Board Thread:Middle Earth Roleplays/@comment-26210095-20151203023942/@comment-26444332-20151206050808

Faenor and his company and Celegorm and his army march to the aid of Fëanor, hurrying to aid the Ñoldo. On the fields of battle they see him standing, bodyguards dead around him as he fights off an army of foes.

Faenor rushes forwards, heedless of the danger surrounding him, desperately trying to get to Fëanor.

"To arms! With me!" he cries, drawing the seven Sons of Fëanor to his rally. With a valiant call the eight, seven Ñoldor and a single Sindar, plunge into the fray, swords and axes flashing as they cut a path through the press to the desperate Fëanor. Surrounding the wounded Ñoldo are Balrogs, and Gothmog their lord among them.

With a wordless cry Faenor leaps through the ring of shadow and fire, landing in the centre to stand over the body of fallen Fëanor. He begins to duel the Balrogs, the seven sons also coming and driving the accursed shades of Morgoth back. One remains, though. Gothmog. With a bellow of anger he goes against Faenor, raging that one such as him would stand against an Ainu, who Was before all else.

With a clash of steel and burning light Balrog and Sindar begin to fight one another, Gothmog's blackened and twisted sword stopped at every turn by the silvery blade of Faenor, Glânlass.

Long had that hardy weapon been in the service of the royal marchwarden of Thingol, but it was not made to last forever. Gothmog knocks the sword out of Faenor's hand, the Grey-elven sword skidding away from him. Gothmog steps on it, weight like a fallen hill, shattering the blade even as Narsil would in latter years.

But Faenor catches up a spear from one of Fëanor's fallen bodyguards, and throws it. With a scream that breaks the rocks in two Gothmog clutches at his shoulder where the point of the weapon has buried itself. Orcs begin to cover the Balrog's retreat as the demon pulls the spear out and begins to retreat back to Angband, howling in agony.