[Envinyatar]

Envinyatar's post

‘There’s been word back from our scouts near the city. We must make all haste.’ Ondomirë drew his mount along by the reins as he approached the gathered Dwarven warriors. It was still night, many hours until the sun would rise. Still, the Dwarves had known to rise early, perhaps their keen ears hearing the sounds of the rousing camp. In such a short time they had gotten their packs on their backs; helmets and what armor they wore securely fastened on; axes and pikestaffs in hand. The expressions on their faces were difficult to read in the dim moon's light. But to his mind, unused to Dwarves and their ways, they seemed unwelcoming.

Never mind what you think he admonished himself. Lord Elrond’s commanded it and you’re to see it done.

‘Yes, well then,’ he went on, wondering what was going on behind those bearded faces. Their dark eyes glittered as they followed his every move. He elected to keep his own gaze on their hands. Were they to twitch even for an instant toward their weapons then he would flee from them and take their answer as a ‘no’.

You are such a coward! They’re seasoned warriors. Surely they’ll see the need for this.

Ondomirë motioned for the Elves he’d brought with him to take their positions. The tall, grey-eyed riders moved forward slowly round the Dwarves. ‘The city is sore besieged,’ he went on. ‘And, well . . . there’s nothing for it but that you must ride with us. Even were you to sprout wings on your feet, you cannot hope to keep pace with our horses.’

There were angry grumblings as he finished speaking. But he gave no room for protest. With a nod of his head, the Elves moved in and plucked up a Dwarven rider each to sit behind them. Without another word, they turned north, the long muscled legs of their horses picking up speed . . .

-^-^-^-

It was late in the afternoon when the Lindon troops and their allies reached the narrow plain leading down to the river where the city stood. The Dwarves dismounted and reassembled into their own fighting unit. The Elves for their part, took their places as their captains commanded and began the advance on the city. Lancers and swordsmen to the fore; the bowmen behind, giving a cover of arcing missiles as needed.

And it was needed, sooner than hoped.

The city was burning, many of the beautiful structures already half-razed and smoking. Less than a league from the river and the foul creatures who had done the terrible deeds were swarming out from the dying city’s perimeter; a dark and noisome tide - their filthy weapons seeking more blood to shed.


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Child of the 7th Age's post

Half battle mad, mired in gore and stench, Ulrung stood triumphant on the streets of the city. His chariot was heavy with the booty he had snatched from the homes and palaces of the Elven lords. These were beautiful and amazing items crafted of gold and fine jewels: helms and brooches and glittering flagons such as Ulrung had never seen the likes before. Nor was he alone in his actions. Even in the midst of fighting, the Easterlings had taken time to gather up the spoils of war as they rushed wildly from one house to the next, slaughtering all who were unfortunate enough to come before their path. Their battle chariots, once so swift and light, now lumbered awkwardly through the streets, slowed by the heavy burdens that they now carried.

Ulrung and his officers remained oblivious to the threat that gathered now a short distance away. Why should they pay attention to anything else? The city was falling. There were prizes to be won. Victory was surely theirs. Ulrung saw little reason to keep a tight rein on those who slashed their way through the streets. With Angoroth gone, Ulrung no longer feared the wrath of the great commander. He could do whatever pleased him. As a result, Orcs and Easterlings burned and raided with glee: all semblance of discipline or order had vanished. Only a remnent of the Dark Lord's army remained together inside the broad plaza near the front gate where a few Elves had gathered and valliantly battled.

In the midst of this chaos, a horseman rode in through the rubble and stones. As quickly as he could, the messenger made his way to the Easterling commander. Ulrung had taken a break from fighting to sift through the treasures that were piled high in his chariot. He looked away from his task for a moment and greeted the man on horseback with the barest hint of a nod.

"Sire, sire, Lord Ulrung." The voice came hurried and frantic. "You must listen. They come! They come! A great host of Elves and dwarves, and they move with the speed of lightning. They head soon to the city. You and your men will be trapped if you do not gather your forces now."

"How can this be?" growled Ulrung. He was not pleased to be interrupted in his task of arranging his treasures.

The messenger's response was swift. "Elves from Lindon come and with them King Durin and all his Dwarves. These are not disheartened and beaten soldiers but well organized with the heat of battle in their eyes. They have not yet reached the gate but in a short time they will."

"You are sure?" Ulrung spat on the ground in disgust. His assurance of rapid victory seemed to be vanishing in smoke. This was the last thing he wanted to hear, especially with his troops scattered this way and that, gathering booty and kills in the back alleys of the city.

The messenger nodded. Ulrung had only to look in the man's eyes, shadowed with fear and doubt, to see the truth of the message he brought. Suddenly glimpsing the very real danger they faced, Ulrung bellowed out to his seneschal, "Sound the horn. The alarm for Orcs and Men to gather in the plaza. We have no choice but to turn and fight these miscreants." Then Ulrung turned again to his own chariot and with considerable reluctance pushed out most of the booty he had gathered. They would need speed and a chariot laded with gold treasures would be at a definite disadvantage. Perhaps he would come back later and retrieve his goods.

The Great Horn sounded in every corner of the city. Some heard it and stopped their plundering to come immediately to the square. Many more heard it and stopped up their ears, pretending that there had been no alarm. Even among those who remounted their horses and battle chariots to join in the plaza, many of these were heavily laden with treasure. Ulrung bellowed out an order for all to lay aside their bulky sacks and chests, saying that they could return for them later. But here too, many cursed and stopped up their ears, vowiwng not to lose what was rightfully theirs.

Oblivous to what was happening, Ulrung snapped out his orders: "We will deal quickly with this contingent of Elves who await us outside the gates. We will take Elrond's head on a platter, and then go against any others who make their way to the city. After that we may gather what is rightfully ours."

His men were still raggedly assembled, and the Orcs who followed were much fewer in number. But still the troops of Sauron gave a great bellowing cry and followed their leader Ulrung out through the gates and onto the plain as they hurtled forward to meet the threat.