Angelnarth wiped the black colored blood off one of his swords. He looked up to the sky. It was dark, barely around noon, but still, dark. A storm was coming.
He spasmodically turned to his left. He heard something. More of them were on his tracks.He dropped the blood stained cloth on the ground, and picked up his swords once again. He waited...he could not see them with his damaged eyesight, but he could hear them. Marching and yelling and clanking their weapons like the orcs do before they attack.
A drop of water landed just below his eye socket, and flowed along his cheek before dropping to the ground. And then another...but he barely even noticed. His eyes, fixed right where the yelling was coming from. He was focused.
A jugged bolt of lighting flashed in the horizon in front of him, followed by the loud, violent cracking sound of thunder. The smell of wet soil and sulfur was intense in the air as the drops of rain thickened, soaking Angelnarth's hair and cape. He could now see them. He prepared his stance and footing, left sword horizontally held in front of his stomach area, while the other diagonally just above his "shoulder blade".
He took a deep breath. And another...and then, by the time the small band of orcs was in front of him, he charged at them. A small sprint and the first one was a heartbeat away. The creature raised its sword, but the man quickly lowered his stance and cut it deep with the extended blade of his left hand, just above its crotch.
The right hand immediately followed the first one's move, and came swiftly from above, as Angelnarth moved past his first opponent on to the next, catching the orc completely off guard, as the slim blade sank into its neck. Angelnarth kicked away the lifeless body as he pulled his bloodied sword out of it, getting ready for the next ones.
This time, he crossed his blades one upon the other and horizontally placed in front of his chest. The next sickly pair of orcs came at him at the same time. Attacking him from both his flanks, Angelnarth expeditiously swang his one blade to his left flank, blocking the orc's violent attack, while carefully guiding his right blade, mutilating the orc on his right. The creature cried in agony, as its arm fell on the ground. Angelnarth turned to the orc on his left. His face showed no emotion. The orc cried loudly in the Black Speech, and swang its blade wildly towards the man. Angelnarth effortlessly parried his opponent's blade using his left weapon, landing a merciless blow with his iron-clad fist on the creature's jaw, causing it to fall on the ground all dazed and helpless.
He moved on. Execution was neither in his nature, nor part of his duties as far as he was concerned. The rain kept falling, as the Dunadan momentarily lowered his swords, the steel dripping with water and the dark colored liquid coming from the butchered flesh of the orcs. A few of them remained now. They were but a few yards away from him, standing one next to another, seemingly hesitating to attack the man all together, or flee.
He turned to them. A serious, yet calm expression was on his face, along with the blood of their brethren, who he slaughtered in front of their eyes with ease. "What is it going to be?", he said in a loud, strict tone, speaking in Sindarin.
The orcs waved their weapons and screamed at him, words incomprehensible to him or any other mortal, like a wild beast at the mercy of a great hunter. "That's what i thought", he mumbled. He opened his arms, a sword held in each, and attacked.
And under the grey, clouded sky of Enedwaith, a mortal could be seen fighting with six orcs. Slashing and parrying. Swinging and cutting. Swords moving the way a skillful artist draws on a canvas. His moves, flawless. His technique, one of a kind. His valour, breathtaking...
