[The Ruling Ring]

Maeralagos drew his sword up with skill, slicing vertically into the orc, to stun him, then horizontally, to disembowel him. As his enemey dropped, Maeralagos looked up and around, ready for more as the battle raged.

And suddenly, his wish was granted. Two hefty orcs and an Easterling, seeing him unhindered, charged for him, driving him back a few feet as they held their bloodied weapons high. One of the orcs swung his own sword down towards Maeralagos, who quickly parried the blow, driving the blade down his own, forcing it to cut deep through the abdomen of the other orc, who howled and gurgled, slumping to the ground. The first orc yelled in pure odium, pulling his sword away then thrusting at Maeralagos again. The Elf tried to duck, but found himself pressed against two trees, growing in close quarters to each other. The orc was in front of him, but was big enough to cover his left flank as well, and the Easterling stood to his right, making escape impossible.

The Easterling was keenly aware of this, as his croaky laugh indicated. He slung his sword back into its sheath, and with his other hand pulled a clean, shining hunting knife out of his belt.

"What better way to baptize a blade?" he said hoarsely, then struck, fast and fierce. Maeralagos dropped to his heels, but not quite fast enough. The blade burroughed deep into his shoulder, halting his descent as it pinned up against the back of the tree. Maeralagos uttered a short cry in spite of himself, twisting and struggling to free himself from the blade. The orc's guttural laugh sounded in front of him, and he saw the sullied blade dangling, the tip swinging close to his foul feet.

Suddenly remembering his own sword, Maeralagos drew it from the ground beside him, cutting quick across the orc's feet. The orc bellowed in surprise and pain, falling as his feet were practically cut out from under him. Maeralagos was ready though, hands up and akimbo as the bulky body descended on him, landing on his pointed outward sword. Maeralagos let him fall enough for the blade to penetrate, then pushed him away and backwards, into the legs of the Easterling behind him, bowling him over. Maeralagos leaped to his feet and, before another move could be made, brought the tip of his blade down into the Easterling's throat. He pulled the orc off of the dying one, then fled the scene, returning to what he believed was the fray.

But the fray was gone when he got there. Not gone, really; there was still quite a lot of evidence of battle, but there was no battle to speak of. Confused, Maeralagos continued on, one hand holding his sword, the other clamped over his shoulder, and was swiftly confronted with his comrades, held in rapt, horrified attention, to two Easterlings, one holding Melcildir hostage, one holding another Elf (Anuion, he surmised) in a deathgrip.

Maeralagos ducked swiftly behind boulder a few paces from the scene, noiselessly sliding his sword back into the sheath. He brought his bow around from his shoulder, hitching an arrow to the string and bringing the tip up, aiming for the female Easterling, the one holding Anuion, the one closest and easiest to hit then. He knew, if he hit one of the enemies, it would probably surprise the other long enough for them to do something.

[ March 06, 2003: Message edited by: The Ruling Ring ]