Last Ride of the Heir RPG

[Phervasaion]

The night was cold and dark, when the battle against the first wave of trolls had ended. Luckily, no one had lost their lives against the foul beings, but some were injured or hurt. Paladir himself only had a few cuts and bruises here and there, but he was, as all the other men were, worn out and was in need of some well earned rest and sleep.

The company began to adjust the surroundings to suit their needs and pleasures, dead trolls were moved except no fire was set up, in case it drew any more enemies to them. Paladir sat down and looked at his sword, while inspecting it he noticed no real damage, barely a scratch, only dirt and blood from the battle. He cleaned it up using the edge of his cloak and then grabbed a nearby stone and started to run it down the edge of the blade, sharpening it, ready for anything else they may come up against that night.

Paladir began to feel even more tired, everyone else had already gone to sleep, apart from the Elves, who were looking into the distance with their keen eyes, and they were looking so intently that they almost made themselves look like statues, not moving a muscle. The Ranger than fell into a deep sleep, but shortly after was awakened again, by the distressed cries of the Elves and men.

“There are more, more trolls!!” One shouted as Paladir came out of his slumber and to the realization of what was happening. “Quick! Prepare yourselves. The trolls are in greater numbers this time and the battle may well be more strenuous and difficult than the last,” another said

“Then it was a good job I sharpened by blade earlier then, was it not?” Paladir answered as he walked to Arathorn unsheathing his sword and readying himself for the second wave of trolls.

[The Perky Ent]

The men and elves, after hearing of a second wave, began to relax and equipt their weapons. The morale was suprisingly good. The men, including Arathorn, thought they were just little ants. But of all the men, Anga doubted them the most. He began swinging his sword around, as if already battling. "Save the stunts for the actual fighting, Anga. You must rest for the fight. If you keep on using your energy for something like that, you might as well kill air, because that's all you'll hit!" Arathorn said in a grumpy mood , as he pulled out a pipe and began to smoke.

Arathorn never took well to boredom, and smoking no longer comforted him. Then, he remebered an old song Gilraen taught him. In a low mutter, Arathorn began to sing:

Still round the corner there may wait
A new road or a secret gate,
And though we pass them by today,
Tomorrow we may come this way
And take the hidden paths that run
Towards the Moon or to the Sun.
Apple, thorn, and nut and sloe,
Let them go! Let them go!
Sand and stone and pool and dell,
Fare you well! Fare you well!

Home is behind, the world ahead,
And there are many paths to tread
Through shadows to the edge of night,
Until the stars are all alight.
Then world behind and home ahead,
We'll wander back to home and bed.
Mist and twilight, cloud and shade,
Away shall fade! Away shall fade!
Fire and lamp and meat and bread,
And then to bed! And then to bed!

Elladan, with his great hearing, heard Arathorn's song. "Here here!" he said, as he went back to watch the trolls. Arathorn wasn't that good of a poet, but felt like adding a verse. Consentrating hard, he began to sing:

I do not know where I may go
but it will not fill my heart with woe
for my spirit cannot be broken by foe
for it fills me from head to toe

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

As the sky grew darker (which was hard considering it was already night), Elrohir drew out his bow and shouted, "They're here! We must assemble now!" Arathorn quickly got to his feet and assembled the party. "Well, here's our plan: Elves, cock your arrows and fire from the trees. Wait for my order to fire. Elladan, when the trolls get close, fire an arrow at the center of the ring. That will be our signal to get ready. Men, get behind the trees. The elves will fire, forcing them into the circle. Once in the circle, we will surround them! Any questions?" Arathorn said, hoping for silence. His wish came true.

As the trolls approached, the twins positioned the elves atop the trees. Arathorn had the men spaced out behind the ring. Arathorn was not afraid of the larger force. In fact, he welcomed the challenge. Suddenly, he heard a weird sound. It was a large sound. Only, it...was audible. "Smash! Crush! Smash! Crush!" The trolls were speaking. Suddenly, a golden arrow landed in the center of the ring, and Arathorn could hear the elves fire.

