The Hundred Year War

E

EquinoxSol

Guest
Original poster
Martial law had been declared six days ago. That was how everyone within the city's walls knew that Lord Erethor was afraid. For nearly ten years, they had been able to keep out of the war, but now it seemed that the Orcs were too close for comfort. Word had come recently that they had also been marching on the other two cities closest to the territory lines, so that none of them could send help. If they were to defend themselves, they would have to do it alone.

Erethor hadn't slept in the last four of those six days, knowing that he would need to be awake the moment the attack began. Everything was in a standstill, even the servants at the castle hadn't preformed any actual duties in at least the last two days. The few soldiers the city had were poised at the walls, archers atop the guardtowers, swordsmen waiting at the gates. Easily a hundred men had volunteered for the defense in the last day alone.

It was an archer who saw the army first. His call rang out through the town, and instantly the women and children hid indoors, waiting for the inevitable battle. Erenthor's singular guard remained by his side, refusing to leave even for a minute.

A second call was heard, this one a signal for attack. As the archers raised their crossbows, the three servants of the castle remained in the castle, scared not only for their own lives, but also for Erenthor's. Battle cries and shouts rang out, and the fight for Lysoria had begun.
 
The army had been marching for a few days, at the Warchief's orders. He had sent similar armies towards the two other nearby cities, yet this was the most important one. With it in their grip, there was nothing standing between the Orcish hordes and the Elven capital. And if the city wasn't too ravaged, they'd even have a decent place to set up a forward base.

In the front of the forces, one of the Orcs stood out. He was larger, and he was wearing large, dark armor. At the first sight of their target, the large one lifted his arm and shouted a command for his forces to stop. "Prepare the ballistas!" He ordered. He was sure that the Elves had spotted them, yet he did not care. From what the goblin spies had reported, the town didn't have a very large defensive force. Of course, the goblins might not have seen all the defenders, or they might have had a bit too strong belief in their own army, yet the chieftain was confident, if only because he believed the Elves to be small, frail pansies. "Chief Rogdush! The ballistas are ready!" One of his warriors said, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Very well." He pulled his claymore slowly out from it's sheet on his back. He pointed it towards the city. "ATTACK!"

Large bolts flew towards the city, and the green horde charged, letting out a ear-splitting warcry as they did. A great wave of muscle and steel, quickly approaching the walls.
 
The three elves in the castle, upon hearing the sounds of fighting, stood up, almost simultaneously. "I've got to go out there," Seregor, the family's cook, said. While he wasn't as tall as many elves were, he was able to hold his own against some of the best fighters in the city, and would have been Erethor's guard had he not lost an eye in an accident.

"No," Daerela cried, grabbing his wrist as he made a move to leave, "Seregor, I can't...I can't live without you." Her last words came out as a whisper. She and Seregor had been together for nearly three months, though both had had feelings for the other for at least a year before that, and now, to think he would be gone, it tore her heart apart.

Mixed emotions tore through his glassy eye, and he seemed to be fighting with himself about what he should be doing. Finally, he said, "I love you," before pushing her away from him and leaving. Daerela attempted to follow, but he told her that she had to stay. She did, at least for a few minutes, while the other remaining elf, Hadiir, tried to consol her.

Her mind made up now, she left, heading out into the city. It was worse than she could have imagined: elven screams and shouts echoed across the city, mixed with the war cries of the Orcs as they advanced. She spotted Seregor with many other soldiers, furiously trying to push back the advancing army. He had gotten a blade, hopefully that would protect him, thought Daerela, as she backed into the shadows of an alley, watching. She just had to know he would be okay...

Hadiir approached her, taking almost the same route she had to the alley, and whispered fiercely to her, "The El'set tribe is approaching from the west. Remember how Erethor had sent word to them months ago? They finally said yes and are nearby. We might actually be able to win this..." His eyes grew wide as he realized how insensitively he had spoken, and apologized, before handing her a small dagger, "Just in case," and leaving, heading back to the castle.

After a while of keeping a watch over Seregor, Daerela finally decided that he would be fine. She left, running back to the castle, wanting to be there with Erethor's family. Once inside a main tower, she glanced out the window to see the grey flags of the El'set, a tribe of wild elves. They didn't normally have good relations with the cities, but Erethor is personal friends with their leader. She passed him on her way to his family's quarters, he indeed looked terrified. But, he was armed and heading to the front entrance hall, as if he was going to join the fight. His guard followed close behind.
 
