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Post Beleg and Belorn/Malassuil and Bregolman
on: February 26, 2015 10:16
At the gate, Mid-Morning

It had only been a few moments that Bregolman had left the wall that the enemy’s attack began anew. Orcs flung themselves at the breach in the wall but the men of Fornost held them back. Camedhil wielded his great, two-handed sword like a lumberman’s axe to a tree hewing orc after orc. His blade continually found the soft flesh of his enemies in the gaps of their armor.

Above him, on the wall, Beleg and Belorn were in an unplanned rhythm. Every time one would release an arrow the other was drawing his next shot back. An orc blade was raised and about to be plunged into the chest of a soldier when it was pierced through the neck by Belorn’s true aim. Another that had slipped past the defenders was making for the healing house when Beleg released a deadly shot and watched it find its mark. The orc stumbled and collapsed, pierced through the heart with a black arrow, one that Beleg had scavenged from a dead enemy archer.

Suddenly, the gate and a section of the wall above it exploded into a heap of fire and rubble. A catapult blast had finally connected with the gate. No sooner had the gate been brought down than enemies began to swarm through the new point of entry. Despite the courage of the soldiers, the enemy was breaking through and the battle lines were being pushed deeper into the city.

The vigilance of the archers, and the cool-headed leadership of Marcadil and Camedhil is what allowed the men of Fornost to reform the line and brace for the impact of the enemy. Beleg and the other archers had managed to keep their focus despite the sudden destruction of the section of wall that contained the gate to the city. Beleg was so focused, in fact, that he had yet to notice his brother was no longer on the wall firing arrows a few yards away. The brothers had been positioned on either side of the gate, Beleg on the West side and Belorn on the East side.

Beleg had a moment to lift his eyes up from the fighting below to see his brother fighting near him but, what he saw instead was a giant gap of wall missing near where he was standing and his brother nowhere to be seen. His eyes widened in horror and he raced to the edge of the wall that was still intact to locate his brother. The rest of the archers could not divert from the fighting but Beleg could not continue until he found Belorn.

“Belorn! Brother!”

His searching eyes finally spotted his brother on the other side of the gap in the wall. He had been knocked backwards over the wall landing on the steps leading to the top of the wall. Beleg looked on helplessly as he saw orcs that were rushing into the city had spotted his brother on the stairs and he was all alone. He looked at the gap, it was atleast fifteen feet wide. There was no way he could make the jump. He looked around quickly, there must be something he could use to get across. A ladder was leaned up against the wall on the outside of the city. It had been abandoned in favor of the giant hole that was now in the wall of Fornost.

Beleg grabbed the ladder and with all his strength repositioned it in front of him facing the gap. He held on with both hands and pushed off of the wall flying over the hordes of orcs below. It slammed hard on the other side of the breach but, Beleg held on. He climbed up onto the wall now and could see Belorn was backpedaling up the stairs with a limp firing his last arrows at the orcs clawing towards him, “He must have hurt his leg” Beleg thought. He was now within fifty feet of his brother, who had been forced to switch to his sword after stabbing an orc with his last arrow and then using it to fire off one more shot. His sword was not his first choice of weapon, but Belorn had no choice now as he dispatched orc after orc, and still more came. Beleg stopped running to fire an arrow at an orc coming towards his brother. He took a few more steps forward only to stop again and take out two more enemies.

It was then that Belorn looked up and his eyes met his brother’s. It was the first time in those brief, desperate minutes he realized, though he was fighting for his life, he was not alone. At that moment his arm caught the edge of an orc blade. Time seemed to slow down but Beleg could not move any faster. He took the orc out with his bow and arrow, but another had already begun a two jab a sword towards Belorn’s abdomen. Beleg was pulling another arrow back as the orc blade pierced his brother's flesh. The arrow left his bow and buried itself in the neck of the orc with a simultaneous scream of, “No!!!” leaving his mouth. Beleg finally made it to Belorn’s side. The orcs had stopped coming up the stairs, for now.

“I knew you were not far behind, brother.” The words weakly left Belorn’s lips.

“I came as quickly as I could! But not quick enough! We need to move you quickly.” Tears were streaming down Beleg’s face but he did not know it.

“It is too late, brother. But, it is alright! I did not want to see this great city fall, and now I will leave this world while it is still standing.”

“You cannot go brother! I need you!”

“But, it is not my will that parts us this way. It is a greater will than ours, the one that brought all of Arda into existence, which calls me to that last great journey for every man. I will see you again, Beleg! Farewell!”

With that he breathed his last. But, Beleg was blind with rage and he rushed down the stairs into the sea of enemies. A wild light was in his eyes and he wielded Belorn’s sword and his own dagger with a ferocity that cowered his enemies before him. However, he would not last long, taking on a sea of enemies alone.


West side of Fornost, Mid-Morning

Bregolman and Malassuil were moving towards where the Royal Guard would be gathered. Malassuil trailed slightly behind Bregolman due to his limp. As they neared where the horses were kept, they could see a small trail of blood leading to a bale of hay. Bregolman neared it and could tell right away two dead men had been hidden there. He spun around suddenly to see if any of the people in the area seemed suspicious. He scanned the crowd of heavily armored Royal Guard members and some women who were coming and going from the Royal House. The infiltrators picked up uniforms off of dead Rangers, that’s what he should look for. He could see a man now in Dunedain garb pushing through the crowd of Royal Guards, “Got you.” He thought as he pushed through the crowd after the man. He turned down an alley and Bregolman followed. However, as soon as he turned the corner a blade came to his throat from behind. Another man had stepped out of the shadows before Bregolman’s eyes had a chance to adjust. Two more men stepped out of the shadows and the man he was chasing walked up as Bregolman struggled against the man holding the knife to his neck. The man pulled back his hood to reveal his face. He had a full beard and one of his ears looked like it had a bite taken out of it. His smile went ear to half-ear revealing a gold canine tooth.

“Now, what are we going to do with you?”

“Let’s just kill ‘im quick Halbarad! There was another one with ‘im and we ‘aven’t found the King yet!”

“Quiet you imbecile! Want to tell him the whole plan do you?” Halbarad barked.

“Ee’s as good as dea...” He slumped to the ground with a knife in his back.

Halbarad’s eyes widened in anger as a man appeared at the entrance to the alley, Malassuil had not lost track of Bregolman even though he fell behind. Bregolman reached for his sword but as he unsheathed it Halbarad rushed forward and grappled with him. The two other men decided to go for the man with the limp, it would be a fatal mistake. Malassuil parried the first attacker’s high downward strike then quickly slid his blade up severing the sword hand of the Hillman. He kicked the man backwards and simultaneously ducked his head to the right away from the next attacker’s sword. The missed attack left the hillman’s right side wide open as Malassuil hewed the soft flesh between the neck and shoulder of his enemy. His, now one-handed enemy bent over to pick up his sword but he was not able to wield it well in his other hand. He swung wildly at Malassuil, who dodged the attacks with ease. Malassuil dodged a final attack before bringing the hilt of his sword down on the man’s temple, knocking him unconscious.

In the meantime, Bregolman had managed to separate himself from Halbarad who now had his weapon drawn. Halbarad clearly had been trained well with his blade. Neither had been able to get the best of the other till a slightly ill-aimed jab by Halbarad had allowed Bregolman to spin away from the attack and bring his whirling blade through the leg of his enemy, severing it above the knee. As Halbarad collapsed, Bregolman brought a dagger to his throat.

“It appears you have failed your mission, Hillman.”

“Have I?” He cackled evilly. “There are three other men in this city and their mission is much more important than mine. But, don’t let me stop you from celebrating. Go ahead, have a drink!”

He pulled a knife from his belt, but Bregolman caught his arm and drove the knife into his heart. He choked on his own blood then breathed his last.

“What did he mean Malassuil?” He looked up at his commander.

“This was not the leader of the infiltrators. They call him Dukhalas, I do not know what his mission was.”

“I know of a quicker way to find them. Two men were killed, that means two horses are free. Come!”

Bregolman and Malassuil hurried back to the stables and mounted horses. Before they rode away they could hear and see a commotion on the north side of the city. More enemies were infiltrating the city. Their window to execute the King’s plan was narrowing quickly.

Bregolman shouted for the Royal Guard’s attention.
“We are out of time to prepare, men! Your leaders must execute the King’s orders as soon as possible before the city is overrun and the caravan has no chance of escape!”

Bregolman and Malassuil sprang away on their horses towards the gate of the city. They had been too long away from the main fighting and must see what the situation was at the gate. Maybe they would find Dukhalas along the way.

