Chapter 22: Bar-I-Dongorath

Hello,

You all elected to attach yourselves to different units. So, you will be out of touch from each other for a while.
One thing I want to discuss is rerolls. All players in my live action games were allowed ONE reroll per night. Fantasy players had to justify this by being dutiful worshipers to their deity. This reroll was the only practical intervention most players were likely to ever realize from their God. Certainly, you are all dutiful enough to warrant such from Eru and his servant Valar. I will NOT automatically apply such, but you are allowed ONE reroll for the duration of the battle. You must tell me when to use your reroll. You must take the second result, no matter what it is. There are times when the second result of a roll will still be detrimental or fatal. Such is war, or as the French say, C'est la guerre.
Once all of this is over, I will, for your own knowledge, reveal to you what the results of the miniatures battle was. It was interesting and I'll leave it at that. Because your characters are of relatively low level, I don't think that they can affect the major flow of the battle as I have it scripted, but I'm not keeping rigidly to the script, so if one of your characters does something extraordinary, it could still effect the outcome, though that is unlikely. For the duration, your characters will be cloaked in the fog of war. They will only see the portion of battle that directly affects them.

And on to adventure,

The 3rd Day of Nórui. T.A. 1640

After two days, the army left the rolling downs of the Weather Hill behind them and marched on the road, down to broad fields, patchworked by carefully laid stone walls marking each small farmstead. Pausing at small towns, the army paused but little and continued to march as long as there was light to guide it. Even by their reckless pace, it was still two days to the ruined tower, outside of which the Angmarim paused. The party, now marching with their respective units, espied fertile fields growing wild with no one to tend them. Houses stood empty, their dark windows broken, silently watching the army pass by ruined stone walls. The Great Plague, having claimed a third of Arthedain's people, had laid waste to whole towns and now the upper reaches of the Kingdom were falling to wilderness. A few living souls, belonging to no house, watched the army with silence, neither cheering nor commenting on anything, looking as if they were as wasted as the land they lived in.

The 5th Day of Nórui. T.A. 1640

Given the brisk pace of the march, more and more men found it hard to keep up. The army began to shrink, like a wounded animal, trailing a long line of straggler's who marched at a crippled speed until wagons could be sent back for them. By the time the army had reached the royal fortress at Enedbar, it had lost upwards of a quarter of it's strength, which lay in a long line behind it. Surprising even the most stalwart veteran, the hobbits of the Shire were able to keep up with the main army, and though they showed themselves as exhausted and haggard as any, not one had dropped behind.
Proltor, the Constable of the keep at Enedbar, was waiting to greet Lord Eketta, as was Lord Tarma. There had already been a pitched battle, involving troops from the keep and the light horseman brought by Tarma. The results had been inconclusive, but the Angmarim host, surprised by the appearance of an Arthedan army had retreated in disarray from the ruined fortress it had been besieging and was even now assembling in the wastes beyond the border. Still, the battle had bought time.
The party reunited, perhaps for the last time, ate a last meal on the eve before battle.
Kirahan, his butt and legs tired from days in the saddle, dusted himself off and helped himself to the stew Ranciryon had made.
"What about you, Ranciryon?" Kirahan asked. "To which unit did you attach yourself?"
"I'll be riding with the requain of House Noirin," Ranciryon said. "And you?"
"Light-horse cavalry squadron, under Lord Orros," Kirahan said.
Fred marched up to join his companions. "Agh! My legs are ready to drop off! I am so tired, and talk about hunger! I've only managed four meals a day since this march began!" He leaned over, smelling Ranciryon's stew. "Say, that smells - different. What's in it?"
"It'll taste better if you don't know," Ranciryon assured him.
"So Fred," Taurvantar grunted, taking off his boots and examining his blistered feet, tortured beyond even the tolerance of an Eldarin "Tell us what unit you attached yourself to."
"With the hobbits of course," Fred mumbled between mouthfuls of stew, "Who else would have me?"
"I'm surprised you don't want to eat with them then," Kirahan said.
"Agh! I'd forgotten how complaining and noisesome my people are. It's brought it back all to well why I couldn't stay at home in the Shire when I'd returned to it."
"So, I had a look at the band of mercenaries that had been holding out in the keep," Ranciryon announced.
"Mercenaries? I thought they were Rangers," Kirahan said.
The Numenorean shook his head. "No, just a simple band of mercenaries. They'd been hunting the renegade ranger, Dongoroth. It was his keep they were besieged in. Dongoroth has been leading a bandit group that was preyed on these parts for years. Now that he'd dead, it turns out he was a spy for Angmar as well."
"Did they get him?" Fred asked. "The renegade I mean."
Ranciryon nodded. "Yes, I watched the Constable pay them their gold and silver. After having been besieged by a whole army of thousands, I daresay think that they considered it poor pay at that. There were nine of them, having lost two in the siege. One was a Gondorian knight, one was a Dunedan warriour, one a hobbit, two dwarves, one elf, an Easterling and two women."
"Women?" Kirahan scoffed. "Imagine bringing women into a situation like that."
"Hmm, well, they looked not like your average house maid, if that's what you're suggesting," Ranciryon replied. "Anyway, they've signed on again to fight in tomorrow's battle. Tarma seemed anxious to recruit them. I think maybe's he's thinking about what's to come after the battle, with the King I mean."
Ranciryon looked over at Taurvantar, noting the unhappy expression on the peredhil's face. "What ails you Taurvantar? Thoughts of your first night of battle?"
"Quite the opposite," he said in reply. "I'm attached to the King's Own Rangers. I find now that we are NOT going into battle after all, but are to wait to relay information or act as scouts as the need arises. Rangers are even now examining the battlefield but I am not to be included in that number being kept with the apprentices and those youths who will one day be apprentices," Taurvantar said glumly.
"Well, I'm the first to admit," Kirahan said, "that though excited, I can't help feeling this dread that I won't live through this all. I keep looking at faces, as if by doing so, I press into my mind a living look or expression that won't be there after tomorrow."
This was a sobering thought and all of them took to eating their stew in silence. Though they were all tired, exhausted actually, no one could sleep that night, wondering what would come of the breaking day.

