Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[astarielle]

After checking that Owacyn was still alive Elladan dashed about picked up arrows between taking strikes at unsuspecting trolls. He climbed the nearest tree and surveyed the battlefield. Everyone was tiring but, though less numerous, the trolls were still about and making their presence felt. Elladan drew an arrow and fired it at a troll about to hit an elf.

He tried to count as he was firing the numbers of trolls remaing but it was difficult as many that tumbled to the floor staggered back up only to be hewed back down again. Slowly it seemed to the elf that the company were beginning to get on top of things but there was still much to do. Elladan fired another couple of arrows sending two trolls to the ground now covered with bodies and weapons. The clearing now had a blanket of troll flesh for grass. He doubted that much would grow there for a long time.

Soon enough his arrows were spent once more and he returned to the earth drawing his sword again. Summoning his waning energy he leaped onto the back of one of the trolls. The troll tried to hit him woth the club but Elladan swiftly moved to the opposite shoulder so the weapon came crashing down on the troll itself. The elf mada a dash for the head only just staying on as the troll swayed and thrashed about. Once more the club came crashing down adn one more time Elladan moved away. The troll came crashing to the floor seemingly dead but Elldan drove his sword into it to make sure. "Trolls really are more stupid than any creature that walks this earth".

[Phervasaion]

Like most of the others, Paladir was beginning to feel the effects of the battle. He was worn out and needed a place to breathe but the trolls would not allow it, and now they seemed to be stronger than ever before. Suddenly, Paladir glanced to see two bodies on the floor, the bodies of Arathorn and Owacyn.

No, Paladir thought to himself. Not Arathorn, he’s our leader and we need him to get anywhere in this fight. Please let him be alive! And Owacyn can’t die… He’s not the type to do that!! A weak smile came to Paladir’s face as he saw them move, when Elrohir and Elladan went over to check up on them. But, he knew they could do no more in this fight, and Paladir and the others would have to Finnish the battle on their own. This would be a difficult task, of course, with Arathorn, Owacyn and Hanindur now unable to help due to injuries.

Paladir was playing it safe against the trolls, not trying any fancy moves like Aragorn and Owacyn, incase it lead to him also being knocked out of battle, or even dead. Nor was Paladir trying to beat Arathorn’s and Owacyn’s score in the amount of trolls they killed, and even if he was he knew it would be a difficult task.

A troll swung his mace and Paladir dodged it, severed one of its limbs and finished it with a final blow to its head. “That’s for Arathorn you scum!!” He said as the troll fell to the ground. “And this is for Owacyn and Hanindur!!!” He yelled yet again as he sliced the neck of another.

Paladir seemed to feel a flame rekindle inside of him, giving him energy to kill all the trolls, and he felt as if air wasn’t needed anymore. The trolls were still many, but eventually, Paladir knew that they would all perish.

[The Perky Ent]

Pain hit Arathorn like a rock under the Falls of Rauros. Arathorn tried walking, but to no avail. "Well Arathorn, you can't just sit here" he told himself, and with a sigh, he threw his sword strait into the brow of a troll. It fell in a swift motion. The others weren't having such luck. "I'm in charge! I have to save them" Arathorn thought, once again trying to get up. He could bend his legs, but he didn't have enough energy to support the rest of his body. "Mind if i borrow that, Owacyn?" Arathorn said to owacyn, refering to the bow. "I don't see why not!" Owacyn said, handing the bow, along with several arrows, to Arathorn. Arathorn pulled the string back, and fired.

It was well into the morning, yet still dark. Everyone was getting weak and tired. It seemed, if the fight didn't end soon, they'd fall asleep never to wake. By now, Arathorn had used all of the arrows, and couldn't reach any. All the elves were using swords now, striking as many trolls as they could get their hands on. Owacyn now could weild a sword, but didn't have enough energy to fight a troll. "Good news Arathorn!" Elladan said, straying away from the battle. "Almost all of the trolls are in the ring now. It will be over soon!" "Excellent!" Arathorn said, once again trying to fight. "May their deaths be a long and painful one!" Arathorn said, giving a roar. Elladan smirked, and ran back into the fight. Those who weren't injured were getting on their last limb, and although Elladan sounded very enthusiastic, he was giving false hope. His energy was almost spent, and the same was with the others.