[Edited on 02/26/2015 by Naurmaethor]

[Edited on 02/26/2015 by Naurmaethor]
Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate: and though I oft have passed them by, a day will come at last when I shall take the hidden paths that run west of the moon, east of the sun.
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Post Fornost - Into the Grey Afternoon
on: March 01, 2015 01:23
Dukhalas shed most of the old uniform and put his own vest, breeches and cloak back on. He had no need of his satchel, but carried it anyway. He would have to be really careful now. The sounds of clashing swords rang out and drew ever closer. Gukkhus’s men were pushing further into the city! He watched as the wagons started moving away. The fire-lobbing catapult must have been moved forward, for the exploding fireballs were landing ever deeper in the city With each blast, the mood of the city’s inhabitants seemed to be losing its cohesion and was becoming more panicked and chaotic. A few stones arced high and started landing near the Royal Palace, but most of the stones were still aimed and were hitting at the walls stones were still being directed at the walls. Dukhalas dodged some of the flames that scattered near the healing house and slipped down an alley and made his way toward the inn where Dauwna had worked. He gritted his teeth at the thought of the day they had parted so long ago. He disagreed with her decision then, and even more so now. He now wished to see her, and hoped she was safe in all this. He did not know where to look for her, so would go to the last place they had spoken…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dauwna’s mind swam in dream and nightmare. She saw herself being driven away with the surviving people of the city. Soldiers ran along watching and setting up lines to hold the rear, while many dark arrows rained down on them. With haste they rode south and west, with the snows turning into a cold rain. She searched the faces of the soldiers, looking for Marcadil, but he came not. The vision blurred and changed, with Marcadil moving along with the soldiers protecting the fleeing people. But she was left behind as hands and arms wrapped around her and lifted her up. She was dropped over a shoulder like a sack and was bounced as she was roughly carried back. Swords cut and pierced the fleeing people as they ran in terror. She struggled to free herself from the grips of the man, but he tightened his grip as he looked at her

”You my dear are a lucky one. You get to live for a while.”

The laughter from others around him echoed and she turned her head to see. There were others being carried. They were not going to be lucky at all. A quick death would be more merciful….

Dauwna awoke suddenly in a sweat. A shaking thud shook the palace as a stone hit the side of it. She was calmed by a voice that lay near her.

”Be not afraid. Be strong! You will need to walk now.”

Dauwna looked up to see Queen Firiel taking her hand. Dauwna caught her breath and sat up. The light silk nightdress she was in stuck tho her and she wiped her brow with the sleeve. She was chilled as she stood. Firiel removed her cloak and wrapped it about Dauwna and she clutched it tightly. Dauwna said as Firiel walked her out of the room

”You must not… I am but a chambermaid of your house..”

“It matters not this day, for those on high will be the lowest, and many commoners will arise to heights. This day, we are all the same, and must leave the city.”

Another thud shook the palace, and dust fell from the ceiling. Firiel said to her as she led her out to the back,

”I have seen you work, both in the palace and in the infirmary. You have skills needed, for our plight will be long and hard, and will come at dear cost. Your burns are healing, and you need to continue to get well.”

Dauwna paused as the Queen turned to help others. She them moved on to where she did not know. She hoped Marcadil was still alive and well. She wanted to hold him once again.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Gukkhus’s men seemed to be having the upper hand in their fight, with only the City Guard and reserves coming up to do battle. They slowly and with precision moved deeper into the city from the north. They had no word from Dukhalas, so Gukkhus assumed they had been discovered. He had sent runners back to Angmar command of their success of getting inside the city, and so a couple trolls and their orc handles were sent up. They wasted no time hammering on the walls to knock a way through. A unit of heavy infantry, savage men of Carn Dum, came up to help press the advantage once the way was open. By late afternoon they would have broken through and a new flood of terror would pour into the city…

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Malassuil paused his horse and Bregolman stopped and turned.

”What is it?”

Bregolman asked. Malassuil squinted and finally said,

We have more trouble to the north. The sound of distant blades comes from there. At first I thought it only echoes, but it is more. If Dukhalas and his men could get in, rest assured more have likely come.”[/i]

They turned their horses as some people ran by in panic. Malassuil then asked,

”Sargent, you need to go to the gate with haste. Get word to Aranarth or Amliath of this northern breach and have them send any who can be spared. Are Marcadil and Richard still alive? Did they make it back from the North Downs?”

“Yes they did sir. They have been in command of the combined remnants of the 1st, 2nd and 3rd that returned. Sadly there were not many. But news of you returning will lift their, and everyone’s spirits.”

Bregolman answered. Malassuil grunted, then said,

”That may be so. But I want the few men I know to assist with this. If things are going ill, then I will not expect many, if any to come. But if one of the Princes has things well enough in hand, then I would like for all the remaining remnants to join me, along with anyone else who can be spared. If this threat is not checked, then things will go gravely ill for this city and everyone in it.”

Bregolman nodded and kicked his horse forth. He knew there was no time to spare. Malassuil looked back north, and suddenly saw some soldiers running towards him. They were young reservists. He dismounted his horse and yelled as he pointed at them,

”You! To me!”

They skidded to a stop and sheepishly walked to him. Malassuil looked at them in the greyness of the day.

”How long have you been soldiering?”

He asked them, One replied quietly,

”Three weeks. Our whole school class was called up.”

“How old are you?”
Malassuil asked. The boy answered,

“Fifteen. I will be sixteen in a fortnight.”

Malassuil sighed as he looked at them. He stopped others who were broken and running. More, seeing the old commander and their comrades standing there, lost enough of their fright and came over. Malassuil had gathered about a dozen of them. He looked back the way Bregolman had ridden off, and hoped he would have some of his veterans join him. He said to the boy who had spoken and said,

”Your commander, who is he?”

“Darian, grandson of the King. He led us. We fought hard and well, but when he fell, we panicked. Forgive us, for we had given up the field…”

Malassuil’s hand went up and he stopped talking. Malassuil said,

”Young Darian? Amliath’s boy? The young prince is dead?”

“Yes… he led us well. We were in meelee with the hillmen, when a knife thrown with skill hit him in the neck. It hit him just below his helm and just above his mail. I was next to him and I froze as his blood splattered on to me. He crumpled to the ground and his blood poured down the street like a river. He was trying to speak but I had to stay ready. I killed the charging Hillman with a thrust of my sword, and he fell too, spilling his blood all over me and Darian. I then leaned down and removed his helm, and he tried to speak, but all that came out of his mouth was more blood. He gasped out one last breath and his eyes stared up to the sky. A snowflake landed on his cheek and I brushed it off. I don’t know what happened after that. The others were either falling to the hillmen’s swords or breaking and running. I must have stood and ran. I remember little until now. My friend stayed with me. We were taught to always keep another’s back…. And…. ”

The boy rambled, but Malassuil cut in,

”Enough words. Its best we not speak now of Darian. You seem to have the respect of your comrades, for even now they come and gather around. You are now a corporal of your unit. I am sure Amliath, Aranarth, and King Arvedui will approve of this. Now, I need you to help me. We will stand tall and proud, and you all will advance with me. We can’t let the Hillmen have run of the city unopposed. My Sargent is off gathering the rest of my men, and we will hope to have things well in hand by the time they get here. Now, we need to protect the healing houses, the flank of the palace, and the rear of the main force fighting to retake the gate. Stand with me men! This will be remembered as a great day in the history of Arnor!”

They young soldiers cheered, and they were no longer the broken rabble that was running only a few moments before. They turned in a line and Malassuil mounted his horse. He drew his sword and pointed back up the street from whence they came, and they marched in step behind him.

They didn’t have to go too far before they found some of the hillmen. They had assumed they had won the day and were busy looting houses. The first few were slain quickly by the boys whom they thought they had driven off. But it didn’t take long before Gukkhus had them rallied and in a formidable line. Malassuil accessed the situation, and he knew it wasn’t good. Though here their numbers were for the most part equal, he had cadets, whereas Gukkhus had highly trained mercenary killers. And Malassuil knew he didn’t have the means to secure his right. The hillmen still had free run into the City to the east.

Bregolman rode up and dismounted. Amliath acknowledged his arrival with a salute. For the most part, they had managed to hold the orcs to a stalemate at their line, but they were suffering on the walls. More holes were knocked through the right, but the left managed to hold due to the catapults not having a clear shot against them. This was good, for it left the southeast corner of the city free, and that was where the exodus was gathering. Bregolman reported the news of Malassuil, and the critical turn of events at the north wall to him, and without a word, Amliath signalled Marcadil over. Marcadil came up, bleeding from a severe cut to his forehead. Silently Amliath read that Marcadil wished no treatment, and he said,

”It appears that your commander lives! Malassuil is in the city, and even now holds our rear. Yes, the enemy has breached the northern wall, for too little resources did we give there.”

“If m’Lord pleases, I would like to take the few men left from of the North Downs defence and go find Malassuil. I think they will be glad to know one of their old commanders lives on!"

Marcadil said, Amliath looked about and said,

”It shall be so. Yet I fear we will all meet not too long from now.”

Marcadil nodded and waved to Richard, who were holding the left of the line. Marcadil then said to Richard and Bregolman,

”You can choose to stay, or come with us to find Malassuil. It sounds these hillmen are more skilled in urban battle than the hordes of orcs. I myself will take the eight remaining comrades of the 2nd Company and go to the north. If any of the 1st or 3rd wish to come, they are welcome. From the words of Bregolman, it seems there is a need behind us.”

The few who were still standing came forth, and they set out up the street to find Malassuil. To know he lives and is in the field with them here has lifted their hearts!

[Edited on 03/01/2015 by Arveleg]
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: March 08, 2015 09:28
The remaining Dunedain from the 1st and 3rd companies were beginning to make their way to the North wall to try and re-take that part of the city. Bregolman was searching for Camedhil, Beleg, and Belorn before he moved north with the others. His eyes were searching, hoping for the best. Then he saw Camedhil and another soldier dragging Beleg away from deep in the enemy ranks. Their escape back to their own line was covered by the archers.

“Let me go!” Beleg raged.

“To what end?! We need you Beleg!”

“My brother needed me and I could not save him! What good am I to you?”

The words cut like a knife at Bregolman. In his absence Beleg’s brother had been killed. He put his hand on Beleg’s shoulder and Beleg turned.

“Sergeant! I am sorry. I am of no more use to you.”