The 6th Day of Nórui. T.A. 1640

Tired and weary, each man and hobbit of the army lined up at dawn to eat one last meal. Healers travelling with the army passed out handfuls of roots and leaves to be chewed on as a mixture. Though bitter, the herbs eased the ache of muscles and took some of the weariness off of their spirits.
The day had never broken. Rather, dark clouds broiled over their head, breaking every now and then with glimpses of the sky above. It was as if the powers of the Witch King and Mandos were waging their own battle above them. The result was neither light nor darkness but a grim grey half light that brought their moods low as they marched in column onto the broken plain before them. As they marched, a dark host could be seen coming into view in the far distance. Sergeants at arms began barking out orders and men broke from their columns to form into battle array. Soon, in a matter of minutes, squares of armed men marched in cadence to the beat of drum and the sounds of fifes while bright banners snapped in the bitter cold wind. Wheeling lines of horsemen skirted the army or rode in formation behind the lines of armoured foot while light skirmishers led the way, preparing their bows and slings.
As the army broke through the dense brush and bracken which for a time slowed them, they gasped as they saw the host of Angmar, assembled on the plain before them. It was so vast that it seemed like a sea of moving limbs and jostling banners. There was no end in sight of the mass as they viewed it from above on the slope upon which they paused. Before them, a plain was broken by a dry ravine that lay just beyond. The army halted while the Lords reviewed the ground before them. Then, signal banners were waved and horns sounded. The Degerím Ereter advanced with its attendant skirmishers, toward the line of the ravine. More banners were lowered and the Dagarim Aran under Sir Fortis weaved down the slope to assemble along the left of the Degerím Ereter. The Arthedan heavy cavalry, mostly requain and arequian lined up on the slopes, preparing to charge when the order was given. In between, the huge horses filed long lines of light skirmishers who took up position behind the heavy infantry lines, readying their bows.
Looking up, all could see storm crows appearing, darkening the sky yet further. The bitter cry of the black feathered birds accosted the ears of the men below them. They were hungry and eager for a feast.

Kirahan's unit, the Black Arrows, numbered some 290 horse, had veered off early that morning, just as the drums of the Angmarim advance could be heard. They had ridden to the rear and then veered northeast. Having ridden for miles, to avoid the Angmarim cavalry, they then wheeled, judging by the shadow from the sun, due south.
"What are we supposed to be doing way out here?" Kirahan asked.
"Harry and harass the enemy rear and flanks," a man named Dunstan answered him. "The enemy, with his superior numbers, will try to encircle the main army. If he does this, then we can attack their rear."
Someone called out then and, shielding his eyes, Kirahan spotted a dark mass on the horizon. Someone with sharper eyes than his yelled out, "Enemy Horse!"
To a man, they all raced to hide behind a rising ridge of naked battered rock. One of their number climbed up its surface, cutting his hand. Once at the top, he lay low and continued to watch.
"How many?" someone asked.
"My guess, at least twice our number. They're heading southeast. They ride shaggy small horses and seem to be clutching bows."
"Easterlings!" Dunstan spat. "They come from thousands of leagues off, and travel north of the great eastern wood, through the passes of Gundabad to Angmar. They are said to be fine horse archers, but they are cruel barbarians all."
Kirahan's Captain called him forward. "Kirahan, take thirty men and scout that formation. We'll head back and then continue south. If they look to be intercepting us, ride back with all haste and find us to let us know. If they continue in the direction they're headed, then," he paused and pointed at a distant line of hill, "Join us there beyond those hills. Once there, we'll charge the enemy rear and harass his flanks."
"Yes sir!" Kirahan nodded.
Counting out thirty men, Kirahan watched his unit double back and then set about to spy on the Easterling cavalry. It continued to head south.
"Look!" Dunstan pointed out from beside him. Off in the gloomy distance, they could see a train of wagons, also heading south. It was a baggage train, taking supplies to the Angmarim host. "It would be a worthy prize," Dunstan noted. Kirahan nodded, trying to think of what to do. Should he try for the train, follow the Easterlings, or remain where he was to see what might later develop. His men began to grumble, wanting action and to pay Angmar back for the years of terror and destruction that that cruel nation had visited on their border. All men looked to Kirahan to give the order.
Kirahan grumbled, cursed, then looked away from the baggage train. "A worthy capture, indeed," he muttered, turning to look at the men around him. "Worthy, but not for us. We are scouts, and we have our orders. Let's watch the Easterlings a bit more, then report what we have."
The Dunedain looked around, noting the sour grimaces on too many faces. "Relax, lads," he said, turning his horse, "we'll see Angmarim blood before too long."
While the others shifted nervously below the rock face, Dunstan and Kirahan continued to spy on the Easterling horsemen. Suddenly, Dunstan grabbed Kirhan's shoulder, gripping it firmly.
"Kirahan! They're coming this way!"
Sharp eyed Dunstan! Kirahan thought to question him, but then changed his mind. Coming this way. There were many options. The rock face he sat on could form a good place for an ambush, he thought, but any such fight would have to be fleeting he realized, looking down at a mere thirty men. Or, should he ride off, either hoping the spy yet more on the Easterlings, or even ride to rejoin the rest of the Black Arrows?
Kirahan looked at the approaching riders, silently counting their numbers. Grimacing, he turned to the men. "Anything we could do to them would only be harassment, and at the worst we'd reveal the rest of the Arrows. Let's ride back to the main group and report what we've found. I promise you blood after that."
Kirahan climbed down the rock, scratching his hands on its rough surface. After he'd remounted, he waved at his men and all thirty of them charged off toward the hill. They must have been spotted as they sped off, for looking back, Dunstan spied the Easterlings galloping in pursuit. He called this to Kirahan's attention.
Kirahan urged his men to pick up speed. Climbing up the slope of the hill, the stronger horses of the Arthedan would gain them ground and they would need all they could get.
Kirahan and his men found the rest of the Black Arrows where they said they'd be. Near a small grove of withered oaks, Captain Dighan was spying on the distant battle. A massive Angmarim host was assaulting the Arthedan line, which had shrunk to seeming insignificance before the black host. A massive dense cloud of black birds wheeled over the battle, every now and then wheeling down to peck and rend at the helpless fallen. Kirhan gave Dighan his report.
"Damn!" Dighan swore. "Well, until we deal with this new threat, we won't be able to aid the army. We'll line up on that crest we crossed. Then, as the Easterlings charge up, we'll ride down upon them, using our momentum to compensate for our numbers. I've fought their kind before. Their favorite tactic is to come up close and discharge their arrows before contact, and then wheel back out of harm's way while other of their fellows do the same. If we force them to come to us on the slopes, they won't be able to try that tactic."
Giving the order, Dighan led the Black Arrows onto the crest, lining up in single file. They didn't have to wait long. Easterling riders rode up and spying the Arthedan cavalry on top of the hill, yet well out of effective bow range, they stopped and taunted the Black Arrows, but to no avail. Dighan ordered all men to stay in line.
Finally, unable to bear the close presence of the enemy, all but fifty of the Easterlings rode off and then rode up the hill ready to charge the Arthedan line. Dighan lowered his hand and giving out a battle cry, the Black Arrows charged.
Just before the charge, Kirahan noted that about fifty of the Easterlings were riding off toward the northwest. Another smaller group, including the Easterling standards, remained off in the distance, well out of harms way.
Kirahan readied his mount, and then rode. Ahead of him, grim Easterlings wearing black furred robes and human scalps at their belt charged up the slope, bringing their lances to bear.