After a while, the night sky became lighter. Morning would come soon. Arathorn fighted to not fall asleep. He desperatly tried to get up and fight, but he couldn't. Arathorn couldn't stand to lie there and watch the horror. Sudddenly, there was a great roar, and one of the trolls came running in Arathorn and Owacyn's direction. Apparently, someone had weged their sword in the trolls back, and the troll had run off with it. He troll was blinded with pain, and couldn't see where it was going. Feet before it reached Arathorn, he focused all his energy to jump out of the way. It worked as the troll ran off into the night. "That's it!" Arathorn said, getting to his feet. "I'm not gonna wait! If I die trying, then let it be said that I died fighting, and didn't wait to be killed!" Arathorn said, giving a loud roar, catching several trolls attentions. Arathorn got to his feet and fastly limped to the fight. Owacyn followed him.

There were now twelve trolls left, but all of them had maces, and the men could no longer fight. All that was left was Arathorn and Owacyn, who had mustered energy resting. "Kill the scum!" a troll shouted, as he looked down at Arathorn. The troll in front of Arathorn laughed, looking at the blood covering him. "This is for Nuwethion!" Arathorn shouted, grabbing a sword from the ground, and shoving it at the troll. Owacyn did the same. Both trolls fell down to the ground. "Gah! He killed Durb! Get him!" a troll shouted, as the ten remaining trolls circled. Ten strong maces stared down at Arathorn. "Well Owacyn, you were a great companion to the end!" Arathorn, said, giving a small smile. "As were you Arathorn! Goodbye" Owacyn said, putting down his sword. There was no hope. It was all over. Arathorn would never live to see his son. Suddenly, a beam of light shot from the bottom of the sky. "It must have happened. I am dead." he said, giving a great sigh. Suddenly, the trolls began to screem. "Nooo!" they shouted, as a rumbling sound was heard. All the elves and men looked up, watching in amazment. "Agh!" one troll shouted, as he began to swing at Arathorn, but stopped inches before his face. He had been turned to stone. The battle was over.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur sagged to the ground heavilly. "Thank Eru for daylight," he said hoarsely, knowing that he wouldn't've been able to fight any longer. The sun had came out, and the trolls were stone blocks under the new light. Then he recalled that there were others still alive... but whom? The ranger forced himself to his feet, exhausted, and in pain. His sword lay on the ground, coated in rapidly thickening blood, from the trolls that were now harmless stone.

If only the sun had came earlier. If only... it always came back to that. Then maybe Anga wouldn't've been killed, or Nuwethion, or Arathorn injured. There was so much that could've been changed, but it was always the 'if' there. There was no way to undo what was done.

He stroked his sword against the torn ground, to remove the black blood from the now tarnished blade, and sheathed the blade. Hanindur didn't know what had happened to his dagger, and, at the moment, didn't care either. He cared for his friends, and for their safety, surely they were still alive, surely most still lived. Indeed, he hoped, but hope was always only hope.

Hanindur crossed the torn field, stone-turned trolls littering the way, and uprooted trees still laying on the ground, where the trolls had tossed them. So much destruction... Everything that the new light touched seemed to be destroyed, or blood-stained after the battle. He would've picked up his pace, to cross the land that had once been a great forest-- and could've been-- but the wounds he had received during the fight pained him. Hanindur bit back a cry of pain, as he wove his way through to where the remainder of their party was.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

Owacyn let out as much of a cheer as his broken ribs would allow. The fight was over, and they'd only lost one man...He swung his sword down and decapitaed the stone head of one troll. Then his eyes strayed over the battlefield. Over the body of Anga, and the body of...

"Oh no..." he whispered to himself as he ran to Nuwethion. He lifted the dead elf's head up, and frantically sought for a pulse in his wrist and neck. He ripped the elf's chest armour off in a vain attempt to liberate his lungs and allow breathing, but it was no use. He lifted his hands and noticed they were covered in blood. Shaking, he turned the body over, and saw that most of the back of the head had been utterly smashed, and small pieces of bone fell into Owacyn's hands. Shaking with rage he stood up and screamed into the sky. Cursing it violently, before sinking to his knees again. He had never been that close to Nuwethion, but his loss still saddened his heart.

Traipsing back over to the camp, the party held the bodies of the two fallen on biers. Elladan and Elrohir walked crestfallen behind the two biers. Two of their kin lost in the fight. As they laid the biers to rest Owacyn sat by the fire and started to whittle a small wooden sword. The rest of the group sat near, not saying anything, but sad faces were worn by all...