Bregolman shook his head, “I do not relieve you. Everyone has lost something or someone today. But, if we give up now we will lose everything. I am sorry for your brother. He was young and would have become a mighty man. Take his place on the caravan. They will need a bow such as the two of you had. Honor him this way, Beleg.”

Beleg gathered his wits and saluted.

Bregolman spoke again, “We all lost a great commander Malassuil. But he has been given back to us. Somehow he managed to suvive. I found him in the city and even now he risks his life in the north of the city against hillmen mercenaries that have infiltrated Fornost. We were forced to abandon him once, to leave him for dead. Well, I do not know about you, but I will not make the same mistake twice. I am going to the North wall. Who will come with me?”

The men cheered but Camedhil perceived that the sergeant’s desire was not to stay in the city. He approached his friend.

“You will go to the north wall to fight?”

“Yes, where else would I go?”

“The King will be leading a charge out of the city. He will attract the enemy. He will attract the Witch-king. I know you want to be in that charge, Bregolman.”

“The men need me-“

“The men have Malassuil and I; we will see the job is done here. The King could use another noble man in the charge. And that will be your best chance at getting a chance to confront your father’s kidnapper.”

Bregolman’s eyes glazed over slightly. Somehow Camedhil knew exactly where his heart was; confronting the one who took his father from him. He nodded his thanks and gripped Camedhil’s wrist tightly.

He gathered what men could be spared from the breached south wall, including Beleg. Mounted up on his horse, he galloped down the street to catch up with those that Marcadil was leading. He found Marcadil.

“Marcadil, I have brought more men to help in the North. I will help as long as I can, but the King will be leading his charge out of the city soon to distract from the escape of the caravan, and I will be a part of that charge.”

Just ahead there was loud yelling and they could see figures moving about the buildings. The hillmen had moved into the east of the city.

Still round the corner there may wait a new road or a secret gate: and though I oft have passed them by, a day will come at last when I shall take the hidden paths that run west of the moon, east of the sun.
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on: March 17, 2015 08:26
Richard held the left of the line, urging his men to stand fast. The enemy beat upon them like so many rocks in a landslide, but gradually the onslaught began to lessen a little. When Richard stepped back to regain his breath he heard Amliath say,

”It appears that your commander lives! Malassuil is in the city, and even now holds our rear. Yes, the enemy has breached the northern wall, for too little resources did we give there.”

Malassuil is alive? Richard smiled broadly. It seemed nothing could kill his old commander.

He saw Marcadil gesturing and immediately went to join him and Bregolman.

”You can choose to stay, or come with us to find Malassuil. It sounds these hillmen are more skilled in urban battle than the hordes of orcs. I myself will take the eight remaining comrades of the 2nd Company and go to the north. If any of the 1st or 3rd wish to come, they are welcome. From the words of Bregolman, it seems there is a need behind us.”

"I will join you. Camedhil has things well under control here."
Richard returned to his men and said,

"Malassuil lives! He is heading up the defense of the north side of the city where the enemy has broken through. Who will join me there?" The men cheered at the unexpected news and several stepped forward to join Richard. They checked their weapons and marched down the street after Marcadil.

Fire balls crashed into the city, some farther away and some extremely close.
Richard turned a corner and came up short. The street directly ahead was obstructed by heaps of rubble, obviously the work of catapults. "Go back. We'll have to find another way," he waved them back up the street. They took a new path and eventually reached the North wall.

Up ahead Richard saw his old commander fighting alongside a group of young boys. He sent three of his men to help Malassuil, while he led the rest toward the undefended right. The hillmen had already begun to scatter through the city in that direction, which made it difficult for Richard to establish a line of defense. He couldn't leave the rear open, but he also couldn't let any more hillmen make it into the city.

"Othion, I'm going to hold the defense here the best I can. Choose two men to go with you to dispatch the scum who made it in behind us."

The man did as bidden and Richard formed his men up against the next wave. They had to keep the city for as long as possible to be sure the caravan had time to get away... the caravan that his wife and children would be on. He hoped with all his being that they would be safe.


Caedor helped another woman into the wagon and paused to catch his breath. The din of the battle had grown in intensity but he knew he was needed here to help get the civilians out of the city. His bloodshot eyes fastened on the well and he suddenly realized how thirsty he was. There was no time to get a drink however, because several more people had arrived to be loaded on the wagons.

One of them was his betrothed, a beautiful girl named Aeareth. Her eyes shone with tears as he gently lifted her up and placed her in a wagon. "Weep not, my beloved," Caedor whispered against her hair, wiping the tears from her soft cheek. "When this is over we will marry. I will build you the most beautiful house I can, for you deserve nothing but the best. My love." His voice cracked on the last word and he felt the moisture prick behind his eyes. The wagon began to roll away and he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed it.

Goodbyes were the worst.
Caedor swallowed hard. Some water would do him good. He turned to the well and lowered the bucket, drawing it out again when it was full. He filled a tin cup and drank the cool liquid slowly, savoring each sip that flowed down his parched throat. Water really did wonders in restoring one's strength. He set down the cup after refilling and draining it again, then went back to help more people get out of the city. He lifted woman on a cot into the wagon with the help of another man and rubbed a hand over his forehead. It felt like the middle of summer to him even though it was snowing. He dismissed the thought and continued to assist the people leaving the city.

It seemed only a few minutes until his throat again felt dry and scratchy, but now he also had a throbbing headache. He returned to the well and downed another cup of water. "Don't drink the well dry!" the man working with him called. "Save some for the rest of..." his eyes widened in alarm as Caedor's knees buckled and he slumped over the side of the well. "Caedor!" He ran forward and pulled the younger man back, helping him to sit against the stones.

He recoiled in horror from the sight of Caedor's face - it was chalk white and twisted into a grimace of pain. Caedor coughed violently and blood ran from a corner of his mouth. With a great effort he finally managed to croak, "Take care of Aeareth for me. Tell her...tell her I love her." He looked up at the sky and smiled. "I can see the stars! So strong and bright that no darkness can quench them. We are like those stars." he sighed in contentment and breathed no more.

The other man sat in shock beside his dead friend. He was fine just a moment before! He looked down at the tin cup in Caedor's hand and it all made sense. He jumped to his feet. "Don't drink the water! The well's been poisoned!"


Barad tried to catch his breath as the second wave approached. His shoulder pain had dulled to a throb. He took the pause in the battle to approach his brother, waiting until he had finished directing the men.
“Are your family safe?” he queried.

Richard looked over at his brother. “I don’t know. I haven’t seen Meriam since we marched out to the North Downs. It has been more than a year since I saw my daughter, and I’ve never even met my son. I wasn’t there for them when they needed me, just like I wasn’t there when you needed me.” He voice was calm and matter-of-fact; no one would have guessed how deeply they hurt him.

“It was not your fault that fate drove us apart. It sounds like I need to tell you about them,” Barad smiled grimly. “Your daughter has probably grown since you last saw her. She is a level-headed child and kept me from giving up in the retreat from the Downs. She has seen so much…” he hesitated.
“I did not see your son often, but he is a fine lad, who enjoys long naps on horseback.”

Richard smiled at his brother’s words. Thankfully he had not heard the whispered, “she has seen so much”. What he had heard gave him the extra strength he would need for this new fight. The hillmen were attacking again in earnest.

[Edited on 06/03/2015 by Eruwestiel_Evensong]
"And I dreamed of seas and ships, and of waves crashing on the shore in the twilight of the world..." ~Song, member of the Realm of Ulmo
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Post The Darkness of the Day
on: March 23, 2015 10:06
Malassuil and his young cadets were joined by the remnants of his old company and others who joined the fight with him. They had managed to hold a part of the line against the mercenaries, but it was becoming obvious that Hillman regulars were joining the fight. They must have been scaling the wall even as a hole was pounded through it. Soon the heavy Hillmen foot-soldiers, orcs, and trolls would break into the city.

Amliach for his part held the line from the gate, and made way for the King to ride forth. They would then turn and fall back, covering the rear of the escape. As he attempted to secure his line in the rear, too many of the mercenaries had gotten in among them. People scrambled to get to the pocket of the city still held. Even as the fighting raged in the streets, women and children ran for their lives to get by. Many were killed as they ran. Seeing they had no chance, some women picked up swords from the fallen and fought to protect themselves, and others. They worked among the enemy and stood by the Dunedain soldiers. But even with such spirit and bravery, they slowly were slain and broken. They had given themselves so others could hurry away to live another day.

The only reason the evacuation had gone as well as it had was due to the way Queen Firiel worked. Few people would have gotten out had it not been for the preparations, however menial, that were done. But the hope of holding the city was quickly fading, and the King and his horsemen readied a force that was a shadow of what the might of Arnor could have mustered in days of old. Yet the sight of the king upon his horse in his war armour was inspiring, and a fair number of men had gathered to ride with him and his Royal Guard. As the King looked upon his men he knew this ride was a last gasp of a gamble to buy time and take the eye of the enemy from the escape. The King knew the eyes of the Witch King would be upon him.

Dauwna walked it seemed aimlessly along, clutching the robe that the Queen wrapped around her. They were going to get out of the city, but at what cost? Dauwna paused and stepped aside. She wasn’t missed. Though she ached from the burns and cuts she had suffered, she could not now find heart to leave while Marcadil remained. She would have to stay and do her part. She looked down the alleyway, and there sat a mother suckling her infant, shifering with fear. Dauwna ran to her and knelt down, saying,

”You need to move! Go now while you can!”

She looked up at Dauwna, and her eyes spoke much. Dauwna took in a deep breath and took the woman’s hand. Removing the Queen’s cloak, she wrapped it around the mother, and led her to the street.