Round 1:

Initative: Kirahan rolls 22, + unknown quickness gives him, I'm guessing an 42.
Easterling rolls 88+10+10 (longer weapon) gives him an initaitive of 108.
Easterling wins initiative.
Charging, the Easterling lowers his lance. Result is an 7AK attack, which manages to sneak past Kirahan's shield. Kirhan takes 7 hits, plus 3 for the critical. He must parry the next attack and the Easterling gains +5.
Kirahan's attack is cancelled.

Round 2:

Easterling wheels around even as Kirahan wheels to face him. Charging downhill, the Easterling gains momentum.
Initiative: Kirahan rolls 89 + 20?= 109. Easterling rolls 29 + 10 + 10 + 5 = 54.
Kirahan wins initiative.
Kirahan must parry.
Easterling attacks. Result is no damge.

Round 3:

Initiatve: Kirahan rolls a 33 + 20 = 53. Easterling rolls a 16 +10 +10 = 46.
Kirahan receives initiative.

Taurvantar waited restlessly, watching as the Lords conferred from the top of the hill, reviewing the battle below them. The view was perfect - too perfect perhaps as Taurvantar could take in the sum total of the Angmarim host. Already, the armies below them had collided. Rushing forward, looking nothing more like black ants, the orcs of Angmar were thrown back by volley after volley of arrows fired by the noble armies. Off to the left, the Royal Army was unengaged, but continuously had to thin its line to extend it as more Angmarim arrived on the left, threatening to outflank the army.
Tarma ordered the banners waved and a two hundred heavy cavalry charged off, followed by two hundred more mounted infantry led by Lord Hyam. The impact of the cavalry threw the Angmarim northman levies into disarray, though Taurvantar saw a few of the knights go down under the great northman axes. Retreating behind the staggered line of dismounted infantry, the cavalry reformed as the dragoons fired volleys of missiles into the advancing northmen and orcs. Then reformed, the cavalry charged again, only to repeat the pattern. All the while this was happening, the Dagarim Aran was yielding the left, wheeling back until their line touched that of the small unit of mounted infantry, which closed ranks. Thus, at least on that quarter, anchored by the hill and knights, who themselves were dismounting, the Arthedan had averted a flanking. Taurvantar saw Eketta point something out to Tarma. Off to right, in the distance, fleet grey forms bearing orcs raced across the grassy plain. Wolf riders. Their baying announced itself on the wind. While Lord Emerie led three hundred fleet footed archers to go back behind the hill, Tarma and seventy knights charged off to meet the warg riders head on.
Eketta was now commanding, in Tarma's absence and Taurvantar desperately looked for him to give him an order to send a message, fight or do something! But no such order came and it was all Taurvantar could do but watch the spectacle before him. In the Arthedan center, orc bodies piled up by what must be the thousands, filling the ravine. Even before that had happened, broad wooden planks where thrown across and bodies of large uruks charged across. Most of these were cut down but more continued to advance until, bit by bit, the Arthedan center was pushed back. Lesser orcs fell on the Dunadan wounded, whose screams could be heard on the hilltop. Taurvantar once again looked to Eketta to give some kind of order but nothing came. Tarma returned. The mere threat of his knights had sent the wargs reeling off. They no doubt hoped to attack the Arthadan flank, well to the rear. They would have a nasty surprise waiting for them in the form of Lord Emerie's archers.
Either by the planks or by crawling over their own dead, a black wave of orcs impacted against the Degerím Ereter. The orcs were repulsed with heavy losses, but their number seemed unending and the Dunedain were forced to pull back farther. Marl Tarma gave an order and a series of banners were waved. Noblemen, watching from below, gave their own orders and suddenly the Degerím Ereter surged forward, pushing back the orcs, then it suddenly about faced and the heavy infantry raced back with great speed, back through the line of archers and skirmishers behind it. As the orcs raced forward, to close the gap, the archers fired a sky full of arrows, and Taurvantar saw many black forms drop and move no more. As the cloud of orcs reached the skirmishers, they to fell back behind the loose line of heavy infantry, which itself closed ranks after the skirmishers had passed. Taurvantar saw the distant forms of the hobbits, and wondered how Fred was faring. The orcs paused, seeing the ready line of infantry. From behind, the archers fired volley upon volley of arrows, many finding their mark in the dense pack of orcs. Then Tarma gave the order and with a great cry, the Degerím Ereter surged forward, throwing thousands of orcs back in great disarray. The heavy infantry cut their way through the black mass, the orcs, or what was left of them were thrown well back across the ravine and for all their losses, had achieved nothing. Seeing all this, the mounted knights gave a great shout and tumult, saluting the noble foot.
"So much for the Durbalag," a ranger commented, meaning the tribe of orcs that had just been defeated. Off in the distance, two units of orcs could be seen clashing. Many of the Arthedan pointed it out. Ever fractious, these two tribes of orcs hated each other more than they did the Arthedan. By error, they had been placed too close and now their quarrels had grown to combat, even in the midst of battle.
On the left, a heavy drum beat sounded. Slow moving orcs, some five hundred or more in number, advanced slowly against the noble line. They were huge, muscular creatures and wielded savage looking weapons. Few Arthedan arrows found purchase and as they impacted the royal line, the Dunedain in that quarter found themselves hard pressed. More and more men were taken from the center to meet this new threat on the left. On the right, the same thing was happening. Some fifty war trolls had broken the noble line in that quarter, ignoring the volleys of arrows that seemed to bounce off their thick iron plate. These fearsome creatures, some as tall as trees, roared and bellowed, tearing into the ranks of men and threatening to break the line in that quarter. Even as this happened, a new tribe, taking it's place in the center, pushed with full fury. All at once, it looked like the Dunedain line would break in three places and they would all be overwhelmed.
Taurvantar heard the following conversation between Lords Tarma and Eketta.
"We'd better withdraw the center back upon the hill. We can use the slope to our advantage and shrink our lines. I'll handle the problem on the right."
Lord Eketta pointed with his arm, "Look at those stupid rodents! They're not obeying the banners!" He of course, meant the Shire levy.
"They don't know how to read the signals," Tarma said. "Looks like some of those from Houses Valin and Meer are not falling back as well," Tarma commented.
"I saw the banners of both Valin and Meer go down. They might be dead. Since the troops don't know how to read signals, we'll have to send runners."
"You see to it, and I'll see to the right," Tarma said, readying himself to ride off. Eketta stayed him a moment. "Marl, what about those halfling rodents? You know, if the other units beside them pull back, they'll be left out in the open, then the orcs could take care of your troubles with the Shire for you. I believe that unsightly mass is the sum total of every mannish halfling in the west."
Tarma paused, no expression crossing his face. "Lord Eketta, whatever our differences with those folk might be, they are now King's soldiers and deserve our trust and fidelity. For the sake of your own honour, I will forget what you have just said. Whatever shall happen in the future, such treachery has no place here."