[ArwenBaggins]

Eirian dropped his sword. The trolls were stone… he was alive. Groaning in pain, he reached to the bloodstained ground and picked up his blunting blade. Rangers and Elves were sitting, gasping for breath, not far in front of him at camp. "I could join them…" he complained aloud, he himself struggling with the pain his wrist and other wounds brought.

He noticed the two bodies were not breathing in relief on the biers. Remembering the sanguinary incident with Anga, he cursed under his breath. If only he had been there to protect him and Nuwethion. If only Arathorn had not been injured. If…

Stupidly kicking a frozen troll as he walked past, he cringed as more unwanted pain drifted through his toes and then his foot. The pain in his swollen, almost certainly broken wrist was enough to make him pass out, but he forced it away. The battle was over… there was no need to fall now. He wouldn't fall now… if he could help it.

Wiping some blood from the edge of his gray eyes, he continued to slowly stumble toward the rest of the group. Finally reaching Arathorn, he collapsed. He couldn't stand the pain any longer. He had fought many battles, but none seemed as hard as this one was. He lay on his back, his bloody head resting on the knobby roots of a giant tree. 'This is wonderful, he crooned inside of his head, his eyes falling closed.

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth lifted his sword to deliver a fatal blow and stopped in mid-air. The sun was peeking over the horizon and the trolls had fallen silent. Tentatively, he touched one of the trolls and felt stone beneath his fingers. Relief flooded through his body as he raised his sword in a gesture of victory. Wiping his bloodied sword upon his tunic, he suddenly remembered the cut he had received earlier in the night. Pressing his hand to his forehead, he felt a long gash caked in blood.

He turned to see how the others had fared and noticed two still figures on biers. One of them he recognized as Anga, but the other...Nuwethion?

Beroth's eyes filled with tears as he joined the procession, trudging solemnly behind the biers. They were laid to rest respectfully and the Rangers and Elves dispersed among the camp. Beroth wiped his forehead with his dirtied sleeve, unmindful of his injury. The cut opened and blood began to trickle down his face.

Wincing, Beroth pulled a small fabric bag out of a pocket and opened it. He pulled out a leaf of athelas and replaced the bag. Then he pushed the leaf into his cut and pressed the sleeve of his tunic against it. His eyes watered as the leaf stung, but it subsided and became a soothing coolness instead. Beroth wandered over to where a group of rangers sat and let himself fall to a sitting position, filled with grief over the loss of their comrades.

[Will Witfoot]

Wielding his blade with superlative skill, Eldín wove a deadly dance around one of their hulking opponents, wounding the troll in the critical soft spots in it's flesh and leaving it chasing shadows as he ducked out of the way of it's clumsy blows, re-appearing again only to deliver another flurry of attacks, each deadly kiss of his sword drawing black blood from the creature. After the troll was sufficiently slowed by it's wounds, the nimble elf administered the coup de grace, somersaulting in the air past his adversary's face and slicing his sword across it's throat. The troll gave a final, gurgling roar and fell to the ground, it's blood pooling up under it's dead form.

Eldín glanced around him, determined to let no foe take him unawares. Despite his difficult condition, he had learned the teachings of Imladris' weapon masters well. His guard was always up and his keen eyes ever open in case of trouble.

Suddenly, there was a lull in the fighting. The trolls that had assaulted them stood completely still, and it was a moment before Eldín could understand the reason for it. Then it all came together as he realized the suns first light playing upon the rough features of one of their gargantuan assailants, illuminating the rough, grey stone quite clearly. Eldín smiled. The light was yet stronger than darkness.

The smile died from his lips, however, when he recognized the two figures lying amidst the carnage of the battlefield. He hurried over to the still forms, pain in his eyes as he saw the relaxed features of Anga and Nuwethion, their faces smoothed by death. He felt a deep sadness, especially at the loss of Anga. Even though they had only got acquainted with each other quite recently, he had felt that they were on their way to becoming friends. It would have been the first friend that Eldín had ever had.

The surviving members of the group laid their departed companions to rest, singing songs of lament for their memory. Eldín could not hear their song, nor could he partake in it or word his sorrow at the loss of their comrades. He was truly beginning to realize how removed he was from the world.