User blog:High Prince Imrahil/Adventures of High Prince Imrahil part 3: The Battle of Barazagûr

Here's my latest chapter! Sorry this week's edition has been posted a day late, but I didn't have access to a computer yesterday. Also (For this chapter only) I skipped the third age part all together, since it was getting a bit repeditive.

So says Herendil son of Eldecar in the Second Age of the Sun

So it was that the Demon of the East was finally defeated and the halls of Fikhîb-dûm were once again free. After locating my sword I went back out of the mines to the joy and amazment of Thorin.

"You have killed it!" he exclaimed "How?"

"It is a long story" I said "And I am very tired from the battle!"

"I'm afraid you won't have much rest after the tidings we just recieved." said Thorin

"And what are the tidings?" I asked

"They arrived shortly after you entered the mine." he said "War! that is the tidings. It has been discovered that the orcs of the Withered Heath are planning a mighty strike into Gandalf the Turquoise's realm. He begs for all our strength and speed lest the grand halls of 1 fall at last. We are not alone at least, for all the Free East is sending at least half their troops to defend 1. After all, if 1 falls, what can stand?"

"Nothing can!" I said "When do we leave?"

"Tomarrow" said Thorin "You should begin preparing now."

So it was that we traveled North for twenty leagues to the castle of 1. The defences were set up as follows: The gates into the mountain were protected by a large wall that ran in a semi-circle, the open ends being connected to the mountain. Between the outer wall and the inner gate was a huge, flat field where the dwarves held parties in happier times. The dwarves thought that crossing the field would be too easy, so many obsticles were spread acrossed the field: sharpened stakes, large spikes, quick sand, and large pits, some of which were covered over with grass and leaves. Build into the mountain were many battlements connected and accessed by the halls that ran within. Thus the mountain looked like one huge castle, proud flags flying in the morning breeze, towers rising like great spikes of crimson stone. These were the halls of 1 which even today stands a legend. Our proud armies marched into the mountain and were greated by Gandalf.

"Hello!" he said "I am glad that you have come, for in our allies lies all our hope. The armies that are amassing are the biggest that have ever roamed Middle Earth, since the baning of melkor2. Surely this will be the greatest battle of all the Second Age."

"What of the enemy captain?" I said "Who is leading our opponent's forces?"

Gandalf shook his head sadly "We know not his name." he said "But he fights on the front lines and when he is near, none but our bravest troops will stand against him, for he fights with skill that could easily outmatch an elven champion: greater skill then any mortal has ever possesed. Some even whisper that he is not a mortal at all but rather a spirit under the thrall of the Dark Lord. His full helm and dark cloak obscure his features and intimidate those that face him, as does the grim silence he maintains when he marches into battle. He atop a fire-drake and to say the least, he is his own best warrior. That, Herendil, is all we know about the enemy captain."

"What about the Avari elves?" I asked "Will not they be enough to stem this evil tide?"

"The enemy is far too wise!" said Gandalf "He has sent a second army about ten leagues to the West, thus keeping the Avari in check, and taking away nine-tenths of the troops they could have lent us. They will come, but they will be too few! Too few! Still, as they say in the West, every little is a gain. I would advise you to prepare yourself, Herendil, for this is likely the last sunrise you shall ever see. Mandos will no doubt have us by midnight!"

Never have I ever heard such despair in a mortal voice. Suddenly a gust of wind blew from the West carrying with it the salty aroma of the Sea of Rhun mixed with the fair elven smells that had come from the not-too-distant Avari elves. It was like a lesser version of what I had smelled when I was a boy, sailing as far west as I was allowed: It was a lesser version of the smell of Valinor. Gandalf, remebering wence he had came, and were he was going, found courage.

"Thorin!" he shouted "Take half of your axe-throwers to the top of the outer wall. Take thirty of my crossbowmen as well. Warpig! take forty of your men and station them in the East bunker. Send the rest with Herendil, who will defend the mountain. We shall make such a battle, that though we shall be crushed, we shall be sung in legend along the names of Elros and Beren and of Sinthionel. For Aule! Then, leaving Thorin in command, he assended the mountain were there was a temple to Mevans, and he stayed there for the remainder of the day.

Throughout the day, more reinforcements arrived. First came about one hundred and fifty Stonefoot Warriors, stout dwarves armed with warhammers. From the North came about seventy-five crossbows from the Blacklock clan along with two trebuchets which would be valuable in defending the mountain. From Dorwinion there came one hundred and forty sturdy bowmen, wearing heavy lamellar coats and iron helms for protection and carrying finely crafted bows and a full quivers of arrows. Lastly, and most gloriously came the High King Ithlion, lord of the Avari. With him marched three hundred swordsmen, one hundred and fifty bowmen, and two hundred pikemen. Their helms and armour shined in the setting sun as the huge doors of the outer gates shut behind them. The reinforcments had arrived, and the battle was about to begin.