"You're a fool, Marl! But you're honest and brave. May Eru go with you!" he said, as Tarma wheeled off, ready to enter the battle.
"And with you, my Lord," Tarma replied. Raising his hand, he charged off, leading a hundred and twenty heavy horse down the slope. Such was their speed, that they too were just dots upon the plain.
Trying to watch Tarma as long as possible, Taurvantar though he saw him personally attacking a troll that had broken through. Banners were waved again, but the three units, one of them belonging to the shire didn't respond. As the ranks of heavy infantry raced back under covering fire, these three bands of skirmishers, one of them the Shire levy were now left in front.
Taurvantar was called over to Lord Eketta.
"The lad's too new at this to be much good at it. It's good that I'm here to be more practical," Lord Eketta was heard commenting to a lesser noble alongside him.
"Here," he handed Taurvantar three pieces of paper, each marked Valin, Meer and Shire. "Take these orders to the commanders of those units. They are to follow them to the letter." Taking off his gauntlet, Eketta removed a jeweled ring. "Show this to them this ring so they can recognize the authourity of the orders you carry. At once man!"
A horse having been lead up, Taurvantar rode off at a gallop, just then realizing he was no great rider. Ahead of him, the battle loomed, now personal, the cries of agony in the air. The hobbits could he heard to cheer, even as chain clad orcs, marching in close formation, were bearing down on them. House Valin was the closest, but the Shire levy was the most exposed. To which should he deliver his message first?
Taurvantar leaned low over his mount's neck as he swung down the hillside into the fray with Calenereg ["Green-Thorn"], his Elven blade, drawn and ready. Speeding past the Valin troops he went straight for the Shire levy, where he cried, "Make way! Let me through to Marcho Fallohide!"
However, it was soon apparent that Taurvantar's enthusiasm outraced his skill at horsemanship, at least upon this occasion. Having steered his mount past a rut, his horse tripped and though he was able to right himself, he now found that his horse was lame. With not a little time to spare, Taurvantar dismounted and, slapping the horse upon the rear, didn't wait to watch it trot back uphill. Running like the wind, he sprinted for where the hobbits faced the orcs, reaching them just as the orcs were bearing down on them, not a hundred yards off. Winded, Taurvantar raced to catch his breath before saying, "Greetings, brave halfling! I bear orders from the pen of Lord Eketta, acting for Lord Tarma. My duty bids me show you this ring as my vouchsafe and tell you Lord Eketta commands you to follow these instructions exactly. So done, my duty is discharged.
I know not what is in those orders, but my conscience and the love I bear a certain one of your number bids me speak further ere I deliver the rest of my charge to other commanders. A general signal was given by Lord Tarma for the center of our forces, including you, to withdraw to the hill, which signal you have not followed. I heard him express this desire myself, and most of the center has gone back from this position. If you stand firm here, you will soon be alone and overwhelmed, and Lord Tarma did not wish this. I would ask you to bear that in mind as you read these orders."
"Surely I will, messenger," Marcho said, reading the message. He turned to Taurvantar. "He says here that we are to delay the enemy as much as possible and that much rests on our doing so. Obviously much has changed since Lord Tarma gave the order to retreat. Tell Lord Eketta personally that we folk of the Shire shall not fail him!"
Taurvantar shook his head at the stubborn hobbits words. "Now good fortune to you, and may we meet again after this battle has ended. I have already tarried here too long with commands for Valin and Meer, and must quickly deliver them. So fare you well."
With that, Taurvantar ran off to the Meer force and give them to give them their order as briefly as possible, delivering to the Valin leader on the way back to the command post.
Both commanders were down. Meer had been killed by a stray arrow and Lord Valin was badly wounded, near to unconscousness. After discharging his duty to Valin, who was attended by his knights, he heard the ereter say, "Look at those fool halflings! Why don't they retreat? They're going to be slaughtered!"
The hobbits gave one last brave cheer as the chain clad orcs bore down upon their line. Suddenly, one hobbit ran out in front of the rest. Keening for a view, Taurvantar saw that it was Fred! He was apparently defying terrour, playing his intrument, to hearten the hearts of his fellow halflings as they faced oblivion. Taurvantar couldn't see much over the distance, but he heard the roar of the orcs and the screams of the hapless hobbits as the lines crashed together. Fred was nowhere to be seen.
Although Taurvantar was dismayed as he lost sight of Fred, he realized that his presence among them would do nothing to save the valiant Hobbits from their folly. Since Lord Eketta would be of no help, he must seek out Marl Tarma, the only one capable of ordering a charge to support the Shire troops.
But search as he could, Taurvantar could spy nothing of Tarma's banner in the dim wreckage of the body strewn battlefield. Nearly tripping over any one of a number of bodies, mostly orcish, Taurvantar made his way up the hill back to Lord Eketta, hoping to find that Tarma had returned.
Looking behind, he could see that the banners of Valin and also Meer had not retreated. Rather it seemed, both units were in the process of charging to aid the Shirefolk.
"Damn them!" Eketta cursed as Taurvantar came up. Tarma was still nowhere in sight. "Didn't you give Valin and Meer my orders?" Eketta accosted Taurvantar.
"Yes sir, I did," Taurvantar sternly replied. "I handed your note directly to Lord Valin and saw him read it. Lord Meer is dead so it was to his seneschal that I handed my charge."
Off in the distance, the wavering lines collided once more."
"Look at those halflings!" the ereter, Lord Falgear pointed out. "They are brave, you'll have to give them that."
Eketta continued to watch the events, his lower lip trembling in either anger or some other strong emotion, Taurvantar observed.
"The defection of Valin and Meer has opened up the line. Now, we'll HAVE to plug the gap, lest the orcs outflank them and doom the centre." Lord Eketta raised his hand and his banner was raised. Five hundred heavy clad nights readied themselves for the charge. Below them on the hill's slope, infantry units loosened up for a charging run. Trumpets sounded as Lord Eketta lowered his gauntleted fist and the thunder of horses rode down the hillside, Lord Eketta leading the charge himself. Not wanting to be left out of things, Taurvantar grabbed a nearby horse and followed behind. Just as he passed with the last of the horseman, the Arthedain line surged oncemore onto the battleplain, yielding the heights for the promise of battle once more.
As he charged, Taurvantar was able to keep his place in the saddle but from out of nowhere, a group of three orcs appeared. Cavalrymen were slashing down from horseback as iron-clad orcs appeared amongst them. The orcs around Taurvantar pulled his mount down before he could react. He jumped clear of the horse, but as he rolled to his feet, he found himself faced by a great brute of an orc. Off in the near distance, Lord Eketta's banner began to waver as if it were being fought for. Lord Eketta disappeared under a black mass of orcs, disappearing from sight.