”You go, take my place. Just hold your son, and walk with everyone else.”

The woman walked away, staring ahead but not seeing. Dauwna watched her as she disappeared in the crowd. She shivered as the wind blew softly. Dauwna realized she had given away her only protection against the chill air. The thin silk nightdress she wore would do little to keep her warm. She turned and walked back down the alley, looking to find some clothes. She came to where the woman had been sitting, and she could see now why the woman was in such a state. A soldier who may have been the woman's husband lay there dead, facedown with arrows in his side and back. Dauwna stepped back in fright, saying,


Thoughts of her own husband laying somewhere wounded, or dead, flashed through her mind. After staring at the dead soldier for what seemed like an eternity, Dauwna turned to run out of the alley, but a foot slipped out of a shadow and tripped her and she fell. She was stunned for a moment, but tried to get up. Hands and arms grasped her and helped her up to her feet. She turned to look at the one who had ahold of her, and the man pushed back his hood and said grimly if gently,

”Hello Dauwna.”

Dukhalas grinned in such a stern way that it struck fear into Dauwna. Hands of her past had caught up with her, here and now, in the midst of the destruction of the city of Fornost. She struggled against his iron grip on her wrists, but there was no breaking it. She shivered as she looked at him… whispering…

”Please… no….”

Dukhalas turned and pulled her into the darkness of the far end of the alley…

[Edited on 03/25/2015 by Arveleg]
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: March 28, 2015 10:23
Elrohir sat by his daughter's bedside as she tossed and turned, her brow slicked with sweat. He'd wanted to help the men of Fornost fight, but how could he, when Itarildë lay ill and near death's door. The elf who had saved Itarildë's life, Ithilwen was nearby. He went over to her, and placed his hand upon hers.

"My lady Ithilwen. The House of Elrond is forever indebtted to you, for the life you have given back to my daughter. Your name shall be revered in the stars above Imladris. Please, take this, as a token of my gratitude."

As he spoke, Elrohir placed his warm cloak about Ithilwen, who was now shaking with the lack of energy. It would keep her warm. Her gave Caladwen a large package of Lembas. He would not need it himself for days. He heard a slight whimper and looked behind him, to see Itarildë's eyes opening slowly.



The world around her was blurry, and heavy on her senses. The air was clammy and there was noise all about her. Her head was pounding immensely, and she sat up, much too quickly, causing her vision to spin.

"Ildë-nin!" came her father's voice, from somewhere close by.

"Ada?" came her weak reply. She turned her head to see a man she had not seen for many moons smiling with relief above her. He stroked the side of her face lovingly, tears threatening his eyes. Who would believe her warrior father would cry over her recuperation?

"My Ildë. I was so worried about you. I'm so glad you are safe."

"I'm sorry, Ada." Itarildë could not hold it back, her voice no more than a whisper. She cried profusely. She felt so young and naive. She'd thought she was a brave Elven warrior just like her father. How wrong she had been. "I let you down. And Grandfather down.... I just wanted to make you proud."

"Ildë. You have made me the proudest father in all Middle-Earth. But also the most weak-hearted as of late. When I heard you had left to Fornost, I was close to my heart stopping there and then, and has been the same since I arrived here. I have to thank the ladies Ithilwen and Caladwen for your life."

"Ada, the attack! How does Fornost fare?" She began to get off the cot she lay upon, her strength suddenly back, like a phantom on her back. "We must help them Ada, the Witch King..."

"Ildë, do you really think I'm going to let you go back out there? After what happened the last time? No, I will speak with the man Marcadil, and the other leaders and have you sent back to Imladris." Elrohir stood, hand absent-mindedly going to his sword hilt.

"Ada! No! I am well enough to defend this settlement as well as any of the other injured men here! There a many men in a state worse than my own who should be taken out of the fight. Do not insult them by sending away one who can still help them!"

But Elrohir was not listening and left without another word. Itarildë stood to follow him, but her legs felt strange and useless after their long disuse.


[Edited on 03/29/2015 by ItarildeSirfalas]
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on: April 02, 2015 11:07
The battle in the streets of Fornost was hard fought, and though at any one time it was hard to tell who had control of which street, for the lines had become mingled. The Hillman mercenaries were finally fought to a stalemate, but the breach in the north wall was funnelling in more heavy infantry. Malassuil had managed to rally the cadets, and his few comrades that remained from the North Downs had bolstered the young unit. But they were hard pressed and their stamina was being stretched.

An early morning charge by the Hillmen was met with stiff resistance, but they managed to break the line. Malassuil was to the left, and Macardil was to the right. They fought and withdrew as they did, in hopes they could contain the breakout. But it was not to be. Gukkhas and his mercenaries had managed to muscle through and were loose behind the Dunedain lines. Malassuil and Marcadil would have pursued them, but for the coming onslaught of the heavy infantry from the north wall. Orcs had joined the fight, and a troll had set forth smashing things after he had crashed his way through the broken north wall.

Thirst was becoming an issue, for the water they had was all they would get. Word of the well being poisoned spread, and many of the Dunedain were unsure when they had gotten water from it. The stream that filled the fountain was suspect too, but now that they had lost both the fountain and the well, it mattered not to them. It poisoned well now became the enemy’s problem. They could not drink from it either.

Marcadil stepped back to catch a breath. Richard had come by, and Marcadil stopped him. They looked at each other, and Marcadil said,

”My friend, you are injured. Your head…”

Richard raised his hand to his forehead and it came back with blood on it. He looked at Marcadil and shrugged. He set forth to try and close the gap between them and Malassuil, saying,

”Stay well my friend!”

Marcadil nodded. It turned out he had blood running down his neck from his temple. He wasn’t sure when he got hit, but it did little to slow him now. He squinted in the flickering light, and saw that some of the mercenaries were running rampant behind them and were heading for the healing house. Marcadil grabbed a couple of the young cadets and sald,

”Follow me!”

the three made their way back, and got to the healing house before the mercenaries. They must have found somewhere else to loot. Marcadil saw that there were still people inside, and he set the two cadets by the door while he went in.

Inside, he found a few wounded that were too injured to move, and they stood ready with knives and swords and such to make a last stand. From a side room came Elrohir with flames in his eyes. He was ready for war. Marcadil stopped him and said,

”M’lord… you must get these people out! This place is threatened!”

He looked around and did not see his wife. This was where he expected her to be. He asked,

"Where is Dauwna? Was she not here?"

One of the wounded soldiers said,

"She was here Marcadil, but not to tend us. She was hurt and was being tended to. She left with the first to evacuate this house."

Marcadil tensed and felt a dread come over him. He had assumed she would be safe. But he had seen what has befallen the city. He was filled with a desire to find her. He went over to the wounded soldier and asked,

"How long ago? Was she badly hurt?"

"She had several cuts and bruises, and was burned. But she awoke and was able to walk. They left at nightfall."

The soldier said. He saw Marcadil tense, so he continued to talk,

"Marcadil, she left with Lady Queen Firiel, who had set her maroon velvet cloak around her for warmth. Se is well."

Marcadil was eased only slightly by his words. He wished to see her so bad. But he had a duty... Still, something in his heart did not feel right...

A stumble was heard, and from the room came Ithilwen and Caladwen, with Itarildë' being held between them. If elves ever tire in this world, it could be seen on the faces of these three. And Elrohir looked back at them. Marcadil said,

”Preserve your water, for there will be no more.”

The sound of swords ringing outside said all the needed to be said, but Marcadil turned to them,

The battle is upon us here, now!”

A hillman charged in and Marcadil slit his neck. Another rushed in and Elrohir threw a knife into him. Marcadil moved to hold the door, and he could see his two men in melee outside. Richard’s men were there also in melee in the street. They were holding their own, but Marcadil and Elrohir knew they had to get out now! If there was any strength left in Itarildë, she reached for it in her desire to fight. The healers too donned weapons and moved forth. They would be a formidable force and would get back to where they could get out of the city. They would be part of the rearguard of the evacuation. It was then the horns sounded. The King was preparing to ride!

[Edited on 04/05/2015 by Arveleg]
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: April 24, 2015 11:35
Bregolman’s blade flashed as he hewed shield and flesh. Atop his horse he was a terror to the hillmen. But, he could not be everywhere and the hillmen were now breaking through the lines and making it further into the city. Beleg had come to the fighting in this part of the city with a fresh quiver which was now half gone. The defense of the city was failing and the time for King Arvedui’s plan was nearing.

It was chaos in the streets. Civilians that had been caught in between the healing house and the King’s royal chamber ran about trying to avoid the most heated fighting. Bregolman saw a young woman chased down an alley by several mercenaries. He dismounted from his horse and tied a loose knot around a street sign and hurried towards the entrance of the alley. The woman was pinned to the wall and the three hillmen had their backs to Bregolman. It would be the last mistake they made.

Two swift strokes of knife and sword and the hillmen holding the woman against the wall and his ally slumped to the ground. The third was just out of sword reach, a quick flick of Bregolman’s wrist and a dagger pinned the last of the woman’s attacker to a stack of wooden boxes in the alley. The dagger had pierced the man’s heart, he let out one last ragged breath and died.

Bregolman turned his attention to the woman. A fair face with tear-filled eyes was turned up towards him and familiar smile. It was the woman that had caught his gaze before.

