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Minas Ithil/ Top of the Walls

Menegil Belmagol



"Thou jest! Neither i choose, and all of them i choose to thee! I shalt not return to Valinor yet, dark one!" Menegil hollered, as he fell back, and quickly arose, ducking from the swooping fell-beast.

But it was then. A spark of hope erupted between the darkness. The stars erupted from the clouds of Mordor, beautiful, in all of their splendor, glimmering as the drops of Telperion-dew

"A Elbereth Gilthoniel,
silivren penna míriel
o menel aglar elenath!
Na-chaered palan-díriel
o galadhremmin ennorath,
Fanuilos, le linnathon
nef aear, si nef aearon!

A Elbereth Gilthoniel!
o menel palan-díriel
le nallon sí di'nguruthos!
A tiro nin, Fanuilos!"

He sang, as he laughed, his sword glowing like a beacon in the darkness, a star of Varda itself. The fell-beast no longer dared to dive upon that immense beacon of light, and as the beast hesitated, Menegil stroke the Nazgul, that was stepping back, filled with hatred, for those were sacred words, that evoked the Lady of the Stars, and indeed a star Menegil hold in his hand, that now was starting to sear his invisible flesh.

"This is a light that your evil shall never darken! Begone, darkling, or this starfire shall trespass your hide!" He said, with unyielding fury, for the Nazgul's words awakened in him a fiery rage.

"Thou stand in front of the greatest Teleri West of the Seas! I strongly advise thee to step back, underling!" He said, as he toned a chant of power, that made his sword erupt in a blinding, burning light, that was now being reflected by his golden armour, and in that moment, it was as if an image of Telperion and Laurelin were now stanging, uncorrupted, in front of the darkness. His words were so authoritary, that Menegil would be indeed amazed, if the Ulairë dared to strike him again.

Minas Ithil/ Top of the Wall

Menegil Belmagol



He could not dodge it. The fell-beast's teeth plunged into Menegil's flesh, puncturing his armour like a hot knife through butter. The pain was overwhelming, as the creature bit more, and more, blood all over his gowns and armour. In an attempt to stop the creature, Menegil stroke the creature's face, with success. The creature backed, wrivling in pain, as her wound burned in white fire, a rather deep cut through her eye. He was now on his knees, touching the wound. It was a miracle that the creature had not severed his arm completely, but some moments more, and the creature would make a feast out of his arm, and probably of himself.

He spotted the Nazgul, directing at two women, that he could not distinguish, due to his pain. He stumbled forward, and with a last, desperate effort, he impaled the Nazgul in his back with his sword. As a white flame burned his cloak, the only thing Menegil did was near his mouth to the Nazgul's ear (if it had an ear), and whispered, in a faultering, exhausted tone

"Taste Varda's fire, Morgoth underling! You should have killed me when you could! Go back to your master's feet! About your pet...it is wrivling in pain with the same fire that consumes you! One more thing; NEVER call me young, child of darkness, for i am older than the Atanatari!!" And with these words, he impaled him twice more, and fell back, exhausted by the bloodloss, and for daring to strike at the wraith.

Minas Ithil

Glorfirith answered the other Elf's question while shooting arrows.

"Sauron is trying to threaten us with his Nazgul because we managed to rescue Isildur from his grasp deep in the heart of Mordor."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw one of the Nazgul approaching. She was going to pretend she didn't see him hoping to use the element of surprise against him.

In just a minute she saw Menegil run up and attack the Nazgul from behind. She ducked as an arrow flew past near her ear and chanced a glance in their direction. She saw the Nazgul strike Menegil and she turned away as he made a motion to turn towards her and Genevieve.

She spoke to Genevieve through her thoughts "There is a Nazgul behind us. He thinks we do not know." She slowly loosed her sword in its sheathe prepared to attack him when he least expected it.

Minas Ithil - Outer Wall

Standing atop the high wall and shooting down at orcs himself, Anárion aids his fellow Gondorians and elven allies as they fend off the enemy soldiers. The elegant bow he grips was a gift from his wife's people and he proudly uses it to strike down the Enemies of the free peoples of Endor.

A loud screech forces him to turn and look skyward in time to see a fell beast diving towards him. The Prince instinctively dives to the ground and as he turns up, releases an arrow aiming for the beast's long slithering neck. Another arrow whizzes by the beast's underside as it steers to the right. Anárion's own arrow thus misses. His dark brown eyes search his surroundings for the archer and he watches as the fell beast and the Nazgûl riding it dives at his brother's wife, Kareswen. Anárion curses under his breath and loads another arrow, aiming for the ugly beast's head. Launching his arrow, he watches as it clips the beast's wing instead.

