Fall of the North RPG

[Kransha]

The sight of a veiled blaze on the horizon and the singing scent of fire’s smoke was barely recognizable to Hírvegil as he wobbled uneasily on his horse, sweaty fingers clasped around an ice-like metal hilt that swung at his left flank, rapping fitfully against the battered haunches of his steed. He barely heard the ceremonious gasps and sounds of recognition that rippled through the Rearguard, but few could have. The Rearguard’s entire mass was surging, at almost break-neck speed, across snowy plains ands through icy ponds and puddles, kicking up a gargantuan cloud of white dust in its wake.

Some men who rode behind their captain wondered if they even knew where they were going. Those at the front who could see the many skewed tracks left by galumphing orc feet, subtle Elven treads, and heavy Dúnedain horseshoes steered the line chaotically in one direction and the next, trying to keep them all together. The horses rushed madly at times, with no steady orders to abide by. Soon enough, though, they were forced to slow a rein themselves in when they encountered sight of the first group of Dúnedain to be dispatched, which was slowly riding towards the distant blaze as well. When they collided, no words were exchanged, or given by Hírvegil, who continued to lead on like a drunken hero. As the confused trackers were absorbed into the quick-moving cavalry host, it was left to their comrades to explain to them what was going on. Though all was anarchy and disorganization, the columns surged on like a wave of spearing flame.

They were borne over ridges, through iced over marshlands, and every which way, no longer following tracks but simply heading onward to the fire. Belegorn was now generally in the lead, and was doing his best to keep Hírvegil himself from charging off in a more divergent direction and leading the troops astray. He wheeled about Hírvegil’s steed every few moments, pulling the mount forward and riding his swiftest so that he and his captain would not be overwhelmed by the unbridled force behind, which was having its own troubles. Hírvegil sat, quietly oblivious but caught up in the grandiose cacophony and the fueling noise of riders and the dun of battle to come. His eyes were glazed over and he looked to some oaf with armor slapped on him who’d been feebly superimposed on a horse, but his mind was working with great speed, reliving its glory days. The dreams were becoming reality, even though he had no control over his thoughts or movements in the chaos. He smiled to himself, then grimaced, then wretched, then smiled again, and laughed, and guffawed, and reeled, and did many things which had nothing to do with the thing that came before. His hands, weakly gripping the reins of his mount, swung madly from side to side. Belegorn kept shooting his hand in expertly to try and manage the horse if it became to unsteady, but Hírvegil ignored him, or didn’t notice. He was too caught up in the glory of the charge – which was quickly spiraling more and more out of control.

Hírvegil’s eyes only saw dim, multicolored blurs galloping towards him over the nearest hill as yells of “Elves!” and “Riders!” echoed behind him. “What’re those?” mumbled Hírvegil, leaning over towards Belegorn as he bounced up and down, “Orcs?” He had obviously not heard the cries, or horribly misinterpreted them. Belegorn managed to hear his faint mutterings because of the short distance between him and the captain, so he could respond. “No, Captain,” he yelled over the din into Hírvegil’s ear, jogging his senses a little, “It is the Elves! They seem to have succeeded!”

“Good,” grumbled the Captain, “kill ‘em.” He didn’t see the look of bewildered horror on his lieutenant’s whitened face. “No, sir,” cried Belegorn, “Elves.” As the riders thundered behind them, Hírvegil considered, his head bobbing like a fisherman’s baubles. “Oh, right. Well, don’t kill them.” Belegorn’s loud groan could be heard at Hírvegil’s side, but it was cut off with another sharp breath and gasp of recognition as Belegorn peered forward. “Captain,” he said very urgently after a moment, “I think the orcs are behind them!”

“Ah,” murmured the dreary Captain of the Rearguard, “Kill them then.”

Belegorn nodded curtly and maneuvered to the side, turning his head as much as possibly. As the Rearguard closed the distance between it and the Elven riders, who had seen them long before, it was more and more becoming evident that the cavalry had reached a momentum in could not brake in an instant. It was going so fast, so hard, that it could not be stopped except by some great obstacle. In order not to hit the Elves, they could only turn and amass together. At the top of his ragged lungs, Belegorn cried out. “TO THE LEFT!” his voice thundered terrifically, “RIDE LEFT!”

Slowly, the huge troop began easing left frantically. The Elven riders also pulled their horses right. Since the Elves were in a more convenient position to do so, they maneuvered their horses hard right, but still they could barely turn fast enough. The Rearguard rode on, thundering, booming onward; trying to steer, to turn, or do anything. As the distance between the horde and the few Elven steeds became mere meters, there was still a chance the Elves would be trampled by the uncontrolled cavalry. The distance closed, further and further until at last it disappeared.

The two forces missed each other by less than an arm’s length. The cavalry of the Rearguard, like a colossus, swept past the four horses, who were met with a sonic blast from the moving wave of sound and a plate of dust that fell atop them. As they at last passed the Rearguard, another force appeared – the orcs.

This time, no attempt was made to steer out of the way, even though it would’ve been much safer to stop and then attack. The grand host of a hundred, magnified by some divine imagination to look like a thousand, continued towards the orcs. Some tried to stop, and were pushed on by those behind them or sucked backward and spit out of the guard’s rear. Others spun off to one side or the other and swiveled to gain balance. The core group, though, with Hírvegil and Belegorn at its head, quickly lanced over the next lump of a hill, veering madly, towards the goblins sprinting towards them. When the orcs realized what was happening, they made every attempt to turn or get out of the way, but to no avail.

With no recourse, the two forces collided, the Rearguard overwhelming the small band of orcs who’d caused them so much trouble.

Of course, Hírvegil saw none of this, since he blacked out a moment before the collision and was hurled from his horse when it was bodily thrust against a routed orc.