“My name is Bregolman.” It was as if the words were drawn from him. “And I am Elwen. I am in debt to you, sir.” She wiped her eyes and he took her hand. “Please, Bregolman is all you need call me. Elwen, why were you out in the streets? It is not safe.” Her eyes widened as she remembered, “The healing house it is being overrun I was going for help-“ Bregolman understood, “Come, there is no safe place to send you at the moment, so you will stay by my side.”

They left the alley and Bregolman helped Elwen onto his horse. He swung his leg over and turned to see Beleg retrieving arrows from enemies he had killed.

“Beleg, the healing house is being overrun we are needed there.”

Beleg took to a roof top. Running atop the cities’ buildings was a past-time of him and his brother when they were younger and also an excellent way of getting around quickly.

Bregolman sprang down the streets with Beleg following above and as they neared the healing house the concentration of mercenaries increased. He saw Richard and his men among those fighting in the streets. There was no time for talking, it was obvious what was needed.

Bregolman charged into the fray atop his horse hacking and slashing. Beleg was extremely effective from the higher vantage point. The desperate defense of the healing house was becoming less desperate as they began to win this small skirmish in the midst of the larger battle. It was then the horns sounded. The King was preparing to ride!
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Post The Grim Reunion
on: May 07, 2015 03:42
Dukhalas backed into a wooden door that had a couple boards loose, and it broke open. Dragging the struggling Dauwna with him, he slammed the door shut with his foot. He turned, but with the steps dropping away, they both stumbled. Dukhalas managed to keep his hold on Dauwna, but he came down hard and his ankle twisted. Dauwna elbowed him in the gut and tried to get away, but still he held fast. But for a slight flicker of light that came down the stairway from a fire that burned in the alley, there was little light. Dukhalas reached around Dauwna and lifted her up, throwing her over his shoulder as he made his way down the dark passageway, she still struggled.

”Will you stop fighting me? I may have to knock you out.”

Dauwna was in a bad place. She didn’t want to fight too much for fear of hurting herself and her unborn child. But she feared what Dukhalas would do with her. She would have to remember and try to keep Dukhalas from hurting her. She said as she went limp over his shoulder, eyeing his knife on his belt in the fading light. She said,

”I… I’ll stop fighting… what… what are you going to do with me?”

“I’m going to protect you Dauwna. This city is falling, and what becomes of any who are captured will not be pleasant. You make it easy for me, and things will go much better for you.

Dukhalas said as he pushed open a solid door he came to. They had come to a store room that was lit by a single candle that had nearly burned all the way down. There were some wood kegs and some straw around them, and Dukhalas paused before he said to Dauwna,

”I’m going to put you down, so don’t try anything.”

Dauwna didn’t say anything, but she did manage to lift his small blade he had on the back of his belt. She took a deep breath as he started to lift her up over his shoulder. She slashed at his neck with the knife, and he threw her against the kegs as he fell. The line of blood started to trickle out as he slapped his hand over it. Dauwna fell forward as the wind was knocked out of her. Dukhalas was on top of her as she gasped for air. He let the blood drip onto her as she started to regain her breath and she struggled against his weight. With a blow, he knocked her unconscious before tearing her nightdress to use for a bandage on his deep cut on his neck. It wasn’t deep enough. Dauwna missed killing him by a fraction. He sat back and looked at the bloodied woman that lay before him. He used more of her nightdress to tie her wrists and ankles, and tied a gag over her mouth.

”Why did you have to go and do that.”

He said as she moaned. He sat her up against the wall by the kegs, then finished bandaging his neck. She opened her eyes and gave only a brief struggle against her bonds. Dukhalas sat next to her and sighed. He said with a whisper in her ear,

”So, you chose the noble Dunedain soldier as your husband. He surely by now lays in a pool of his own blood being trampled by the feet of the armies of Angmar. Even now, the King sounds his horns and rides away from this city. Maybe your Dunedain rides with him, leaving you and others. Yes, the mighty Dunedain of the west. What have they done for you my dear Dauwna?”

Her eyes grew wet, but she fought back the stream that wanted to run down her cheeks. She should have stayed with the Queen’s party. She would be safe now. And what of Marcadil? She knew not what had become of him….

Dauwna flinched when Dukhalas’s finger wiped the tear escaping from her eye away from her cheek. He said to her,

”Yeah, he’s gone… either dead or fighting with his soldier buddies for a lost cause. And here you are with me… just the way things should have been … would have been had I not brought you with me to this city back then.”

Dukhalas kissed her cheek and Dauwna wanted to puke. But she could only sit there, withdrawing inside her head and hoping she would die…

~ ~ ~

Marcadil saw that Bregolman had come with some men, and for now the healing house would be spared a sacking… at least long enough to get everyone away. Marcadil led some out the back in hopes of getting them safe. They hurried down the narrow street and got inside the line of men guarding the southeast quarter. Marcadil then set to look for his wife, calling her name. Nobody had seen her. He desperately looked about calling, and finally someone that had left the healing house with Dauwna spoke up,

”Yes, I saw Dauwna. She was with us. She wore the Queens robe, for her highness wrapped her in it before we left.”

“Thank you! I see her now!”

He made his way through the tight crown toward the robed woman. He touched her shoulder and the woman turned, holding her baby. It was not Dauwna. The look on Marcadil’s face told her of the grief he was feeling. She said to him,

”She was brave. She helped me and gave me this to keep my baby warm.”

“Where did you see her last?”

Marcadil asked. She answered,

”By the old grainery.”

Without a word, Marcadil worked his way back against the push of the increasing crown in an effort to get back. He had ran past that place, and there he would have to look. Etting back, he could see that the fight was still going at the healing house, He grabbed a couple young soldiers whose courage had failed them, and gave them encouraging words. It was hard to do, for his own hope was failing. He despaired for his wife.

”Come men, with me!”

They followed Marcadil as he went down the alley….
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: May 14, 2015 10:35
Itarildë was weak. And the worst part was that she knew it, and her father knew it. Despite how tired and defeated she felt, she knew that she must fight the onslaught of hillmen that had entered the city, to protect the healing house. Her bleary vision could just make out shapes, and using what little hearing she had left, she fought alongside the Man Marcadil and Elrohir.

When the onslaught lessened, she lowered herself to the ground. Her father was right. Maybe she should just go home to Imladris...

No! I am no warrior, and I may be hurt; but I will not leave these Men at a time like this.

"Ildë, go to the stables and find Silmë. He will take you home. You can't stay here any longer." Elrohir sounded almost threatening.

"I refuse, Ada! If any of these Men stopped when they were injured, this battle would have already been lost. No, Ada. I will fight. Grandfather did not let me come here to pretend at playing warriors. He believed in me, and so must you, Ada."


Itarildë's sight returned to show her Marcadil and the Man she knew as Begrolman by the entrance to the healing house. Marcadil was looking for his wife, and had rallied some of the men who were losing their courage.

"Sir Marcadil. I may not be in full health, but I owe you my life. Let me help you find your lady wife."

Along with the Men and Marcadil, Itarildë followed the into an alley. Her senses told her something was wrong. She placed a hand on Marcadil's chest and placed a finger on her lips to shush them all.

Inching forward, Itarildë reached for her dagger. Her footfalls were as quiet as a whisper. She motioned for Marcadil to follow her, willing their advance to be quiet. Her ears burned from her intent listening...

[Edited on 05/15/2015 by ItarildeSirfalas]
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Post The Last Defence
on: May 28, 2015 02:41
Dukhalas breathed deep as his face pressed against Dauwna’s cheek. Her hair hung limply in damp tangled locks and was her only protection from his lips. Her eyes grew wet but she fought back the need to cry.

It was then that a slight noise echoed from where they had come. Footfall, ever so light! Dukhalas was to his feet and looked. Dauwna kicked her feet out and knocked over a barrel. Dukhalas spun back and grabbed her and pulled her to her feet. He pressed his lips to her ear and whispered,

”That was not wise my dear”

He looked about, and found the plank that was loose. He removed it, and a couple others. The hole could only pass one at a time, so he had to decide to send Dauwna in first and hope nobody was at the other end when she came out first. But she would not freely go if he went in firs, so he had to chance it. He shoved her in and pushed her along, and before he slid himself in, he overturned the remaining barrels and let the candle fall into the straw. It reluctantly started to burn, and smoke started to fill the room. He pushed himself in and pushed Dauwna along.

They were well down the tunnel even as the smoke from the fire pushed against them. Dauwna came to a door in the darkness and paused. This was her chance! She kicked Dukhalas in the face and pushed open the door. She tried to scream and call for help, but being gagged, she could only manage a muffled cry. She tried to push the door shut on Dukhalas, then turned to run. She went out through a door into the hallway where ran into a woman who was coming out of a room. They both fell into a struggling tangled heap. The gag was torn away, and Dauwna gasped. She tried to stand and help the woman she ran into up, but an arm went around her midriff and everything went black as she felt the blow to her head. Dukhalas wiped his bloody face on Dauwna’s back before letting her slump to the floor, and the other woman was stunned. She turned to run, but Dukhalas grabbed her by the neck before she could take a step. He spun her around and held her tight, squeezing her until she finally ran out of fight. She too crumpled to the floor. He then turned and pulled Dauwna to her feet as she started to awaken.

”My apologies dear, but being you likely have broken my nose with your attempt to escape, I will say we are even. Now, put her clothes on.”

Dauwna looked at the unconscious woman then back at Dukhalas. He said,

”Do it, and quickly. You will freeze in that tattered bloody remnant of a night dress…”

He pulled some of it to use to wipe his blood face with. Dauwna hesitated even as Dukhalas cut the binding on her wrists. He pushed her down to the woman.