Minas Ithil

Glorfirith’s warning took a moment to sink in. Never before had Genevieve ever seen a minion of the dark lords as great as the Nazgul, much less face him in battle. She reminded herself that her lack of movement would give her away just as her turning around and matching the terrible creature’s stare, and so as fluidly as her nimble limbs could manage, she raised her sword subtly, just a bit to ensure that any move the creature behind her would make against her would be deflected as best she could.
Waves of panic washed over her—though looking upon her, one would never know other then a slight lightening of her already pale face—as she realized that she was not protected by her dwarven armour. She had left her wonderful metal shirt in the Grey Havens and wore at the moment nothing but a heavy travelling cloak and a blouse and skirt.
As the dark creature behind her screamed out his warning Genevieve turned and levelled her sword in perfect posture. He was absolutely hideous in the elf’s eyes. Adorned in black robes and riding on a featherless flying creature not of this world, he lunged out in attempt to strike the High Elf Glorfirith. Genevieve exploded into motion with an attempted parry with her highbred sword and managed to deflect—though not block—the evil blade wrought in the black lands.

Begone from this city you wretch, or my companion and I will run you through. Your master may not be killed by any man, but you may certainly be killed by two elves, have no doubt!

She shouted the threat convincingly and with such coldness that her own skin crawled. She didn’t know if her enemy had skin to quiver as hers did, but she doeuted it mattered anyway as he continued on with the attack without missing a beat.

Minas Ithil :: The Ramparts
Akhôrahil of the Nine

It turned out that Elf-maidens were better fighters than they appeared. Likely, Akhôrahil could have just slightly found victory, if he were not so terribly wounded. But alas, he was, and so it was in Wilma his beloved that he placed his chief hopes. So long as Wilma was alongside him, dealing with one of the Elves, he would certainly find himself the victor. He laughed at the Gondorians. They would be scrubbing the entrails of both Man and Elf from the ramparts that night!

"You do not fear me? Big deal. I still have a very pointy sword. Fear is not needed to wield such a dark token of my strength!" He easily parried Glorfirith’s blow with his blade Angamarth. Thrusting his sword forward, the Elf stumbled backwards in her effort to avoid being impaled, just narrowly avoiding a trip to the stone floor below.

Meanwhile, Wilma, recovering from Glorfirtih's earlier blow, decided that Genevieve would be a much better feast. She dove down upon the wretched Elf, mouth wide open so that she may feast upon her insides. Truly, the stomach of a fell-beast was never completely filled.

Akhôrahil grinned at Wilma his beloved even as he brought his mace down upon the cold stone floor. The Elf rolled aside quickly. Seven times did Akhôrahil bring down his mace in a crazed attempt to kill the maiden; too fast for Glorfirith to stand, but too slow for him to kill her. Yet even as the seventh stroke fell, Akhôrahil knew she would not survive an eighth, for she was growing increasingly weary. The eight strike, indeed, would have killed poor Glorfirith, if not for the strange twist of events that was brought along by Geneveive the Elf.

((lol, everything’s a little out of order, but be one with the mistakes and the universe will make sense again. Thank you Falathrim for the go-ahead! Now she will die! twisted ))

Minas Ithil

Knocked to the ground and dazed from hitting her head on the stone rampant, Genevieve slowly gained back her bearings just in time to see a dangerous set of teeth descending upon her. Before she knew that she was in immediate danger, her limbs worked on their own accord diving out of the way as the great fell beast unintentionally head-but the stone floor. Her first instinct was to go to her sword and fell the beast before it had a chance to recuperate, but the great creature was far swifter then what he appeared, and so he was on his feet with wings spread before the elf got anywhere near the proper distance for a successful strike.
The fell beast attempted flight and almost made to the skies, but Genevieve, with bow in her hand, shot it down to the rampant with four rapidly progressive arrows. Her momentary victory was short-lived though as the great beast turned itself around and dropped the archer to the ground a second time with one swipe of its wing. It approached her with mouth wide, thinking that it had won itself a much-earned meal, but the persistent elf was on her feet again and assuming a perfect stance.
The creature snapped at the elf once. Genevieve noticed the energy it took to make the move and understood how tired the beast must have been, so when it snapped a second time, she knew it was her time to end the fray. She leaped to the side as the elongated neck reached out for a bite and she pierced the creature’s jugular three times in rapid succession, but took a mighty blow for her efforts as one of the great fangs of the mighty opponent scrapped along her sword arm, rendering it useless.
Genevieve took her weapon in her other hand and lunged at the wounded monster, causing it to retract and then she pushed her air bourn body up to leap over it’s neck and stabbed down hard, cutting into grey brain all the way through until the sword hit the stone of the floor.
The fell beast was still alive but out of the fight, dieing slowly with it’s killer straddling it’s serpent-like neck. It let out a great whine in it’s last moments of life, drawing the attention of its master. Genevieve saw the advantage this creature’s death gave to her and her companion and so she spun her sword around, nearly slicing the monster’s head off in one stroke.
Genevieve realized this was a horrible mistake when the headless body started thrashing about wildly. She herself was pinned under the beast for a moment until the neck bounced back up and released her.
Genevieve staggered about surprisingly animatedly for one so grievously wounded, but she was fleeing for her very life, only to collapse a short distance form the creature semi conscious and near death.

((but not actually dead Falathrim, and I’m too tired to proof read, so tell me where I made mistakes))