[Himaran]

Durelin's Post

Raken ran, laughing joyfully, head held aloft as if he were skipping through a field of daisies on a bright, sunny morning. Raken had chosen his target. Make your way to the elf… The pointy ear looked quite gallant, swinging his double knives gracefully, with great skill. Not enough, Raken was sure. He charged at him with a howl of laughter, screaming, "Here, great warrior! The servant of the Dark Lord will slay all those who do not follow! You elves are most hated! Let the storm smother you in darkness!" He slashed wildly at the elf, who easily dodged aside. Raken's blade hit the ground, but he raised it sharply. He stared at the elf for a moment, finding a strange calm. A smile grew on his face. "Shall we dance?" he asked, chuckling. With a whoop of laughter he charged, the elf throwing up a block. The two danced with death, the swords and knives flashing, slicing. They swung and ducked gracefully, going through the formations like masters. They were constantly switching off, one attacking, one in defense, blocking and avoiding blows. All this they did with overwhelming elegance, each attacking in a form, not charging and slashing blindly. Raken decided to play with his prey a bit, and he began dancing away from most of the blows, laughing all the while. "You will make a pretty prize, little sharp ear! I am enjoying this like nothing before I have ever experienced!" Ducking beneath a blow, he howled like a wolf, swing up with his sword to meet the elf's knives, switching back into the offensive. It went on for years, or so it felt to the two warriors, each receiving his share of knicks, scrapes and bruises. No significant wounds had been made.

Then, with a bear-like roar, a blood covered Dunlending came crashing toward them. Before Raken could tell the pig of a human to leave this to him, the pig grabbed hold of the elf around the neck. Raken shrugged, the elf was helpless, but had he ever fought fairly? He slashed with his sword at the elf's side, the sweet blood splashing onto him, then ran the pointy-ear through with his dagger, the elf jolting. Twisting his dagger around, the blood squirted out around the hole, pouring onto Raken's hands, staining the grass. Finally he drew it out, and the elf, having taken care of the pig, staggered. Raken laughed at him and drew finger up to his mouth to suck the blood off. He did so with each finger, slowly, always staring at the elf with his dead eyes. "It has such a nice, sweet taste," he said as if he were speaking of the weather. Rage burned in the elf, Raken loved it. Strengthed gathered up in the elf, fed by anger and hatred, and he got up from the ground. Raken still smiled as the man lunged at him. "I will have more power in death than I ever did in life!" he cried, "I will be giving more pleasure! Eternal pleasure, my master!" The last thing Raken remembered was a jolt in his arm as his assailant knocked his sword away, breaking his arm. Sweet pain, sweet death.

Slice. Darkness.

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Himaran's post

Gondolin then spotted a "chieftain-like" Dunlending. He was heading toward the fallen Elen, axe held high. Sheathing his sword, the elf dove for the falling weapon, catching it and wrenching it from the enemy's grasp.

Roaring, the Dunlending pulled out his sword, hacking at the ground where Gondolin had just rolled away from. Leaping to his feet, the elf swung out his sword. He soon found the warrior to a challenging foe, danceing out of the way of the elf's weapon.

But then another Dunlending, who's friend Gondolin had slain, grabbed him around the neck. The elf was forced to grab his knife to run the man through, but that gave the chieftain enough time to give him a slash in the side and run a dagger somewhere into his rib-cage.

Gasping for air, Gondolin swung his blade wildly, knocking the Dunlending backwards. Finally, in a final effort of strength, he shoved his enemy's sword to the side long enough to cleave through his neck. The Dunlening's head fell to the ground, ending the vicious carrer of the hands which it had controlled.

The elf stumbled back into the circle of warriors. The fight was over, with the fighters being victorious. Elen was being attended to, and the others looked fine.

Marsillion was the first to see him. "Gondolin, your wounded! Come over here, we have some..."

His voice trailed away when he saw the dagger. The elf nodded grimly, and sat down against a rock with difficulty. "Aye, friend, those Dunlendings got the better of me. I'll be gone within the hour."

The company stood shocked, but Marsillion would not listen. "Come now, friend, you'll make it through this. I'll get some of Annundaril's herbs and -"

"No need for that. If you could, just face me toward the north. Toward Eriador. Towards home."

When his request was completed, the elf slowly turned his head to look at the company, speaking softly. "I'm glad we found the flowers. Now Eriador will be saved. Good luck on your journey ho-"

And so the elf died.

[ May 13, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]