”There is nothing I haven’t seen before, unless you are worried about her. I will turn my back if you promise not to try anything.”

Dauwna was going to say something, but kept quiet. Dukhalas hadn’t noticed she had lost her gag, or he had but wasn’t concerned as long as she stayed quiet. She wouldn’t chance it just now. She nodded her head as she showed sign of relaxing. She looked at the woman and felt sorry for her as she started to un-lace her dress. At least she was still breathing.

The smoke from the fire Dukhalas started had filled the room and was filtering in to the hallway. Dauwna was prompted to hurry, and she thought it just as well as she could leave the woman’s under dress on her. She put the dress on but could not lace it up properly as Dukhalas was impatient. There was too much noise outside. He started to push Dauwna along when she held back. She said in a whisper,

”What about her? We can’t leave her here in the hall!”

“Don’t worry about her. My comrades will see to her.”

He said. But Dauwna was adamant, so Dukhalas lifted her and carried her into the room she had come out of and dropped her on the bed. He was quickly back out into the hall suspecting Dauwna would use this as a chance to run. But she didn’t.

”Thank you.”

She said quietly. She knew that things would go ill for her as soon as the Hillmen found her, but she had to try to give her some dignity. Dukhalas pushed Dauwna forth and they came to the front of the store. There was yelling and fighting going on in the street. Dukhalas held Dauwna close until his kinsmen pushed the Dunedain back and the fight had moved down to the next block. It appeared the Dunedain was making a defensive stand there. They were systematically retreating as the people were leaving the city to the southeast. The men were leaving too so they could defend the caravan of refugees from any attacks, but it seemed the armies of Angmar were focused on the city, and the King and his rider would keep their eye away from the evacuation as they slipped away. Dukhalas had to find somewhere for he and Dauwna to go until the city had been taken. He knew just the place. They slipped out of the back and squeezed through a narrow gap between buildings. Coming to a door, he pushed it open. This place was empty, and they went upstairs to where they could look out over the rooftops. He blocked the heavy door to the room, and had their escape planned. But he didn’t think there would be a need. It looked like the Dunedain had retreated past them. He would only have to watch for the pillagers that would follow. He checked his knives and sword, hoping he didn’t have to deal with orcs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The fight at the Healing House was hard, but the men of the Dunedain had to withdraw or risk being cut off. At leastthe withdrawal was done in an orderly way instead of the chaos that had at first gripped them when the north wall was breached.

Macardil followed Itarildë who had the acute senses that lent to tracking. But the passageway tended to echo, no matter how quiet they tried to walk.

The sudden noise that echoed down toward them was followed by a cloud of smoke. Itarildë froze, and Marcadil silently signalled to the two young men to retreat back out of the passageway. Soon the smoke pushed past them and Itarildë coughed slightly. Marcadil threw his arm over his face and grabbed Itarildë’s collar with his other hand, backing up as quick as they could. They all climbed out into the alleyway coughing. The acrid smoke belched out into the alley around them. They were barely able to catch their breath when fighting echoed from the street. The Dunedain were retreating. They had to go. Marcadil said,

”Itarildë, I trust you had a sense that Dauwna was in that passageway? I thank thee for trying to find her, but we had to get out. Come, we have to fall back with the others or we will be cut off!”

The fair lady elf looked sad and maybe still weak from her earlier injuries, but she pushed that from her face and a determined look came forth. May she be as good with knife and sword as she was with her bow! He said to them,

'Come! For Arthedain!"

They moved toward the street and there joined the battle, cutting into the flank of the enemy that had passed the alley. Richard was at the forefront and held until She was ready to fight. He gave her a nod and waved the other two forth. Richard was at the forefront and saw them emerge from the alley. He held fast with some men and it allowed Itarildë and Marcadil and the two cadets to fight their way to him. There was no time for greetings, for they had to fall back down the street. They would defend the people as best they could to allow them to get out of the city, for the city was well and truly falling.
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: May 29, 2015 11:26
As Itarildë, Marcadil and the Men advanced into the passage, the air suddenly filled with cloying smoke, filling their lungs and burning their eyes. Marcadil grabbed her collar and dragged her from the alley.

"Itarildë, I trust you had a sense that Dauwna was in that passageway? I thank thee for trying to find her, but we had to get out. Come, we have to fall back with the others or we will be cut off!” Marcadil said to her, heading back towards the raging battle. Itarildë gritted her teeth, then followed him.

Reaching towards her dual knives, as her Ada had taught her, Itarildë stood firm with the Men. Around them the city was being ransacked, ruined and overwhelmed. In the foreground, Itarildë could just make out her father's figure, aiding another group of Men, who also seemed to be as spent as their group.

A band of invaders began to surround them, a group of civilians fleeing in all directions out of fear. An elderly man fell behind, and Itarildë ran towards him. An orc appeared as if from nowhere on the man's heels, but behind him was Lord Elrohir.

"Ildë! I thought I told you to leave!" Elrohir shouted over the noise, throwing a well-aimed dagger into the orc's back. It's squeal caused Itarildë's stomach to clench. From behind her father swarmed a pair of orcs, black nastiness dripping from their mouths. Elrohir retrieved his dagger, but before he could attack, Itarildë had already planted a lethal arrow in one, and was now stabbing the other.

"And I already told you, Ada. I'm not leaving!" she replied as she aided the elderly man along to the other group of civilians.

"Marcadil, we can handle the oncoming from this side," Elrohir called, waving towards the Men he was standing with. "You and Itarildë take the civilians and get out of the city. We will try to hold them back as best as we can. If you stay any longer, we'll be surrounded!"

Itarildë began to motion to the citizens, directing them out of the city, keeping a watchful eye out for any would be attackers. As they edged nearer and nearer to relative safety, Itarildë placed a hand on Marcadil's shoulder.

"We'll find your wife, Marcadil," she said, her expression sincere. "But as you say, we must get out of the city. Fornost will entirely fall before the end of this day, and I do not wish to see any good Man or Elf within its walls oncce it does..."
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on: June 02, 2015 02:58
“Gather your loved ones! We have to get out while the way is still open!”
The voice was that of Queen Firiel. Freeda hurried back to Mathias and took his hand. “Hurry, we have to leave. Some men are taking Mama to a wagon, but we will have to go on foot.” She took her brother from his arms.

“On foot?” Mathias asked hesitantly, “are the wagons too full to carry you and your brother?”

“I don’t know if there will be any room or not. The sick and wounded have priority, and there are many of them.”

Freeda led the way to a side door and stepped outside. The world was a seething mass of terrified humanity, enemy forces, fire and death. Inwardly her heart began to quake. This was so much worse than the carnage at North Slope. She squeezed Mathias’ hand for reassurance and ran toward the wagons. All had pulled away except one. “Get in,” Freeda ordered her new friend. “There is room only for you and my brother. My legs are much stronger than yours. I can run.”

“No,” Mathias protested. “My father... my first father taught me that one should always treat women with respect, always let them go first, always fight for them.” He ran a hand through his dirty hair, searching for some way to make her understand. “Look, there is only one end for the weak. I might as well make mine worth while.”

“No, that is not true! The weak can become strong. They can fight and they can win!” Freeda heaved a deep sigh and looked back at Mathias. “I have to believe this about you because I need to believe the same about myself.”

"The city is overrun! Get out while you still can!"

The wagon began rolling away before the last word was uttered. Screams announced the arrival of several Hillmen who had made it past the screen at the North wall. They dove into the midst of the evacuating civilians, wreaking havoc as they went. Freeda snatched Mathias’ hand and pulled him down the street. “Run! We have to get out now!”

Mathias stumbled, a shooting pain running up his twisted leg. Determination flashed across his face.
“Look,” he panted, “we can’t outrun them…but maybe we can outsmart them. Stay in the shadows..use the alleys…I know the streets well.”

The boy’s words broke through the panic that had seized Freeda’s mind. “Good thinking. Lead the way.” She held her brother tightly as they ducked into a narrow alleyway. Running blindly away from the enemy would certainly have led to their deaths. Freeda shook her head at her temporary lack of proper mental function. Where would she and her brother be without Mathias?
Squaring his shoulders, Mathias looked back at Freeda and her brother. They were depending on him. Awkwardly, he hobbled down the alley and motioned towards a narrow space between two buildings that reeked of animal refuse and trash.

Freeda wrinkled her nose at the smell that assaulted her from all sides. But this is certainly better than being killed or captured, though that is obviously still a possibility. This hiding business was much harder with a baby along. “I need you to hold my brother for a minute so I can get behind this crate here.” Mathias took the lad sat down where he could see the street without being seen.

Shouts echoed down the narrow alley. Freeda ducked into cover just as two burly Hillmen dashed passed. The looks on their faces said that they were now the pursued instead of the pursuers. She caught her breath when another man ran past. But this one was dressed in the garb of a Dúnadan ranger and had blond hair…
“Papa!” Freeda gasped. “Mathias, I have to get to him! He will keep us safe.” She sprang from behind the crate and ran down the street.
“Freeda don’t!” Mathias called.

He tried to follow but tripped and slammed against the wall.
The girl heard nothing but the clash of weapons and the agonized screams of dying men and women. If she could only get to her father, everything would be alright. She would be safe.

A rough hand seizing her arm jerked her back to reality. “Where might you be going in such a hurry?” The man grinned evilly down at her, exposing a mouthful of rotting teeth. She tried to yank her arm away, but his hand clamped tight like a vice. “Looking for your papa?” He gestured up the alley in the direction her father had taken. He held a wickedly curved knife up in front of her eyes and turned her around so she was forced to march before him, his hand still tight on her left arm. “Why don’t we pay him a visit? I’ll even be your own personal escort. Don’t cry out or you’ll spoil the surprise. Then I’d be forced to slice your throat.”