"I can't see a thing!" Danny, a young Fallohide, protested. Indeed, positioned as they were behind the ranks of mannish infantry, they might as well have been behind a huge wall. Occasionally, black feathered arrows whistled overhead, usually falling to the rear or carrying over their heads. Once hobbit, relieving himself to the rear, was hit in the backside. As he was carried away in one of the wagons for the wounded, his comrades gave him a cheer. Though hardly life threatening, it was their first casualty.
May it be our last as well, Fred hoped, now feeling the rear of the hobbit mass was not as safe as it seemed.
Ahead of him, he could hear roaring. Looking back at times, he saw banners waving and occasionally, knights charging left or right off the hill, looking like large bugs in the distance. To their left and right, mannish archers fired volley after volley of white feathered arrows over the heads of the noble infantry in front of them. A liaison with the hobbits, a Dunedain sergeant named Tornigal, interpreted the banners to Marcho. Suddenly, Blanco was heard giving an order.
"Stand to lads. Open up and let the big folk through!"
Big folk through! an alarmed Fred thought. Were they retreating?
As the anxious hobbits opened up, the heavy infantry raced back. But no order for the hobbits to retreat came. Suddenly, they were the front line! Looking to the left and right, Fred saw that the human archers were standing their ground as well. They seemed confidant, he thought.
"All right lads!" Blanco yelled. "When those goblins get close enough to see their red eyes, you let them have it. And aim for Eru's sake!"
Fred felt a lump in his throat. He tried to swallow but nothing happened. Then he saw them. The orcs. There were thousands of them, their screaming jaws open with sharp teeth, while black sinewy muscles held onto cruel looking swords and spears that were bigger than he was! Grabbing a rock, he readied himself. How strange, he realized. He was going to die, on a battlefield, before he'd even been born!
"NOW LADS! NOW!" The hobbits launched everything they had while the archers beside them fired a sky full of arrows. Orcs before them dropped. The goblins didn't know it, but hobbits were keen shots with stones. But the few remaining continued to charge and their were hundreds more coming in the distance. Fred could see that they'd thrown huge plank bridges over the ravine, which was choked with orcish dead.
"NOW LADS!" Blanco screamed. "HOLD ONTO YOUR WEAPONS AND RUN FOR THE REAR! "
Now that was a sensible order, Fred decided. But there was no way he was going to carry the heavy sack of rocks he'd been given. Racing back, the hobbits melted through the reformed line of heavy infantry, whose ranks were broken, letting them pass through. No sooner had the hobbits gotten through, but the ranks closed behind them. There was a terrible screaming roar and Fred could see men's head falling in front. The human archers continued to fire, blotting out the sun with their arrows. Being on the slope behind them, they had an excellent field of fire. Suddenly, the heavy infantry gave a great shout and surged forward. Then the surge became a run. The Degerím Ereter had routed the thinned ranks of orcs, and were pushing them back to the very point where they'd been before.
Fred soon found himself back in the same place, his bag of rocks waiting for him. Everywhere, there were dead orcs, hacked to pieces by the grim efficiency of the Dunedain and their ekets.
Then, for what seemed like forever, Fred once again found himself waiting. Ever sociable, the hobbits began to engage each other in friendly banter. None of them had been hurt as yet. If this was what war was like, many of them decided, then it wasn't such a difficult thing after all.
A cloud of black arrows whistled overhead - at least over their heads. The tall Dunedain sergeant, Tornigal, arrows piercing his eye and throat, fell to the ground. Concerned hobbits raced over to him, but their was nothing they could do. He was already dead.
"Poor chap," a portly hobbit named Bryce said.
"What do you think all that waving's for?" Danny asked Fred. Fred could only shrug. With Tornigal gone, Blanco and Marcho were at a loss as to what the banners meant.
Suddenly, the heavy infantry in front of them melted back, just as they'd done before. Fred saw that this time most of the archers left as well, though there were a few units that still continued to stand their ground. Once again, the hobbits of the Shire found themselves the front line of the Arthedan host.
"What do we do now?" one of the hobbits asked Marcho, who was parked out in front.
"I don't like the look of this," a hobbit named Terry said.
More orcs, these dressed in chain armour, and this time marching in formation continued to advance. On the ground before them, scores of Dunedain infantry, wounded and dead, fell underfoot.
"Aren't we supposed to run?" a hobbit asked.
The Fallohide brothers looked around. Certainly some of the archers were standing their ground, ready to face the orcs. They seemed uncertain of what to do.
Finally, Marcho turned around to face the Shire levy. "Alright lads, this is it. I think the heavy infantry has fallen back to reform. But it's obvious that some of us have been left here to delay the enemy, until the countercharge. We all knew what we were in for when we came. We've got to prove ourselves to the bigfolk! We've got to show them that hobbits are worthy of respect and rights. This isn't just for us! This is for our folk, our bairns, back in the Shire! And it's for all the generations yet to come! If we turn tail now, and leave the line open, then every man in Arthedain will call us cowards, and they'd be right to do it! Now, the time has come for every hobbit to do his duty - FOR KING AND SHIRE!" he yelled.
"FOR KING AND SHIRE!" the hobbits yelled back.
"NOW! LET'S SHOW THOSE ANGMAR ORCS WHAT HOBBITS ARE MADE OF!!" Marcho bellowed.
The hobbits erupted in a cheer. They readied themselves, farmers, tailors, dressed in normal clothing to face the chain clad orcs, ready to delay them as long as possible until the Dunedain infantry counterattacked.
"For King and Shire, for King and Shire," Fred continued to mumble, over and over again. He eyed the distant line of Dunedain infantry. They did seem to be reforming, but they were back farther this time. Maybe they wanted more momentum for their charge. Somehow, feeling that something had gone terribly wrong, Fred continued chanting, wondering what to do.

