Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplay Board/@comment-25356210-20151104005706/@comment-26444332-20151109034303

Faenor spins through a knot of seething Yrch, lopping off multiple Orcish heads, then looks to where Glosur calls. He nods breathlessly, then shouts for the now-depleted Galadhrim to fall back.

"Nan Glosur! Nan Naugrim!" He cries, and the Galadhrim begin to slowly retreat towards the Dwarven position.

An orc comes up behind Faenor, sword raised. It dies with a puzzled expression on its face, a reversed Aeglos(sword, not spear) through the creature's abdomen. Faenor himself slams the hilt of Ringil into the ground.

"Serve me!" he commands, and storm-clouds begin to gather as a fell wind from the north begins to blow. Frost now begins to cover the cracked and bare ground, and snow starts to fall. Faenor sweeps his armoured hand forwards, multiple large icicles mimicking the movement of his hand to plow through many Yrch and impale them on the blood-streaked ice. Creatures of ice and snow rise, their forms of snow and their weapons and armor of ice. Twenty there are in all, each the size of a troll. They plow into the Yrch as the Galadhrim begin to filter through the Dwarven stakes.