The green tide hit the walls with their full might, ramming the gates and climbing the walls. Some fell to the Elven archers, yet it barely thinned the horde. On the walls, the archers were cut down slaughtered, and at the ruined gates, the swordsmen were cut down at the gates. The brute force of the Orcs was more than enough to slay the Elven militia, most of who didn't seem to have much training.

Slightly after the initial push, the battle had started moving down the streets, towards the castle. The Elves put up fierce resistance, fighting for their lives, homes and families. The large, dark figure of Rogdush slowly entered the gate, resting his claymore on his shoulder, other Orcs passing him to join the fray. He stomped on the heads of the occasional Elf lying on the ground bleeding to death, quickening their deaths. No matter how much he had started hating Elves during the war, he never let anyone lie suffering.

Suddenly, one of the goblin messengers ran up to him and almost shouted "More pointy ears are commin from da west boss!" Rogdush looked west, as if he could see through the buildings and towards the army, before demanding "Are they a long way off?!" "A few hours at the most, prolly less boss!" Rogdush cracked his neck to the side, feeling both annoyed and excited. On the one hand, it wouldn't be as easy an victory as expected. On the other hand, it'd be more Elves to kill. "Keep advancing towards the castle!" He shouted. "Once we've taken it, we'll deal with the others!" After shouting the orders, he started picking up speed, and joined his brothers at the front-lines of the battle, starting to cut down the slender Elves.

The Orcish forces kept pushing the Elves back, towards the castle, soon reaching the front gates, with Rogdush leading the attack. The bulk of the forces were there in the front, while a few had started preparing the walls and gates with the goblins, readying the walls for the Elven counter-attack.
 
Daerela met up with Hadiir atop the tower, thinking that it would be safe, and if worse comes to worse, then it was a long drop to the ground. Hadiir had a spyglass, probably borrowed from the library downstairs and was looking through it, grimacing as he watched a particularly gruesome attack preformed by an Orc.

"It's no use," he murmured, his thin eyebrows pressed together. "We should've been preparing for this battle months, no, years, ago..." he continued grumbling to himself, before glancing back at Daerela and saying, "Watch the trapdoor, make sure no one comes in. If someone tries to, tell me." He continued looking through the glass, before taking in a sharp breath.

"What is it?" Daerela asked, worry creasing her brow.

He brushed off her question, but she persisted. Finally, he said, looking at her with his grassy green eyes, "I-I j-j-just watched...I just watched those bastards kill S-Seregor," his voice grew angrier. "Seregor, you damned bastard. Always have to be the hero, don't you?" It seemed that he was talking to himself more than anything now, and was looking out into the distance. He had always tried to be the strong, independent one, but in times like this, where his inner strength was tested, that facade faded away.

Daerela, in tears now, took the glass from him, and instead of focusing it upon the fight, she looked to the west, where still the El'set marched. It wasn't uniform, wild elves never were, and their whoops and shouts of grandeur could be heard even over the sounds of battle. The only one who wasn't yelling and jumping around was their leader, as made apparent by his tribal markings on his face. He instead looked like he was mentally preparing himself.

Erethor and the El'set leader had been friends a long time ago, when both were young, but Erethor was the younger of the two by several years. Indeed, he was only slightly older than Daerela, having gained the title of lord right after he became an adult. The tribe's leader looked like he was about to throw up, and was probably imagining all the horrible ways he and his friend might die today.

Daerela turned away, Hadiir still shouting at the air. It was a massacre. She hoped that Erethor could see that too, and surrender. At least then, more people wouldn't die.
 
Rogdush pulled his sword violently from the chest of the Elf on the floor. He put it gently on his shoulder, before taking a moment to breathe. Wearing full armor while swinging a sword like that could be tiresome for anyone, but he had no need to exhaust himself. They had gotten into the main hall of the castle. Some of the Elves tried fleeing, others tried to surrender, yet there was still some who simply did not give up. Those who gave up were mostly knocked down, yet spared, while the others were not so lucky.

Out of nowhere, Rogdush felt a sharp pain in his shoulder. One of the little buggers had jumped down on him from the upper area and stabbed him in the shoulder with a dagger. In one swift motion, Rogdush grabbed the little pest on his back around the neck, before slamming him into the ground before him. He lifted his sword over him, and grinned wickedly, before plunging it down on his neck, severing his head from his body. He reached up and puller the dagger from his shoulder, looking at it for a moment. "Short and light. As if made for Elves to fight other Elves." He muttered to himself, before tossing it aside.

"For Gorgutz!" He roared, before once more charging at his enemies, this time aiming to take down one who looked important. With one swing of his mighty sword, the Elf's weapon was shattered. He followed up by knocking him down with his shoulder and put the tip of his sword on the man's throat. "Do you give up, little one?" He asked, with a wide grin on his face.
 