"Ahhh!" the trolls said, running into the center of the ring. The trolls weren't like the last batch. These trolls had hammers, axes, and maces. "Now men! Forth!" Arathorn shouted, charging into the ring. The other men followed. "Now elves! Cast them into the void" Elladan said, firing at a troll, striking it in the head. As Arathorn charged at a troll, it swiftly crashed his hammer in what would have been Arathorn's death site had he not jumped out of the way. Arathorn quickly slashed his sword across the trolls hand, climbed up the hammer, jumped off it, and cut the trolls neck. It fell to the ground. The other men were having a harder time. The elves continued to fire, except for Anga. He was out of arrows. Thinking quickly, he jumped off his tree, with a sword in his hand, and landed on a troll, his sword impaling the troll.

In the middle of the fight, Owacyn was hit with a mace. He fell down on the ground and couldn't get up. A very large troll was standing over him. "Silly human. Trolls win!" the troll said, grunting. Arathorn began rushing over to Owacyn, trying to save him, but didn't get there fast enough. Anga had jumped out of nowhere and killed the troll. "Nice work Anga!" Arathorn shouted, while dodging a giant ax. "Thank you!" Anga said, pulling Owacyn up to his feet. "Thank you" Owacyn muttered, drawing out his sword. In the process of helping Owacyn, Anga never saw it coming. "Anga! Watch out!" Arathorn said, running twords him. But it was too late. A troll had hit Anga 20 feet in the air. Anga landed on the ground in a loud thud. "Anga?" Arathorn said. Anga didn't move. "Why you!" Owacyn said, running twords the troll. Arathorn and Owacyn both jumped and cut down the troll at the same time. But it made no difference. Anga was dead.

[Eowyn Skywalker]

Hanindur closed his eyes for a bare moment as he stood behind the trees, and drew his sword. He heard Arathorn's last orders, and on, until he heard the sound of an arrow cutting through the air, and to the center of the ring. The second wave had began.

He opened his eyes, holding his sword in both hands, and, along with all the others, appeared into the midst of the trolls. But this time the trolls had a greater advantage, and it was the one advantage that he feared. They had maces.

Hanindur grimaced, it wasn't funny to be up against an enemy with a mace, he knew, he had been there once before, though only once, and he didn't favor doing so again. But there was no choice in the matter, they had to fight the trolls, and win, or they would all die. And he wasn't too fond of that idea, many of the other Rangers and Elves had families in Rivendell, or other places. He was not one to let his companions die beside him.

He took his sword, and plunged into battle.

It was a dangerous path, weaving in and around the troll's hammers, and maces, and other weapons. Hanindur made himself concentrate on only finishing their battle here, and it would not be easy, he knew that as a fact. Go under... he thought in his mind, diving underneath a hammer strike, and thrusting upwards with his sword at the troll. He continued to thrust, and dodge all blows, until the troll crumpled to the ground. Pulling himself to his feet sharply, Hanindur realized with a start that he was wounded. Blood stained his left arm, and it was not just the black blood of the trolls, it was his own.

He didn't feel the pain there, and tried to put it as far from his mind as he continued to fight, for his life, and for that of his companions.

It was as he noticed from the corner of his eye one of the others go down that Hanindur realized that this could very well be his last battle, and that of his companions. There were more trolls, and there was a chance that they would die. If they had been nearing the end of the battle, he would've wept the loss of Anga, but the battle had just started, and there was no time for that now. There was nothing to do put fight, and that he did, for himself, for the death of Anga, and for the lives of his companions.

[Hama Of The Riddermark]

"NO!" Owacyn screamed as he saw Anga hurled by the troll. He ran up to the troll that had ht hm and leapt on its back, plunging his sword into it again and again, the trolls tough skin made every thrust an effort, but he kept stabbing and stabbing. The troll moaned as it fell to the ground, bleeding profusely from the many wounds.

Owacyn ran over to Anga, and lifted up his head, the lifeless eyes stared back at him, "Why you!" he shouted into his face angrilly. He gritted his teeth and turned around, a vicious rage in his eyes. He spritined over to a troll that had just caught Elrohir and knocked him off balance, and leapt up, thrusting his sword into its thick neck, severing the windpipe and the artery. The precision attack dropped Arathorn's jaw, and Owacyn twisted in mid air and yanked the sword out, ripping a huge chunk out of the troll's neck...

