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Folwren · 11-10-2005, 08:09 PM

Bror’s head ached fiercely and his vision was blurry. The night had been long and seemed never to end. It was true that the forces of orcs and men had not kept up a constant attack all night long, but the Lindon Elves and the Dwarves with them had been able to sleep only a little, if at all. The attacks had come in spurted intervals all throughout the night. In one rather fierce, though short fight, Bror had received a nasty cut down his left arm. Though he claimed and insisted that it was only a scratch, Skald would have it looked at by an elf and cleaned and bandaged.

Dawn was breaking over the mountains now. Bror sat on a large boulder, his hands leaning on his axe, and his eyes watching the light grow. He wondered where Riv was, and whether he had gotten back alright to the mountain, and if he were safe. His mind reflected back to his home and the bright fires - the late evenings in Riv’s kitchen, and then mornings, sometimes, when Leifre and Unna would come out. A deep sigh escaped him as, finally, he considered his chances of actual survival and of getting back there. Those chances were slim at the moment, and he knew it.

Shouts to his right brought him out of his gloomy reverie and he got reluctantly to his feet. He moved his axe up to the ready and went forward towards the fighting.

The enemy was at it again, and they didn’t slack off, as they had in the night. Once again the Elves and Dwarves were put hard to it, and it was a desperate, if not hopeless fight. But then, suddenly, there were great cries from the East - strong, resounding voices that echoed. Bror lifted his head. The sun pulled free of the mountains and then found a hole in the clouds. Shafts of sunlight fell about the battle field, illuminating the fighters and the dead, glancing off of mail and steel.

In the distance, all the way across the battle of field, and new army was appearing, pouring from the rocks itself. Bror smiled, and then laughed, and raising his axe he gave a great cry to answer that of his kinsmen and friends from the mountains. The enemy before him fell back, being called and regrouped.

‘They’ve come after all,’ Bror said to himself. ‘Well, I am glad to see them, even if it is miles away.’

11-10-2005, 08:09 PM	#213
Folwren Messenger of Hope Join Date: Jun 2005 Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States. Posts: 5,122	Bror’s head ached fiercely and his vision was blurry. The night had been long and seemed never to end. It was true that the forces of orcs and men had not kept up a constant attack all night long, but the Lindon Elves and the Dwarves with them had been able to sleep only a little, if at all. The attacks had come in spurted intervals all throughout the night. In one rather fierce, though short fight, Bror had received a nasty cut down his left arm. Though he claimed and insisted that it was only a scratch, Skald would have it looked at by an elf and cleaned and bandaged. Dawn was breaking over the mountains now. Bror sat on a large boulder, his hands leaning on his axe, and his eyes watching the light grow. He wondered where Riv was, and whether he had gotten back alright to the mountain, and if he were safe. His mind reflected back to his home and the bright fires - the late evenings in Riv’s kitchen, and then mornings, sometimes, when Leifre and Unna would come out. A deep sigh escaped him as, finally, he considered his chances of actual survival and of getting back there. Those chances were slim at the moment, and he knew it. Shouts to his right brought him out of his gloomy reverie and he got reluctantly to his feet. He moved his axe up to the ready and went forward towards the fighting. The enemy was at it again, and they didn’t slack off, as they had in the night. Once again the Elves and Dwarves were put hard to it, and it was a desperate, if not hopeless fight. But then, suddenly, there were great cries from the East - strong, resounding voices that echoed. Bror lifted his head. The sun pulled free of the mountains and then found a hole in the clouds. Shafts of sunlight fell about the battle field, illuminating the fighters and the dead, glancing off of mail and steel. In the distance, all the way across the battle of field, and new army was appearing, pouring from the rocks itself. Bror smiled, and then laughed, and raising his axe he gave a great cry to answer that of his kinsmen and friends from the mountains. The enemy before him fell back, being called and regrouped. ‘They’ve come after all,’ Bror said to himself. ‘Well, I am glad to see them, even if it is miles away.’ Last edited by Folwren; 11-13-2005 at 05:15 PM.