Daerela quickly grew desperate as she saw the Orcs get into the castle, and tried to rouse Hadiir from his shock-induced stupor, but it was no use. Even after several different tries, she brought her hand back, and struck him across the face. That seemed to do the trick, and he looked at her in surprise before she explained to him what happened in a single breath.

Hadiir, we've got to get out, they're in the castle." He shook his head.

"Dae, it's...it's just not worth it. I mean, it's either die or get captured by the damned Orcs. I don't really see a difference between the two..." his stare was dead, as if he had already given up. "If they were able to kill Seregor like that, there isn't any reason to do much of anything anymore, you know?"

She didn't, something he didn't seem to get, so instead he returned his gaze back to the city, not using the spyglass anymore. When she had become fed up with this act, she stood up, shouting, "Hadiir, you damn, selfish bastard! Seregor was my friend, too, probably more than he was to you, but do you see me breaking down? No, and this is because I understand the severity of the situation, something you don't." Her last words ended as a shout, and she turned away angrily, heading back down the ladder that led into the attic.

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Lord Erethor was growing desperate. He had placed his family in his study, one of the most secure rooms in all the castle, so he knew they were safe, at least for now, but he hadn't hid. He wasn't that type of leader. Instead, he had put his skills in fighting to the test, his guard watching his back. Neither fell for a long while, until his guard was pulled into a fight against three Orcs at the same time. Even then, it left Erethor's back open, and he was forced into a corner.

It was then that a wave of pain coursed through him, such a sharp and electrifying one that it nearly forced him to the ground. Clutching his chest with one hand, he cursed himself for not taking care of himself in the past few days. He needed the medicine his wife kept with her. Otherwise, this would get harder than it already was.

Still, as he saw one of his strategists on the ground, a large Orc poised to kill him, he stepped forwards, and shouted at the top of his lungs, "Stop!" At the sound of his commanding voice, some of the fighting on their side ceased, and he was able to speak just barely above normal to be heard. "I, as Lord of the Elven city of Lysoria, declare a surrender. Call off your men." Hanging his head in shame, he tried to tell himself that this was the right thing to do.
 
Rogdush turned his gaze towards a Elf that suddenly shouted "Stop!", before surrendering. Rogdush lifted his sword from the throat of the Elf under him, before turning towards his the crowd. "You heard the pansy! We won brothers! Now take the live ones and chain them down! Whoever resist die! Whoever submits lives!" He shouted, as he once more put his sword on his shoulder and started walking over to the Lord.

"Wise choice, little man. Enough of your men have died. But there's still the problem of the band from the west. And until they're taken care of, all of you are to be kept in chains, to prevent... Unfortunate acts of heroism. And that includes you." He said with a slight frown. He never did enjoy chaining someone down, yet he wasn't going to take any chances.

The Orcs scattered, looking for stragglers and the families hiding all over the town. They all got rounded up and brought towards the town square. They also gathered whatever valuables they could find, and brought that as well. The town square that had gotten a crude barrier set up in one area, to contain the Elves, and a pile of valuables in the other end. The women and children were simply put inside the barrier, while the men got a large, heavy chain placed around their necks, which were attached to the walls. The Lord, however, also got a chain around his neck, but he got pulled around by two goblins at half his height, following Rogdush.

After they were sure that most of the Elven forces were either killed or chained, the Orcs started preparing for the wild Elves from the west. Rogdush stood on top of the wall, looking towards them. He turned towards the Lord. "Those might be a bit more of a challenge, actually. They look a bit more... Savage and battle ready, somehow." He chuckled at his own words. "They'll be slaughtered nonetheless!" Once more, a grin was on his face, mocking the Lord.

A small group of goblins were heading up the tower, looking for anything the Orcs could have overlooked. And they found something. A Elven woman. For a moment, they were frozen in surprise, having been told there was none left. The bravest of the goblins took a step towards the woman and pointed, what was to him a shortsword, at her, before yelling, in what he hoped was a intimidating voice. "Surrenda now, pansy! It's five ov us and onle one ov yeh!"
 
Erethor was glad that his strategist lived, but noticing that was only a coping mechanism for what he had done. He hated it, the weakness. When he was a child, he had often imagined protecting his city from hordes upon hordes of Orcs, of being a hero to his people, and being known to even the Elven king as the lord who refused surrender even at the end. But it hadn't played out that way, did it, he thought to himself bitterly.