[Some questions about terrain and battle lines:

1. As I understand there is not much cover, we (hobbits) were standing 20 yards or so behind a group of Human Heavy infantry. There is a ravine (how deep?) in front of the Heavy Infantry, maybe another 20 or 30 yards, that separates them from the Orcs. There are Human archers 40-50 yards behind the Hobbits, up slope. The Human heavy infantry withdrew initially between the Hobbits and the archers, then counter-charged to their original position. Then retreated back along with some of the archers some 100 yards or so. The ravine runs parallel to the lines of battle between the two groups. Correct?

2. From my various glimpses of the battle field, prior to the start of hostilities and during breaks in the action when I was able to see, roughly where in the line are the hobbits located?

3. During our latest charge, is there any place to hide, where I could remain hidden from the enemy, but still be able to manuever a bit? A pile of dead orcs, the ravine, an out-cropping of stone...

Fred will not waste a lot of his energy and strength lugging around rocks, nor will he directly participate in the fighting. He has left most of his adventuring gear at the Inn, and is only carrying food, flute, a few sacks/backpack, water, his old clothes (wearing) and new adventuring clothes, and some gold and silver just in case.

His actions will depend largely on the results of the upcoming charge. If all goes well the Hobbits will hold their own long enough for the men to regroup and come support them, or will push the Orcs back enough that they can withdraw safely. If that is NOT the case, and Fred can find some place out of sight to the Orcs while they are pursuing the Hobbits, he will use his flute to "guard" their retreat.

Optimally this will entail staying on 'his' side of the ravine and playing music that can be heard by Orcs attempting to cross the ravine on the planks, thus causing them to start dancing, lose their footing, and fall into the ravine. Thus injuring them sufficiently that they are no longer a factor in the battle. It is hard without being there to know how this would work. Fred is not anxious to become a casualty, but if he can save the Hobbits, and possibly in turn some portion of the army, then he will risk it - JE]

Quickly, he tapped young Danny on the shoulder and the two of them set to propping a couple of dead orcs across a low portion of land. It wouldn't be enough to hide a man, but it just might allow a hobbit and half to squeeze and hide. Meanwhile, the orcs were fast bearing down on the hobbits, while the humans seemed to walking - backward! - in formation, continuing up the hill. Any countercharge could not reach the hobbits before the orcs did. Looking at his fellow Shirefolk, Fred realized that there was no way that these poor ordinary folk could last against the heavilly armoured orcs about to crash against them. They were outnumbered by a bigger and stronger enemy with better weapons and armour. They were going to be slaughtered, every one of them.

"Danny, I am going to use this flute to make the Orcs dance" <I will assume that Danny doesn't quite follow> "...don't worry about how, just believe me, we don't have much time." Fred handed Danny the wax that he'd brought for ear plugs (minus enough for himself) and said "take these and make ear plugs for any Hobbit that gets caught up by the music. Don't argue, just do it."

