Blood On the Grass

[Elvrohir Aureon 210]

It was a particularly humid night in the Elven Isle of Laurehlin. A multitude of nightbird calls and insect chirps filled the air. It was all too easy to fall into a deep relaxing sleep under the thick canopy of the Elder Trees. A shame is was quite suddenly interrupted. 

Elvrohir awoke to the sound of loud frantic knocking on his door. A key fumbled into the lock, and Calius, his brother, entered. He had recieved word that Orcs were once again pillaging the cozy Halfling Village nearby. With no time to properly rally the troops, the two brothers sounded the Alarm Bell on their way out of the barracks, and rushed to the Eastern Gates on horseback. They arrived in time to witness a pitiful scene. Wounded halflings were strewn about, groaning, with two Orcs standing above them, teeth bared as they surrounded the last Halfing standing, a brave little lad who stood unflinching before them, mace in hand. Calius and Elvrohir burst into the scene, bows drawn, whooping loudly to catch the attention of the Uruk. For a moment, nobody moved. The Elves sat upon their steeds, their arrowheads gleaming in the moonlight. The Halfling stood proud, teeth gritted, his knuckles white from gripping the mace. The Uruk breathed through their mouths, re-evaluating their situation. 

The stillness of this moment was broken by the hollers and  whooping of Sirame as they  emerged from the shadows between the trees, having been stirred by the Alarm Bell. 

 

http://imgur.com/oPBIpSt

 

The smarter of the Uruk pair immediately broke into a sprint, leaving only his honor and urine behind. Elvrohir rushed off in pursuit, quickly realizing his steed would do more harm than help in the thick cluster of trees. Leaving her behind, Elvrohir continued to track the fleeing Orc on foot. The chase was long and laborious. The sun had come up, and was beating down upon the tired Mali general  by the time he finally caught up with the Uruk. 

 

The Orc, tired of the pursuit, stood in a small clearing by a quiet stream, eyes locked on the Elf. For a while. they simply circled one another, sizing eachother up. 

 

The Uruk made the first move. He unleashed a mighty bellow, charging forward, weapons raised. Elvrohir raised his own sword, his eyes wide, nostrils flaring as he ran forth to meet his opponent's charge. 

 

The battle was furious, but short. 

http://imgur.com/5SfDhUF

 

Half an hour later, Elv was washing the blood off his tunic in the stream, the Uruk's body floating nearby, wedged against a rock. His armor and weapons were stowed by the roots of a nearby oak. By late afternoon, Elv rode back to the Halfing Village, greeted by the sight of the other Orc rotting by a half-dug grave, missing an arm and most of it's neck. Damai Torena and an Avern stood beside the grave, saluting their returning commander.  

 

"Take this Orcish scrap to the forge, have it smelted to make something useful."

 

Tired, hungry, and sore, the El'Annil headed toward the city gates. 

 

[LatzMomo 2088]

Gilgamesh'Gorkil is triggered.

[JEEGK 1367]

Berr simply saunters around the barracks before hearing the news, giving a singular nod towards his commander, "Good work, sir."

[JEEGK 1367]

Moved to the Archive. It shall be sorted into the appropriate category shortly.