(This RP is done via DM friend of mine and lots of dices rolls)
Night fell like a wolf’s shadow upon the Gap of Rohan.
The stars were swallowed by storm clouds, and the wind ran cold through the hills. On that narrow pass between the White Mountains and Isengard’s ruined scars, a war born of whispers began.
Deorla stood on a ridge to the north, cloaked in shadow, arms folded. Below her, a tide of ruin marched—the orc force she had poisoned with rumors and fire, now driven mad by the scent of horse-blood and vengeance.
There were 93 orc foot troops, clad in scrap metal and stolen hides, and 51 archers with cruel, hooked arrows clutched in clawed hands. At their head: the war-leader Magzûrz, an uruk from Saruman’s fallen breeding pits, snarling orders with froth on his lips.
Before them: the Gap’s wooden defenses—three towers, a hastily patched wooden gate, and seven barricades, all manned by a brave few.
Only 23 Rohirrim foot soldiers stood ready.
Just 5 archers held the towers.
And between them paced 5 warhounds, tethered but snarling, sensing what was to come.
Deorla watched, silent. She expected more resistance, but afterall the war has ended. \
Phase One — The First Assault
A warhorn shattered the air, blown by a goblin with cracked lips. The orc archers loosed first — a black rain of arrows soaring toward the three towers and gate. They managed to kill 1 soldier and damage the tower little bit.
The Rohirrim replied—horns, arrows, and grit. The tower bows returned fire, dropping orcs in clusters.
But then came the charge, but just before the arrows managed to get 2 orcs.
Orc warriors surged forward with axes, cleavers, and blunt iron maces. They struck the barricades first, crashing against them like a wave.
3 Rohirrim fall defending the barricades.
The warhounds were unleashed. Fast and savage, they leapt over wood and steel, ripping through the first line of orcs.
7 orcs spilled the blood after the swift counterattack of the warhounds, most of the orcs did not have much armour equiped so it was perfect for the warhouds to tear them apart like some small toys.
Deorla turned her gaze south. The sky there began to tremble with hoofbeats.
Phase Two — Gamling the Old Arrives
The distant sound of a war-horn split the night anew—but this one blew from hope, not doom.
From the south rode Gamling the Old—his helm scarred by three wars, his spear still sharp. With him came 50 hardened foot troops and 46 horsemen, the banners of Rohan whipping in the wind.
They broke upon the orc flank like a hammer of thunder. 11 orcs felt swiftly to the horses and they started slowly to turn around, specially with still two barricades standing still.
Deorla was shocked, she did not expect any reiforcments, How? From where? But deep down she knew, she knew it was Alairif and Guriwen work, she cursed in black speech, she should seen this coming! She should know! The battle strated to look grim, as she glanced at the battlefield once again she saw Gamling striking down Magzûrz in single combat, turning the tide.
Phase Three – The Circle of Death
As the battle raged, with flames rising from a collapsed tower and cries echoing over the bloodied earth, Deorla moved.
She descended silently from her ridge. Her armor was already prepared: old Rohirric leather, scorched and dirt-stained, perfect for camouflage. She covered her face in soot. On her breast—a faded emblem of a forgotten rider company.
By the time she reached the scattered remnants of the orc host, only around 40 remained—broken, disoriented, but still armed.
She spoke in Black tongue, her voice low and cutting:
“Circle. Now. Shields tight. Arrows useless.”
The orcs recognized strength. They obeyed.
A brutal, compact formation formed quickly—blades outward, shoulders pressed together, like a living iron shell rolling toward the defenders. And hidden within that beast of violence was Deorla, crouched low, hood drawn.
The Rohirrim couldn’t see her. Couldn’t hear her. Exactly what she was hoping for.
The Final Collapse
As the orc circle rolled forward in desperate cohesion, the Rohirrim pressed harder from the sides. Gamling's infantry drove their spears into gaps. The riders circled behind to cut off retreat.
There was no command. No leadership among the orcs.
Deorla made sure of that.
She gave no orders. No cries of attack or defense. The orcs looked to her—but she gave them silence. She watched with cold purpose as one by one, they were slaughtered. Their last push was valiant, but blind. The circle shrank. Then broke.
Gamling has seen his share of battles and wars. he had won the battle without much of trouble, all orcs have been killed in the collapse.
In the chaos, one soldier dragged Deorla to safety, mistaking her for a wounded comrade. He yelled something over the din—she nodded weakly, faking exhaustion. Blood from a fallen orc coated her armor convincingly.
As she was getting dragged, Deorla notices Gamling was searching for something, or rather someone. "Yea, they knew it was me who was coming, damm them two humans. She had last card left in her arsenal, altho a heavy toll was payed for it, she left her horse on a hill, with a body on a dead orc painted in black. She was hoping that he would provide enough if distraction to let her escape, and it worked. Gamling himself rode towards the hill.
Within five minutes, she was behind the Rohirrim shield wall.
She had crossed the Gap.
Not as fire. Not as enemy.
But as shadow, and as shadow she managed to sneak away from the battlefield as everyone was distracted and tending the wounds.