Fred started for the front of the line. Just then, who but Taurvantar should run up, screaming, "Make way! Let me through to Marcho Fallohide!". Taruvantar was badly winded and fought to catch enough breath to speak to Marcho. As he handed Marcho one of the notes, he showed the halfing leader a jewelled ring.
"Greetings, brave halfling! I bear orders from the pen of Lord Eketta, acting for Lord Tarma. My duty bids me show you this ring as my vouchsafe and tell you Lord Eketta commands you to follow these instructions exactly. So done, my duty is discharged.
I know not what is in those orders, but my conscience and the love I bear a certain one of your number bids me speak further ere I deliver the rest of my charge to other commanders. A general signal was given by Lord Tarma for the center of our forces, including you, to withdraw to the hill, which signal you have not followed. I heard him express this desire myself, and most of the center has gone back from this position. If you stand firm here, you will soon be alone and overwhelmed, and Lord Tarma did not wish this. I would ask you to bear that in mind as you read these orders."
"Surely I will, messenger," Marcho said, reading the message. He turned to Taurvantar. "He says here that we are to delay the enemy as much as possible and that much rests on our doing so. Obviously much has changed since Lord Tarma gave the order to retreat. Tell Lord Eketta personally that we folk of the Shire shall not fail him!"
Taurvantar shook his head at the stubborn hobbits words. "Now good fortune to you, and may we meet again after this battle has ended. I have already tarried here too long with commands for Valin and Meer, and must quickly deliver them. So fare you well." Taurvantar ran off. Fred tried to catch his eye and wave at him, but the half-elf was too distracted and was making as good a speed as his legs would allow him, running for one of the other human units which had not retreated.
Fred ran up to Marcho and Blanco, who heading the hobbit line, would be the first to fall. "Sirs, I must beg you to fall back while I have time to work my deeds. Just a bit please!"
"Fall back?!" Marcho snorted. But I've just given my word that we would stand and stand we will!"
Fred pointed to the onrushing orcs. "We don't have much time, and no matter how valiently we fight, there won't be any Hobbits left to go back to the Shire when those Orcs get here. You don't have to trust me, or even believe that I can slow them up, just get back a ways and see for yourself."
Blanco laid a hand on Fred's shoulder. "Brave sir, we've no choice. Our destiny has come. Maybe we hobbits were not meant to last forever. But for the brief time that we are on Middle Earth, let it be said that those who witnessed our ending could not deny that we were brave and true to the end. And maybe, by this sacrifice, we can buy lives for our womenfolk and bairns who we left behind."
"GET READY LADS!" Marcho yelled.
Just then, after stuffing his own ears, Fred started playing. The hobbits let loose several volleys of rocks which mostly fell off the orcish armour. Still, a few orcs fell down, one at Fred's feet. The orc, groggy from a well placed blow to his face lay rolling. Fred dipped his fingers in the orc's nasty black blood and rubbed it over the flute, which drank the blood like a sponge. Just as another orc was about to cleave Fred in two, Fred started to play. The orc stopped in mid swing and then, his heavy legs picked their way up and he started to dance. The orc lying on the ground lept to his feet and danced also, as did several orcs to either side. But the farther wings of the orcs crashed into the hobbit line. The hobbits screamed in terror and then, everyone started to dance, their looks of fear, rage and bestiality still frozen on all faces, hobbit or orc. Fred played and played, getting winded and feeling lightheaded. Every now and then, he'd roll to some spot of blood and dip the flute, only to have everyone stop dancing. Then, before the slaughter could begin anew, he'd begin playing again. He feared that his people would be made near extinct should he stop, but his laboured breath begged a rest, and that was something he could not do. Think, think he told himself frantically. I've stopped the battle, but now what do I do?

[A few questions.

1. What does the range of the flute appear to be, as I assume that I can see roughly how far away the people are dancing.
A: The range is hearing range. Not as much at first, but growing as the area of battle increases. Even some of the distant Arthedan troops seem to be starting to be affected.

2. How long has Fred been playing?
A: He's not sure. He guesstimates about 10-15 minutes.

3. Does there appear to be any forward movement by the rest of the army?
A: None as yet.

4. I would attempt to get far enough inside Orcish lines to only affect them if I thought it were possible, and I could extract myself again.
A: Brave move. But getting inside that mass of jumping bodies might cause Fred to get stomped underfoot. And if he ever stopped playing

5. Does it appear that Danny has succeeded in getting any of the Hobbits to put ear-plugs in? I gave him 30 pairs, so at least some portion of the Hobbits could be fighting.
A: You see neither Danny nor any other pair of unaffected hobbits. All appear to be dancing and they don't seem to be enjoying themselves.

You feel week. Loose 4 temp. CON. When look at the flute, you not it is slippery with blood, not black but red - like yours!]

Unable to stand the loss of blood, Fred stopped playing, feeling weak and woosey. Quickly, he plucked out his ear plugs and retreated back through mass of perplexed hobbit warriours to seemed to be more interested in commenting on their respective dancing talents than matters at hand. It was Blanco who brought them to their senses, shouting out orders to reassemble - just in time.
As the mass of orcish bodies crashed down upon them, having taken their own time to reform, the hobbits gave a great shout of fear and then joy as the orcs were stopped cold by a volley of arrows appearing it seemed, as if from the heavens of Mandos.
Just then, the sun broke through a bit, shafts of light bathing them in warmth and brightening their visions. Looking to the left and right, Fred could see that the nearby human units, those of Lords Valin and Meer had disobeyed their orders to retreat. It was their arrows that had filled the sky, cutting down the first orcish ranks. Now, the thick squares of heavy clad infantry charged the orcish line on either side, using their wedges of spearmen to drive deep into the black ranks of Angmar. One huge orc crushed a Dunedain with a massive club, but was himself speared several times by vengeful fellows of the slain man. Elsewhere, the orcs, still disorientated by Fred's flute playing, gave way in stubborn fighting that left not only orcs, but Dunedain dead upon the field. Word came back to the hobbits that the Orcs were using poisoned spears!
The hobbits formed up and launched volleys of stones and some arrows over the heads of the men, giving them what support they could. Every now and then, orcs led by a massive brute such as Fred had seen earlier, broke through the lines, only to be driven back by well aimed hobbit stones. So keen was the aim of the Shirefolk that orcs were dropped even in the midst of combat, leaving menfolk around them untouched. Other hobbits, those possessing knives or swords darted into the fray, stabbing at black goblin feet and legs. For a while the three units, two of men and one of hobbits seemed to have stayed the black tide but as a foreshadowing, the sky darknened once more. The full press of several thousands of orcs began to tell as the orcs pressed forward, regardless of cost. Men and hobbits were forced back, the men leaving their own dead to be trampled on the field.
Horns sounded! Then there was thunder!Fred looked around. The banner of Lord Eketta was seen. Fred saw the lord himself leading a charge of several hundred knights which crashed again into the orcs that threatened to cut off the hobbits retreat. Knights fought orcs, which pulled down their horses. Blood and the screaming of beast and man were everywhere. Fred saw Lord Eketta himself go down under a furious assualt that overbore his retinue and engulfed him in a tide of blackness.
"To Lord Eketta!" Marcho yelled and the hobbits surged forward, trying to save the Dunedain lord. Just then, an orc clubbed Marcho, who fell to the ground, his head covered in blood. Blanco tried to aid his brother, but was clubbed by the same orc. Leaderless, the hobbits began to waver and they fell back in a disorganized mob, leaving Marcho and Blanco at the feet of the vicious orc.A stone sallied forth and bit the large orc on the nose. A lone hobbit stood out, defying the large brute that had just saved the "Fathers of the Shire." Fred was more than a little surprised to find out that the hobbit was himself.
"Cmon lads!" he yelled behind him. "Marcho and Blanco need us. For King and Shire!" he screamed hoarsely.
"For King and Shire," screamed back the tenor chorus of hobbit voices. Every hobbit launched a stone at the large orc and even before the thing could take even a step in Fred's direction, it was felled in its tracks - so keen was the famed hobbit skill with simple field stone.
Other knights had formed a defensive ring around Lord Eketta, who, it turned out, was merely stunned from being thrown. The battle had fallen into chaos, and instead of the ordered clash of armoured units, was merely a mess of individual duals. This kind of war favoured Angmar, for for every orc, Easterling or Northman who fell to a Dunedain Eket, there were three more to take his place.
Lord Eketta's banner dipped in a cold wind that was descending from the north. Troops took up the call - retreat.
"Fred!" a familiar voice called out. Fred looked behind him. Ranciryon, his armour stained with blood and a black arrow still piercing the fold of plate in his shoulder, came forward to greet his questfellow. "Well, I'm glad to see at least one other of our number has survived this black day."
"The day is not yet over," Fred added pessimistically. "But, Ranciryon, I am glad to see thee."
Horns sounded in the distance. Fred cocked his ear. "What do they say?" he asked Ranciryon, hoping that the Numenorean would know more about these songs of warcraft.
"Tis a call to hold, strangely given when the Eketta Lord says to fall back." Ranciryon looked about puzzled. He pointed toward the hill, where another unit was advancing upon the field in their direction.
"Skratta! What unit is that there? What banner does it fly?"
One of the other knights called back, "Tis the King!! THE KING IS COME!"
"The King? Here?" Fred gasped.
"Argeleb! ARGELEB!
Unbelieving, even as Fred watched, Lord Eketta pushed himself free of his retainers and watched dumbfounded as the this new unit of knights rode like thunder across the plain, leaving only dead Angmarim in its wake. Holding aloft the seven stared banner, all men cried aloud that the King himself had come.
And indeed, the King was there, dressed in full plate, golden crowned helmet upon his head. Silently, he nodded to Lord Eketta and waved that the retreat should now begin. Freed by this new arrival, men collected themselves once again and retreated, this time in an orderly fashion, taking their wounded and honoured dead from the field with them.