“Freeda?” Mathias whispered, glancing into the street.
He pulled himself up out of the garbage and limped down the deserted road peeking into alleyways.
“Freeda, we can’t stay out in the streets its too dangerous. Where are you?”


What have I done? There is no way out of this mess, Freeda thought in despair. Like the coward he was, this wicked man would stab her father in the back. Even if she could warn her father without the hillman’s notice, he would have to go through her to reach her captor. Such an evil scheme! the girl thought angrily. She still had her sling, but would need both hands to use it. Wait! A knife was still concealed in the folds of her dress.
Everything seemed to slow down as she brought her foot done hard on the man’s toes, throwing him off balance as she pulled the knife out. The girl spun around to the right, using the momentum to add force as she plunged the dagger into the unprotected flesh at his armpit. “You devil!” he screamed, trying to reach back and pluck the knife out. Freeda stepped back, staring in shock at the blood running down his back. He lunged at her but stumbled and fell to the ground. An arrow stuck out from between his shoulder blades. She watched in horror as he writhed in agony, then went still.

“Freeda!” she looked up the street as her rescuer dropped his bow and ran forward. He gathered her into a tight embrace and kissed her hair like he always used to do. “Freeda, I am so glad you are alive,” Richard whispered as he held his daughter close.
“Papa…” The girl buried her face in her father’s shoulder. Though the sounds of battle still echoed around them, for the first time in many months she felt safe.


Mathias leaned against a wall and moved Freeda’s brother to a less awkward position. He had left one of his sticks behind a long time ago, managing with his crooked leg was easier with his right stick. Suddenly, a shout startled him from his work; three hillmen had spotted him out in the open.
“Aw curses…I should have know better,” he mumbled. “Freeda!”
He fumbled with his crutch and grasped the baby boy closer as he staggered towards an alleyway.


“Mathias! He is unprotected. We have to get to him before the hillmen do!” Freeda ran back the way she had come, her father right behind her.

“Stay close to me, Daughter. I don’t want to lose you again,” Richard said when he came alongside her. "Are your mother and brother safe?"

"Mama left on the wagons and my brother is with Mathias. Papa, will we live through this?"

He looked down at her, wishing he could guarantee her safety but knowing he couldn't. "If we get out now, we may yet. Take me to your friend and I'll protect you as long as I have breath." He winced at the sharp pain shooting up and down his side as he ran, but he kept going.


Mathias ducked into the alley and dropped to the ground, his legs crumbling out from beneath him. Pushing Freeda’s brother into a trash heap where he would lay hidden unless he started crying, the cripple dug into his bag for some sort of weapon. He found a few rocks, which he used to escape street gangs. They would have to do. Glancing over his shoulder into the street he estimated how long it would take for the hillmen to reach them.


Richard drove his sword into another man and shoved him aside. "Mathias!" Freeda gasped at the blood covering the alley walls. "No..."

Her fear turned to relief when the boy stepped out from a doorway and she saw the blood on the walls was not his, but of an attacker he had taken down with a well aimed stone. She ran forward and hugged him tightly, then gestured down the alley. "Get us out of here." Richard and Freeda followed the boy as he led them through the city and out to the wall, inevitably meeting enemy troops at several points along the way. They fought through and finally made it to the wall.

Richard sent the children through and screened their retreat for as long as he could before following himself. They ran long and hard, Richard supporting the boy and Freeda carrying her brother. At the top of a hill Richard stopped and turned around. Smoke from the city rose high into the air, mixing with the dark clouds in the sky. "Fornost has fallen." He turned away. "Though now we must flee, we will return and drive out the enemy. We are the Dúnedain. We will fight."

[Edited on 06/03/2015 by Eruwestiel_Evensong]
"And I dreamed of seas and ships, and of waves crashing on the shore in the twilight of the world..." ~Song, member of the Realm of Ulmo
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Post The beginning of the end
on: June 23, 2015 05:12
King Arvedui had gathered as many of his Royal Guard to ride out with him. He put a call out to all commanders for any soldier who had a horse or knew how to ride to gather in haste in the east courtyard. Runners spread the word through the ranks of the increasingly collapsing pocket of the city they still held, and those who could made their way to the palace courtyard. As men kept arriving, the King mounted up and lifted his sword, saying,

”Make Haste! We must break out of the gate before the enemy gets too far east and attacks the caravan evacuating the city! We will protect our families!”

He paused as he turned on his horse. It would be a desperate ride, and their chances were slim. But with the city crumbling, he had little choice. The King could only hope that most of the people have gotten out with his wife and sons…. If they did get out. There would be no mercy for any who stayed behind. Yet, he knew he could not ask those who had families to ride, for he had the look of death on his face. He said,

”Any who ride with me, know that we ride into the face of Angmar! May the Vala watch over us! Form up!”

The stream of refugees had been pouring out from the city and, led by the King’s son and heir, Prince Aranarth, made their way into the hills unseen. Itarildë and Marcadil retreated toward the pocket of the city the Dunedain still held. It gave Elrohir some peace of mind to know his daughter was not fighting on the entangled edge of the enemy attacks. But nobody was safe. The sound of the flaming ball crackled and whistled through the air, coming down with a howl as it hit hard into the stone building they were running past. Marcadil jumped and turned to shield IItarildë, but the blast threw him into her. They both went down hard as they were thrown against the far wall, showered by broken stones and burning globs of pitch. Marcadil’s ears rang and the smoke burned his eyes, He squinted as he struggled to stand up among the muddy rubble of the broken city. Taking Itarildë’s hand, she sprung up swiftly to her feet. They both were blackened and singed with cuts and tears to their clothing, but they seemed to be unhurt otherwise. Marcadil said as he got his breath,

”The enemy must have moved their catapult up and has this part of the city zeroed in. They know where the Dunedain are! We must keep moving...”

His voice trailed off as he looked around and up to the nearby towers by the palace. He paused as he thought he saw a figure through the smoky air, lit by the fires burning all around. He squinted to look closer as he whispered,


Wiping his eyes with his hand, he looked again, but there was nothing but a dark empty window. His eyes searched hard, but Itarildë took his hand and pulled him forth.

"Come! We must go!"

Itarildë got him moving and she wasted no time as she lightly stepped through the debris. Marcadil set off close behind her. They helped any stragglers they came across to move swiftly as they joined the exodus leaving the city.

~ ~ ~

The stones and fireballs started coming in rapidly, causing mayhem among not only the remaining defenders, but also the attackers as the streets and alleys were blocked with rubble. Pockets of fighting remained, but the Dunedain were being slowly killed or beaten back. The King had the horns sounded, and he went forth from the courtyard. His royal guardsmen were contrasted by soiled and rough soldiers who had fallen back to the palace, which itself was now under attack. Numbered among them were many who had fought hard for the city. They readied to charge the gate, which came as a surprise to the enemy that loitered there.

The great city of Fornost had suffered greatly this day and night, but if any who saw the fighting lived to tell of it, they would say that each man and woman took down twice their number or more before being slain. The great city of Fornost would finally fall to the evil forces of Angmar, but the enemy was paying dearly for their impending victory.

[Edited on 07/02/2015 by Arveleg]
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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Post A City Falling
on: July 05, 2015 04:09
“Ride now! Ride for the King!”
The call rose from the streets as the messenger barreled through, his spear clearing a path through the orcs that tried to block his path. Blood ran through the streets, bright reds and deep blacks intertwining in the gutters. Roaring fires lept from the towers, making like the stone buildings look like gigantic torches lighting the black night. Barad paused, his sword dripping black, and watched the messenger gallop past. Weary and exhausted, he jogged to the stables only to find most of them collapsed and the horses running free. Sheathing his sword, he grabbed at the reins of a sleek dapple-grey horse, swinging onto it’s bare back as it cantered past.
“To the King!” the cry echoed.
Horses, now calmed by their various riders, crowded around the king as they crashed through the resisting orcs.
“To the gate!”
Barad leaned to his right, decapitating an orc, his thoughts turning towards his brother, who had disappeared into the streets earlier. Would they be reunited now, only to be torn apart again? The horn sounded up ahead and the battered pieces of the gate were thrown aside as the king and his men galloped to challenge the Witch King.


The scattered and few archers cleared a path for the King as he rode through the gates and into a massing black horde of orcs.
“The last quiver,” an experienced bowman exclaims. “Make the arrows count!”
Quintin squinted and sighted down the shaft before letting the arrow fly into the gap between the chest and neck armor of an orc. Eyes wide with horror, he watched a man fall, a black shaft sticking from his neck, leaving only himself and his the bowman on the wall.
“Aim for the archers,” the bowman commanded.
Quintin popped up, aimed, and released an arrow quickly before sliding down again to avoid the half dozen of black arrows aimed at his head. Some clattered against the wall while other whizzed dangerously overhead. Crawling two paces to the right he shot again, before fingering the shafts to count how many he had left. Only four. Suddenly, the bowman gave a shout and a fireball slammed into the wall sending rock shrapnel flying in every direction. Quintin was jerked off the wall and plummeted to the ground. His left arm shattered on a boulder as he landed, the breath whooshing out of his lungs. White hot pain surged through his body as the darkness overtook him.


