Of course the phantoms would move, they never stayed on one place for long. " We won't find them." she said with gloom. She didn't even know of all their safe havens she was still considered green and rightfully so kept from most of the main safe havens.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Fearan grimaced slightly. What else was there to do? Nothing. WHile he just sat around, those fighting were going to die. He'd tried to convince himself otherwise, and for awhile succeeded. But now he was realizing what a suicide mission that fight would become. He realized shamefully that he had left just when he was needed the most. This was his job. He lived to defend the North. He looked angrily to the east, where the battle took place. He wanted to rush in and fight, but he stayed himself. He couldn't leave Deawen alone, not with orcs running about, and he certainly couldn't take her with him. Fearan clenched his jaw. "Lets go" he said stiffly, turning Silmiel to walk back the way they had came.

Arandur woke. It was a moment before that fact registered, however. Or rather, the fact that he was still alive. He wished then that he had not. No, the blessed darkness was far more desirable than the pain.

He felt cool earth against his cheek; opened his eyes. Rough ropes bound his hands behind him, though his feet were free. He moved his head, raising it a little, and saw others similarly bound laying around him. He sought to rise on an elbow, but was not prepared for the dizzying pain that washed over him, centering in his side and shoulder. For a while he waited, letting it subside to a burning ache, then rose again somewhat more slowly. Maenel lay some distance away, a smudge of dirt or blood on her face. Other Gondorians lay around; several dozen from what he could see, all wounded. All that was left of three hundred.

Arandur saw that the orcs had camped some little ways to the east of the tower and carnage. Rays of the setting sun bathed the towertop in crimson color.

Several large brutes stood watch over the prisoners; further off the sounds of revelry could be heard as the orcs made free with captured supplies.

Maethoriel could not exactly place the time she had become knocked unconscious, but she was relatively sure that it was around the same time she had lost both her weapons - they got stuck in the ribs of a warg and she was unable to free them. She remembered a sharp pain in her head and then nothing but black afterward.

She groaned, her head ached and she felt as if it would split open at any moment and the sun burned her eyes. A snarl escaped her curled lip as soon as she caught sight of her first captor, "Ghash a snaga," she spat at him. She even made sure it was the proper language so he'd understand the threat.

Even bound the woman's spirit was indomitable and her actions even less thought out than before. She grinned as the orc's fisted hand collided with her cheek - now she was awake, the pain would make sure of that.

Now that she was assured consciousness she took stock of those left around her and frowned. They all looked fairly useless at the moment, but then again she supposed she looked relatively the same. That thought earned a barking laugh.

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

" I don't hear the sounds of battle," Deawen said as they were only a mile off from the battle site. " We are too late." she whispered but instead of turning back, she went forward a ways and then dismounted carefully. The ground sloped downwards and she moved in a zig-zag pattern down the slope. She moved nearly soundlessly, her leg the only imperfection.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

"You find it amusing?" Arandur sat with his back against a protruding rock.

"Are you surprised by my amusement?" The woman questioned vaguely. A bloody grin spread over her face, she had long ago learned to make the most of bad situations and as a consequence often found random things entertaining. As of now she was not only amused by her ironic thoughts of how the rest of the group was useless, but by the apparent annoyance her entertainment brought to the leader of the group.

"You should lighten up a bit, lad," she drawled out in a graveled voice. "I have been in worse spots and humor has nearly always been the saving grace of a terrible time."

_________________
Heavens no. Hell Yeah.


Set 1: Nurr | Set 2: Me

It didn't take long for the orcs to find the medical tents. She was bound roughly and tossed in a pile with the other medics and aid-de-camps. She landed in such a manner that she felt her shoulder pop. "Dislocated," she moaned. She could hear tent sheets ripping and poles being snapped. Eventually there was a huge bonfire of canvas. The savage growls of the fiends were all around them. For the first time in a long time, she was truly afraid.

_________________
Reasons I love England #217:
I saw "whilst" on a traffic sign

Deawen moved quietly closer to the camp or what was left of it. Orcs swarmed everywhere, she had a sickening feeling that no one survived. She circled the area slowly and was startled to see prisoners. She spotted Arandur and felt a flood of relief rush through her. An orc passed close to her and she withdrew into the shadows. But what startled her the most was the sudden appearance of the Phantoms. they walked freely around, as if nothing was wrong.
Deawen watched stunned, surely this wasn't their doing! She began to retreat into the forest when she felt a blade at her throat and a strong grip around her wrists.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Deawen, are the Phantoms going to rescue them, or what? I mean, I'd be fine with it if they got dragged around for a few days.)

"Lighten up?" Arandur grinned crookedly, "Oh, I've no doubt of that. I'd like to know how it'll get us out of this fix, is all. Unless you can joke your way past three hundred orcs, we're still in a tight spot." He shifted slightly, grunting, or rather, gasping, as the movement lighted a dozen different fires in various parts or his body.

( well I was thinking something like the opposite. The phatoms don't want the gondorians there so i thought it would be fitting if the phantoms were behind the attack. Is that ok? Or am I puching boundaries?)

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

(Sounds fine with me.)

(EDIT:Btw, you wanna give me a description of these Phantoms or should I make something up? Mainly for how they dress; typical dark cloak/ranger style?)

(Well they dress in entirely in black, ranger like I suppose. )

"dont move." Deawen's captor ordered, she obeyed silently. "Be you friend or foe?" Asked her captor without emotion, Deawen paused to think it was just any question she was being asked. "I am niether friend nor foe, but a ghost." she answered. One wrist was released " Prove it.." the man growled, Deawen held up her hand and exposed her mark. It was a brand mark in the shape of a skull. The man released her but still held the knife to her throat. "Thorgar will want to see you."
Deawen nodded weakly, and the knife was taken away.
Deawen was led towards the remanats of the camp.

_________________
Lips, ripe as the berries in June
Red the rose, red the rose
Skin, pale as the light of the moon
Gently as she goes

as always a hero comes home

Ahh! Sorry for the multiple posting. Stupid internet connection...

I'm really, really sorry about the posts.

Seriously, I am.