War in the North: The Northdowns: The Coming Storm Pt 2

Ivorneth fired at the crowd of orcs, moving with the other two archers to find better positions as the fight swirled. They aimed carefully, not wanting to hit one of their own men. An orc rushed forth to greet Daeriim, a crude maul in his hands as he brought the brick of iron down upon him, only to have it submerge into the muddy ground, granting Daeriim the chance the bury his sword into his stomach, as he pulled it out, the orcs entrails followed, though he did not die, as he struggled slipping the slimy snakes back into his belly.

The Chieftain stared wide eyed at his warband as each arrow found their marks, the distance from the bowmen was near, so the twang of bow strings shook the orcs at that moment, their heads snapped to be greeted by rangers and their flashing blades. The moment of fear passed from the Chieftain, who bellowed and ran in to join the fray, though as little over than half the orcs have fallen, half of what remained broke and ran, leaving the chieftain and the remaining orcs to combat the rangers on a desperate defense. The Chieftain pushed himself forth, headed directly for Torchanar, trying to cut him at the shoulder with his black scimitar. The orcs that stood their ground understood they would be dead, their fear abandoned, as they wrapped themselves in their hatred and anger, thrusting themselves upon their attackers, preferring to do as much damage as they could in the desperate battle.

Torchanar reached back with his sword, swinging to block the spear thrust of one orc as he jumped out of the way. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the big Chieftain barreling towards him and he shouted in surprise, dropping down to duck. Ivorneth aimed for the spear bearing orc, letting loose to slow him down as he joined the Chief to attack Torchanar.

Daeriim parried to the left, deflecting a spear from gashing his side. Another orc swung an axe and Daeriim ducked just in time, sweat streaming down the sides of his face as he defended himself and retaliated. Dinengel weaved this way and that, raising his sword just in time to parry the blade of an orc, he flicked his wrist to disarm the orc, then whirled to bury the swords edge into the orc's shoulder, down to the chest. He struggled to retrieve his sword back and left it there, he rejoined the dimming battle, using one of the orcs weapons found on the ground.

The Chieftain growled angrily, though he paused for half a moment to look back at the remaining orcs, which were decimated by the more ready and experienced Rangers. Only two others remained, fighting back to back, though swiftly finished off by the Dunedain. The Chieftain took a step back, though he seemed more angry than afraid, for the Rangers robbed him of his chance at reaving. The Chief rushed forward once again, though now at Dinengel, spearing him across the middle, and bringing him down as they struggled onto the muddy ground.

Torchnar stumbled back as the spear gripping orc fell, an arrow piercing the meat the creature’s thigh through the ragged black armor. He drew back and swung his sword down across the back of the orc’s exposed neck, finishing the job. He spun around, expecting the big orc to be there but saw now he had found other prey. The ranger shouted and ran forward, his sword held ready to strike the Chieftain.

Upon slamming down the Ranger, the Chieftain would try to desperately to bite Dinengel in any area that the orc could manage, snarling and drooling. The Chieftain was the last orc in the fight, except for the disabled orc with the arrow through his thigh off on to the side.

Ivorneth fires a few arrows at the retreating orcs the few that were still within bowshot at least, but her eyes are drawn to the struggle on the ground as the last orc fell back beyond her reach.

Dinengel attempted to bring up his left sword to fend off the orc, swinging in a chaotic frenzy, though in his position he could not do much against the crazed chief, banging it uselessly against the blackened steel armor.

Torchnar reached the struggling orc and Dinengel,  he raised his sword up and he stabbed downward, finding a weak spot in the orc's armor at the armpit. "Off you bastard!"

Daerrim turned to look down at the struggle, his blade at the ready, though unsure whether to press on to aid his friend, or stand in reserve for the time to safely strike.

The Chieftain let loose a sharp squeal as the point of Torchanar’s sword pierced his skin, rolling over a few times to clamp a mailed hand upon the wound. The Chieftain was upon his knees, looking up at the surrounding rangers with a snarl, "Go on, then." he demanded, spitting a glob of phlegm and black blood upon the soil before them.

Torchanar and a few of the Rangers circled the orc. "Not yet, we can take them alive."

He reached back with the flat of his sword to hit the big orc across the jaw, hoping to knock him senseless. Dinengel got to his feet, swinging  his leg heavily to kick the injured orc. Daeriim and the rest of rangers return to the scene, bloody and tired, some nursing wounds.

The Chieftain’s head snapped to the side, the flat of the ranger’s blade doing its job in knocking him unconscious. Daeriim looked to the disgusting beast laying on the ground. "See that he is caged, my son nearly lost an eye when a prisoner was taken. Gnawed off his hand to get loose of the chains."

Dinengel brushed off some of the dirt and blood that stained his clothes during the brief engagement. Torchanar motioned to one ranger who tied the orc and spotted the one still alive with the arrow wound, it’s spear kicked off to the side. "And him?"

Torchanar looked over at the wounded orc and sniffed, not wanting to bother, "We got the chief."

Daeriim offered for someone to kill the squealing orc. The smaller orc stared up at them wide eyed, starting to scramble backward, "Two prisoners are betta' than one' aye? Aye?"

Daeriim looked toward the pathetic creature, nodding once at Torchanar’s words. He pulled the dagger from his boot and slowly pushed it into the throat of the orc laying on the grass. He gurgled and spit black blood up until he slowly stopped moving and went quiet. Daeriim wiped off his small dagger and replaced it in his boot.

Torchanar rubbed a hand over his face, weariness sinking in, “It stinks here, and I don't trust that those orcs won't go back for reinforcements, let's get this big bastard to Esteldin."

Daeriim looked at Torchanar and smirked, "Seeing as he's your prisoner, you can carry him."

Torchanar grimaced and a few others came up, each grabbing an arm and leg to heft the big orc and drag him back.