x.p.. award: Fred - 325, Kirahan - 130 (This award is from the last move. I will be keeping separate tally for anything that happens this turn and series of turns. JK)

"Fred turned to the Numenorean knight, Ranciryon, come let us away from this foul plot. I feel I have lost enough blood for a lifetime here, and almost crave the peacefulness of that accursed house." Fred managed a smile and started to pat Ranciryon on the shoulder before remembering the arrow that still protruded from it. "We must get you some medical attention old friend." Despite his own weariness Fred attempted to help Ranciryon as they retreat toward the rest of the troops. "I wonder if the King's presence here will inspire a new closeness with Lord Tarma. For he seems to be warrior enough for ME on this day!" Fred looked over to where the King and his knights protected the retreat of this section of the army. "Maybe I am just too happy to be alive to think anything but pleasant thoughts. But what of the others? You said that you were happpy that at least one of us was alive, I hope that I was the only one you had seen. Do you know aught of the others? I would like to see them if they still live."

Taurvantar drew forth Calenereg as his foe advanced on him, crying, "Come then, foul one, blades such as mine were forged to taste the blood of such as thee!" The orc merely grunted and swung a massive war hammer, narrowly missing. The contest pitted the orc's strength against the half-elf's nimble quickness, and finally Taurvantar wore down his foe and dispatched him. Looking around, Taurvantar was unable to spot Lord Eketta's standard in the melee. Somewhat confused by the chaos around him, Taurvantar decided to try to fight his way through to the center where the brave halflings were now better supported, and where his oathfriend Fred might still be alive. [This is a battle; I'll try to survive, first and foremost. Secondarily, I'll try to find the units I was with earlier.]

[Here's the combat description: foe is lesser orc with war mattock (you said big, so I assumed two-handed weapon, which a war hammer is not), 3rd level (88 on level roll), -5 Con (17 on Hits roll), for a total of 50 hits.Let me know if you need or want this much detail; I included every roll.]Taurvantar faced his burly foe. With his superior quickness, he lunged in low and struck a fierce blow to the orc's shin [Taurvantar: 93 roll+28 OB-30 DB=91 for 11AK against AP 8, 73 on the crit for +5 hits, stunned 2 rounds, no parry next round, and -20%; orc: stunned, no attack], and as the sharp pain transfixed the orc, the half-elf struck again [T: 91-2 OB/DB+20 for stunned foe=109 for 14BK, 24 on crit for +4 hits and must parry next round at -20%; o: stunned]. With his opponent reeling, Taurvantar tried to land a decisive blow but the orc desperately parried [T: 49-2 OB/DB-0 orc parry (at -40)=47; o: 63+0 OB(due to parry)-42 DB-20 (due to wound level)=1] and began moving gingerly on his wounded leg, seeking a chance to return the pain he felt in kind. Taurvantar, perhaps overeager, swung wildly trying to end the fight while the orc recovered his poise [T:30-2=28; o: 39+40 OB-42 DB-20 wound=17]. Realizing the disadvantage the orc suffered, Taurvantar slashed him again as he aimed a massive blow that nearly found its mark [T:78-2=76 for 8; o: 95-2 OB/DB-30 wound=63]. Sensing that the fight was his unless he made a grave error, Taurvantar began circling the orc, looking for openings and trying to wear him down and force him to put pressure on the leg [T:21-2=19; o:19-2-30=0]. After another nick [T:67-2=65 for 5; o: 60-2-30=28], Taurvantar confidently continued, and despite the orc's desperate attempts to avoid his fate, finally Taurvantar spotted his mark and thrust Calenereg savagely home, ending the struggle [T:40-2=38, 28-2=26, 99+33 open-end-2=130 for 17DK, 12 on crit for +5 hits; o: 71-2-30=39, 34-2-30=2, unconscious].

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