaming with the foul creatures despite the best efforts of Dunedain like Talandil to keep them out.
"Perhaps we might consider flight ourselves?" Cereidh says breathlessy. [/b]"We've earned it."[/b]
This does not stop her in her work, however.
“We should at least find a place more defensible,” agrees Ingold, ”as there seems to be no shortage of orcs in these cursed tunnels,” then he fires another arrow, more carefully this time.