[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Aylwen Dreamsong's post

"Southrons, rally to me!"

Ehan heard a voice over the dull din of the chaos reigning the area. The call rang out again and again. Beings moved in all directions, this way and that. Their movements made Ehan nervous; he felt as if he should be somewhere but he was unsure which way to take. His vision blurred and stung as sweat rolled smoothly and slyly down his forehead and past a newly recieved cut just above his dark brow. His legs tingled with soreness, and his head ached from a light hangover that had been left unshaken before his awakening.

"Southrons, to me!"

Ehan followed the one voice, so strong and loud above the rest that rang throughout the air. The one voice that sounded like it belonged to someone that know what he was doing. Oh, if only they could see me now! Ehan thought, remembering his brothers, his mother, and his sister. If only she could see the story I have gotten myself wrapped up into.

Sliding a tired arm across his face and eyes, Ehan wiped away the droplets of sweat. He searched madly for the voice, the one he knew so well but still seemed different and changed, somehow. When he finally saw Koran, the one who belonged to the shout and call, Ehan smiled grimly at the vision of earned leadership and power. Noticing the seeping red liquid at Koran's stomach, the younger Southron looked around for a fallen foe. It did not surprise Ehan in the least to see a bloodied Herding lying dead upon the ground.

"Like I said," Ehan murmured, mostly to Koran but with the understanding that he probably couldn't hear his squire's words. "Ther is always a hero, in these stories, and the enemy always loses." Even if the enemy is on the same side...Ehan thought, looking once more to Herding's torn and battered body. Patting Koran's shoulder a few times, Ehan turned to face his captain and nodded, not really sure what to say to the man.

Yes, my sister would be proud to tell my story.

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Alatariel Telemnar's post

An elf made eye contact with Urkrásh, methodically choosing his next victim. Urkrásh then charged at the elf, who dodged the orc-blade. Urkrásh's failed attack was counteracted with a graceful hit. Blind with rage, he charged again. All the thoughts of his previous battle, hatred of elves and trees, and duty to serve the Eye, were thrust into his attempt, his last attempt. An attempt that had failed once more. The experienced elf blocked the second attack and thrust his own sword into Urkrásh's side in one smooth motion, too fast for Urkrásh to do anything.

He clenched at his side, his hands and arms soon covered with blood. Falling to his knees and then over on his side, everything went black. All the orc could hear was a faint cry, ‘Southrons, rally to me!’ He acknowledged that the battle had been lost. But in the very back of his mind, he heard a voice. ‘No loyalty, no devotion, no sense of purpose at all. They probably have no aspirations, no hopes, and I don’t blame ‘em. They’ll never get anywhere, not the way they conduct themselves. You and I, on the other hand, orcs like us are different. And, Urkrásh, if you serve with loyalty and show your mettle for the cause, you’d get somewhere, and any of that lot might too if they did so.’ For a moment, he wondered if he had gotten anywhere. If there was more he could have done.

Those thoughts soon died, as Urkrásh did himself. One body of many uruks and some orcs scattered across the battlefield. Never to be remembered, except as one fighting for evil. One who had been killed by an elf that might live on to tell the story of his victory to his friends. One who had been defeated for the side of good.