The Witch King pulled his fell mount to a stop in front of a large group of wagons, filled with earthen pots. Some had broken and released their contents to the world on the journey, but for the most part, many had stayed intact. He glanced back at the burning city, triumph rising in his black heart. Fornost had fallen! Men were weak and pitiful, only the strong could live and any others would be blotted from the face of the earth. This new conjuring would ensure that no one would be left to challenge him.
“Release them,” his formless voice ordered.
“Two orcs began throwing down the pots, the shattering noises of the fragile pottery were swallowed up by the sounds of battle not to far away. Great green, smoke-like figures of unknown beings billowed up into the air, having been released from their clay prisons. They were as ghosts, but their faces were terrifying to look upon, for Death and Misery lurked in every grim hollow. Void eyes gleamed a ghastly greenish white light and their bodies seemed to grow taller, then shrink; elongate, then contract like the smoke of a strange fire.
“Go now, Barrow Wrights,” the Witch King commanded. “Haunt the graves, devour the living, and make sure none of these wretched Arnorians ever return to these lands! Destroy the graves of the Kings of Cardolan where they sleep in their hills!”
The army of these horrifying creatures of dark magic streamed into the sky as a great shadow of further doom upon the city. The Witch King glared at a large black orc that approached him and screeched.
“What do you want?”
“The King of Fornost,” the orc said, his knees quaking. “Has just burst through the gates with several horsemen under his command. Should we pursue?”
The Witch King cursed the stubborn barbarians in his foul tongue. Pulling his sable horse around he galloped towards where the King and his men were cutting down his troops. Silently, he called the wolf riders to his aid. Victory was in his iron grasp, he would not let it slip away so easily.


Other Wrights streamed off to the hills where the kings were buried in their underground tombs. But some remained in Fornost; when they reached the city, their long transparent fingers reached out greedily for the souls of the dead and dying of Fornost. Their thirst for life was unquenchable and they swallowed up great mouthfuls of it as they touched their victims chanting.

"Cold be hand and heart and bone
and cold be sleep under stone
never more to wake on stony bed
never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead
In the black wind the stars shall die
and still be gold here let them lie
till the Dark Lord lifts his hand
over dead sea and withered land."

It was said, even in the many years to come, that the screams and torment of the victims of the Wrights could be heard echoing in the ruins of broken stone and tangled vines. These were dark days for Men.


Caladwen wept; for the city, the dead, and her friend, Ithilwen. The darkness was surging in the elf’s body and she had no power to stop it.
*“Amarth faeg! Lle sina ‘ar eldalie coia!” she exclaimed.
Summoning the last of her strength, the young elf picked Ithilwen up and half-dragged, half-carried her to the escape wagons. After securing her a spot Caladwen attempted to join Ithilwen in the wagon, but a soldier stopped her.
“Sorry miss, only wounded on this wagon,” he stated.
“But my friend! She is ill!” Caladwen protested.
“All of them are,” the soldier countered. “Find another wagon, we are too full already.”
With that he urged the team of mules forward leaving the shocked Caladwen behind. Desperately, she tried to think of something, but her young years and the fear of battle thwarted her thinking skills. Nestidir, she thought, he will know what to do, now that all is lost. She pushed her way through the fleeing crowd searching for her leader. Orcs were filling the main streets, forcing her to take side roads and alleys. Howls of wolves in the distance made shivers run up and down her spine and she forced tears of fear from her eyes. She shivered as she passed a small girl, trodden under the feet of the fell orcs and hillmen. Her small white hand still clutched a ragged doll. Struggling not to look upon the dead faces, she found the shattered remains of the wall. Where was Nestidir? Caladwen clambered up the broken stairs searching for their leader, keeping her head low so that she wouldn’t become an orc target. Screams echoed against the broken buildings as the people of Fornost fled from the Witch King and his armies. She could see their leader fighting gallantly against the orcs that swarmed on the battlements.
“Nestidir sir?” she called out. “I need your help!”
Suddenly, green things in the shape of men, yet not anything of the living world, whooshed overhead. Caladwen screamed and fell down a cold feeling gripping her heart.
“Nestidir!” she cried.


“Fornost has fallen.”
Mattias stared at the burning ruin that was once his home. Well, his home ever since his step-father dropped him in the streets and took off, ashamed of his mutilated son. He had survived on the streets for two years and had grown to love this city as a second mother. The cheerful grin faded and his eyes no longer gleamed with carefreeness that had been his lifelong trait. He limped behind Freeda and her father, turning his back on Fornost.
“We will fight.”
The ranger’s words echoed in his mind, and Matthias straightened. They would fight. Each individual would wage war against each individual battle. Perhaps Fornost was lost, but not her spirit or her people.
Image "Every good pirate has an alias" Felix glanced down, looking at contraption around the stump of his wrist. "Hook," he answered. "My name will be Hook."
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Post City in Ruins
on: July 08, 2015 03:48
Dukhalas jumped awake at the hissing of the flaming ball that flew past the high tower he was in. His first thought was that Dauwna had used his falling asleep to make an escape. No, she was there. But she was standing in the window in view of any who looked toward the tower. He jumped up quickly to get her down. But instead he stopped behind her and looked out to see what she saw. The fireball had exploded and smoke arose from the flames. He could see Dauwna watching two people move about, nearly killed by the projectile. He took Dauwna’s hand and said in a whisper,

”You see? Those Dunedain men take up and flee with the first elf-woman they find. He has already forgotten about you in this hour of need!”

Dauwna closed her eyes as a tear trickled down her cheek as her mind swam with confusion. Dukhalas’s voice always sounded convincing to her, but she did not want to believe his words. Yet, there in front of her, as the city she adopted as her own fell into ruin, the man she had so deeply fallen in love with was escaping its ruin with a woman of the Eldar. Why? Would he not seek her out? Did he not love her? Too many questions washed over her in that instant as Dukhalas led her away from the window. He said in a whisper,

”You see, there is no place for Rhuadurians in the Dunedain kingdom. The old legends told to us as children ring true….”

The building shook as a deafening thud hit them. The wall and roof shattered and the rubble fell onto them. Dukhalas jumped to shield Dauwna, but she fell aside when a jagged chunk of stone hit her on the side of the head. He in turn was hit by the falling roof. They lay there entangled among the broken stones for some few moments before he awoke. Dauwna lay there unconscious with a trickle of blood turning the dust on her cheek crimson. Dukhalas tried to stand, and his knee gave way. He grappled with the stones and stood. He saw Dauwna move, and he bent down and lifted her. He then staggered toward what remained of the doorway.

”I will take care of you Dauwna. We will get out of this accursed city. I will take you home.”

Dauwna moaned at hearing his words and her eyes slowly fluttered open. Her head rang and a burning pain shot through her. The dirty bloody face she saw lifted her spirit as she drifted back to a time not so long ago when the two young lovers would sneak away to mysterious places in the hills. She held close to Dukhalas and fell into a deep sleep.

Dukhalas was skilful in not being seen. Despite his leg making moving while carrying Dauwna very hard. In Fornost, the pockets of resistance dwindled as the last of the Dunedain who were cut off from the escape were killed or captured. Last to fall was Malassuil, who it was said stood atop a wall and fought to the end. Pierced by many arrows and bleeding from many sword wounds, he final fell when an arrow pierced his eye. So ended the commander of the 2nd Company of Arthedain.

The pillaging and plundering was in full swing as the men and orcs searched out the valuables and tortured their prisoners. Somehow, Dukhalas managed to find his way unseen back toward the place where they had entered the city. He lay Dauwna down and backed his way into the culvert, pulling her in after him. They would have to hide and wait for the night to come. Until then, they huddled together as the water ran around them, trying to stay warm. As the day ended, h managed to awaken Dauwna, and as they crawled out of the culvert outside the broken walls, they ran into the thickness of the trees.
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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Post Darkest of Days RP & Character Archive
on: March 22, 2017 09:27
This was an epic RP! It was a big highlight of my RP writing between September 2014 and July 2015. It was a huge blessing to be able to create this story with each and every one of you fine writers!

[Edited on 05/20/2023 by Hanasian]
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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on: March 24, 2018 03:56
It was truly a pleasure to write alongside each of you! I would dearly love to get a copy of the edited tale. I feel like this is some of the best writing I have ever done, and it was a joy to be involved in such a thrilling adventure. My best wishes to each of you! I hope we may all gather and write more tales in the future.

[Edited on 03/24/2018 by Eruwestiel_Evensong]
"And I dreamed of seas and ships, and of waves crashing on the shore in the twilight of the world..." ~Song, member of the Realm of Ulmo
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Post Darkest of Days - Archived
on: May 19, 2023 03:02
To Eldarion, Cenor, Eruwestiel, Itarilde, and Naurmaethor,

Darkest of Days was an epic RP to me and was a big highlight of my RP writing between September 2014 and July 2015. It was one of those moments where the stars align and several writers come together and mesh really well for a time! It was a huge blessing to be a part of the creation of this story with all of you fine writers. I would be honored be involved in another RP writing project with you all, or any one of you, again sometime in the future.

I have archived this RP and all the character profiles for it to a Word document. I did not archive the OOC thread. I can send you all copies if you wish. My email is , or if anyone feels so inclined, I can be found on RP Repository where I have a Tolkien Middle Earth themed group called The Library of Annuminas. I have developed some of my characters over there, with one being my name-sake Hanasian.

Hoping this finds everyone well.
Hanasian (formerly Arveleg)
Eighth King of Arthedain - It was in battle that I come into this Kingship, and it will be in Battle when I leave it. There is no peace for the Realm of Arnor. Read the last stand of Arthedain in the Darkest of Days.
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