[Mad Baggins]

Beroth stood behind a tree. He had been crouching upon a branch, but then Arathorn had called them down to hide behind the trees and wait for the Elves to draw in the trolls. Beroth shifted and drew in a sharp breath as an arrow whistled down to strike a troll. He steeled himself and ran towards the fray, shouting.

He felt his stomach tighten as he saw the maces in the trolls' great paws, but it was too late to turn back. His sword flashed as he swiftly cut the soft belly-flesh of one troll, leaving it to hold its stomach in an attempt to keep its innards from spilling out. Beroth turned to battle another troll and saw Anga hurled into the air and crash to the ground with a sickening thud. His heart wrenched as he watched Owacyn run to Anga and scream, lifting up his lifeless head. Frozen, he stared at Anga's cloudy eyes staring into the sky and seeing nothing.

"Beroth! Move!"

He heard a voice scream at him and he whirled around, seeing a troll barge towards him, brandishing its mace and shouting wildly. A red haze of anger and remorse filled his mind and he charged at the beast, plunging his sword into its stomach and twisting it. The creature bellowed and swung its mace at him. Beroth barely dodged it and yanked his sword out. He stepped out of the path of the troll as it collapsed in a heap.

[ArwenBaggins]

Eirian caterwauled and held his sword in a fighting stance, jumping from behind the tree and toward the trolls. "Kill nasty men!" The large lumbering beast yelled, swinging his ax accurately; Eirian ducked out of the way and saw it as the oppertune moment to lodge his blade in the troll's chest cavity. The troll groaned and fell.

Another troll was there waiting. While battling it, cries of 'Anga' seemed to float over the battlefield. He sliced off a finger, a hand, and then an arm, the new troll swinging his mace and striking with amazing accuracy. Eirian had no time to dodge; it struck him with terrible force in the side and flung him through the air, landing on his swollen wrist and howling with pain.

Eirian found himself lying not far from a motionless Anga. It didn't take a second glance- his body was crumpled and his chest was eerily still. Eirian didn't have time to think about others, however; he was in enough pain to pass out if he didn't keep his mind away from it. Wiping some blood from his lip, Eirian used his sword to get up and ran back into the battle with the one-armed troll.

This battle wasn't as 'fun' as the others.

[Saraphim]

Elrohir saw Anga fall from the tree where he was shooting. The elf's body felt as if it had been coated in ice, but that was all he felt. No fear seeped from Elrohir's soul as he drew his sword and leapt from the tree, landing on the shoulders of a lumbering troll and thrusting his blade down into the beast's head.

The elven-made sword did not break, but Elrohir felt the strain as it passed through the thick bone. As the troll slowly realized what had happened, and began to die, Elrohir pulled the sword from the head and jumped down, face to face with another of the monsters.

Elrohir's movements, coming from years of practice and inginuity, were more than a match for the troll, who whirled around confusedly as Elrohir rebounded from a tree trunk and sliced a great gash across its back.

The troll howled in pain, but dropped, its spinal column severed.

Anga lay in what seemed to have become the epicenter of the fight, with huge feet rumbling the ground around the fallen warrior.

A single look told Elrohir that Anga was dead, but that was not the only problem.

One of the trolls was reaching down towards Anga's body, presumably to eat his heart, as was the custom among the more stupid of trolls.

A still cool Elrohir twirled his long-handled sword expertly, and in a flash of metal, the troll's reaching arm was on the ground.

"Really," said Elrohir, as the troll turned angrily to face him, "I would have thought that a troll so smart as to actually speak would have the intellegence not to eat in the middle of a battle."

The troll growled something unintelligable, and raised his remaing arm, which held a knobbly club.

Elrohir raised his eyebrows, "Well, perhaps you have an excuse, then,"

He threw his sword, peircing the troll's chest, and as the troll merely brought his club down, not noticing the sword, Elrohir jumped aside and drew his bow, sending arrow after arrow into the troll, before it came crashing down on its back.

Climbing the heap, Elrohir drew the sword out of the troll and wiped it on the troll's pants.

Elrohir looked at Anga's body again, and walked over to it. He knelt down and sighed, looking at the elf who had been killed in his prime.

"Angakemion, may you go swiftly into the halls of the heroes, for that is where you have indeed earned your place." Elrohir whispered, pulling Anga's sword over and setting it into his lifeless hand.