[The Ruling Ring]

Maeralagos looked into Telpeheled's eyes with his quiet words. His own closed mouth bent slowly upwards into a smile of fraternal fondness for the other Elf. He lightly tapped Telpeheled's hand that rested on his shoulder.

"And I, you," he said softly, then had to turn forward, placing his hand unconsciously on his weapon as he bent forward slightly, ready for the attack to begin.

He made no sound as he dove into the fray that soon erupted. He heard Durelin's cry, heard the hunholy squawks and snarls of the orcs, the bellowings of the Easterlings, but he saw no individual that he didn't know. He saw his friends, lost in a swirling head-high sea of enemies, receding with their blood. He lunged forward, putting his sword clean through an orc's midsection, then felt the grubby hands of an Easterling come up behind and snatch his shoulders. One arm went around his neck and came back behind him in a choke hold. The other left his shoulder, reappearing on his back, in the form of a blade that should have been cold, but was wet and warm already with blood.

"Are you ready to die, Elf?" a rasping voice sounded in his ear.

Maeralagos said nothing, but reaching backwards, sliced into what he guaged to be the enemy's shoulder. He heard a gurgling roar of pain, then felt the arm go limp around him, falling away backwards.

He ran forwards again, hewing down orc and Easterling in his way, looking through the madness, trying to spot the others.

[ February 26, 2003: Message edited by: The Ruling Ring ]