The Battle of 1 is one of the largest battles in the Second Age to date. Although we had many hundreds of troops, the scouts reported that the enemy had amassed three hundred thousand orcs, a third of them mounted on hideous wargs. There were also a new kind of orc, the scouts reported: they had white skin and seemed less barbaric and more grim then other orcs. They were a good deal larger then even an elf, and we called them White Uruks. Unlike stupid trolls who simply flounder around, hoping to hit their enemy, these White Uruks appeared to have actual skill in battle, with great amounts of strength, determination, and agility, all of which are unusual for an orc. But this was the last message our scouts ever delivered, for on their next mission, a great fire-drake spotted and killed both of them. Night had fallen and the battle was about to begin.

Our men stood ready, motionless at the wall as the many legions of orcs marched to the wall. I saw neither ram nor seige tower in all the great host, and wondered what they would do. As if in answer to my question, I heard a sound like the gust of a wind, and sailing towards me at top speed, was the fire-drake.

"Get down!" I shouted "Man the ballistas! We have to bring it down!"

But before we could retreat it swooped down onto the wall and breathed fire upon all the outer wall. Most of the men died either in the heat or were pushed backwards off of the wall by the great wind and onto the sharpened stakes below. Within seconds of the battle, half of my men were dying and the rest were in full route. The outer wall was lost. Still, with twenty brave elves, I stood my ground upon the wall, hindering the enemy as I could and keeping a steady stream of arrows into the dragon. The drake swooped down near the gate house, and it's master, jumping off of the great beast, ran into the gatehouse and pulled the lever that would unlock the gates. Like a great black tide, the orcs and uruks poured into the field, and began to set up some trebuchets to fire at the inner gate. The enemy, already remounted, cut off the routing dwarves in their retreat and not one of them survived. Myself, and the twenty grim elves that remained at the wall were happy that the enemy did not seem to heed us. Dipping the tips of our arrows in the dragon's fire that still burned on the wall, we let out a volley of fire-arrows onto the trebuchets. The crude orcish engines burned like oil, and all their host turned round to look at us.

"Kill them!" shouted a White Uruk "Leave not one of them alive! First division, advance!"

Thirty White Uruk Berserkers chaged up the steps and unto the wall, just three feet distant.

"Stand your ground!" I shouted "Form a shield wall acrossed the width of the wall!"

The mightily forged Avari shields served their purpose well, and the uruk's charge met a bitter end upon a wall of spears.

"Get 'em!" shouted the White Uruk "Pull 'em off the wall!"

yet again our shieldwall held them back, and the orcs could not break through. Finally after the elventh assault, the White Uruk decided to stop wasting troops against us, and to call in reinforcments instead.

"Tell the boss to get the dragon!" he said "It's needed here!"

The great beast flew away from the inner gate, were it was currently assaulting and flew upwards. Up, up up it flew until it was several leagues above the battle field. Then it stopped. It floated in mid-air for a moment then pulled into a dive. It gave out a mighty cry as it bore down apon us. I looked for escape but found none: to the left, there was a ruined tower that blocked off any retreat in that direction. To the right, several White Uruks were climbing up the steps and preparing for the final assault. Outside the wall there was a large moat and inside there were sharpened stakes. No escape. I grasped my bow for a final shot, and aimed carefully towards the dragon's eye. I pulled back the bow string slowly and prepared to launch. Justn as the dragon was within range, I let loose my arrow and it flew too far to the left. It slid harmlessly off of his tough hide. I prepared myself for the great hurricane of fire, but it never started. Just as the dragon got close we heard a great cry go out from the iner wall: "Eagles! The Eagles are coming!"

Three eagles bore down upon the fire-drake knocking it off balance: instead of eliminating us, the fire flew into the endless legions of orcs, and they perished like straw in a great flame. Within moments, nine tenths of the enemy's forces were no more. The dragon shook off it's attackers, killing one of them, but it was too late: The orcs were in full route because of the great damage the dragon fire had done. The black-clad commander, still perched upon his dragon, looked round for a moment, then seeing the great route of his troops and realizing that things were hopless he flew back into the North. The battle had been won by a faction nobody had counted on: The Eagles of Sinthionel. Now the defenders became the attackers, the attackers became the prey. Everywere orcs were running mindlessly away from the battle, and the High King Ithlion's cavalry along with the Eagles of Sinthionel persued them. The battle was over, and the free peoples had won!