As the large Orc approached him, Erethor's hand instinctively went to his sword, but he forced it to return to its resting position so as to avoid provoking him. The lord's dark eyes flashed dangerously as the Orc demeaned him and then told him that everyone was going to be put in chains. The very idea was ridiculous, to put an elf in chains, it hadn't happened in nearly as long as the war had been raging. Elves were too proud for it, a saddening thought, as many would attempt to fight back.

He watched as his people were forced into chains, people he had known all his life degraded as their precious belongings were taken from them. He watched as fathers tried to console their wives and children, and the families that were left without one sat in silence, mourning their lost ones. Erethor despised how he was paraded around behind the Orc leader, but he kept his chin held high, keeping his eyes narrowed and his back straight.

Atop the wall, he was certain that Shadowsigh, the wild elves' leader, could see him. Bowing his head so he wouldn't have to look him in the eyes as he approached, though in his peripheral vision he could see the look on his friend's face. Shadowsigh wouldn't give in, even when it was obvious that it was a lost cause. He had been that way when he was younger, and there was no doubt in Erethor's mind that it had translated into adulthood. When the Orc turned toward him, he kept his gaze away from the larger man, fighting back the anger that flared up as he told him that the El'set would all be killed.

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Daerela had been shocked into paralysis for a second as the five goblins came upon her. When one of them brandished his sword and spoke to her, it broke the spell she had been put under, and she instantly drew the small dagger that Hadiir had given her earlier. She wasn't going to break down like he did and give up. Still, the odds look terrible against her. Tensing up, she prepared for the attack, knowing that she had next-to-no skills in swordplay.
 
The large group of wild elves was approaching, and the Orcs were ready. The ladders had been taken inside the walls and the gate had been put back up, with some materials taken from the nearest buildings to repair the worst damages to it. A large portion of the Orcs were placed on the walls, many with bows and some with crossbows. At the gate, and inside the walls stood the bulk of the forces, ready with weapons in hand, while some small groups were making sure the prisoners weren't causing any trouble.

"What chance do you think you have?! We took this city with little trouble, and now we have the advantage of the walls! I know you're more barbaric than your brethren here, yet we are stronger than you in every way! Turn now! Or your army will be slaughtered, and the survivors will be our prisoners!" Rogdush shouted as loudly as he could towards the approaching army, not truly wanting more blood to be shed. He was damn well prepared to defend the newly taken city, yet the streets were red enough, both of the blood of his enemies, and that of his brethren.

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The goblin in front of the group almost jumped back when the woman drew a sword on the size of his own, yet stood his ground. He nodded towards the others, who also pulled blades and spears. "Da orra pansies gave up! We're in control o' da castle! Ya'll nevah get outta 'ere alive!" He shouted with a trembling voice. If it was one thing Goblins weren't know for, it was bravery, yet this one was trying not to let fear get the better of him.
 
"Maybe that's what I want," Daerela murmured, and without warning, stepped forwards, slashing at the goblin, all the grief she had felt this day behind it. She didn't want to die today, though, not at all, and prayed to every god she knew of to give her the strength to win this battle.

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Shadowsigh seemed to smile at the Orc's challenge, the markings, piercings, and scars that dotted his face distorting slightly. While they didn't have access to crossbows, trebuchets, and other various weapons used by Elves in the city, they had the ferocity of the animals they learned how to survive from.

That fool Erethor...he just didn't get the mechanics of fighting like Shadowsigh did. When they were children, it was fine, but now, when war was real, that failure would probably cost him his life, if not today, then sometime else. This all could have been avoided if Erethor had actually focused on the impending march upon his city, than this wouldn't have happened, and his people wouldn't be lying dead in the streets of the city. While he was a damned good swordsman and had a smart mind, he tended to miss important details. It would be his downfall for sure.

When the wild elves were within shooting distance of the city walls, one of Shadowsigh's fighters handed him a bow, arrow already notched. The bow was of a dark brown wood, a camouflage of greenery covering it, and the arrow had a blood red feather. Raising it up, still walking, he took careful aim for the Orc standing next to Erethor. Pointing the arrow at the Orc's eye, he let it fly, the hand-crafted projectile shot forwards.
 
The goblin fell to the floor, screaming and clutching the cut on his chest. It wasn't really a lethal cut, yet he was sure he was dead before he hit the ground. The other Goblins reacted with anger at the attack of their brother, charging at the woman, daggers and spears held high. They were short and weak, yet quick. But in their minds, they all had a feeling none of them would be walking down from the tower.

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Rogdush squinted, trying to see what the Elves outside the walls were doing. Then it hit him. Right in his left eye. He threw himself around and let out a cry of pain and anger. The Orcs around him looked at their leader in shock. After a few moments, Rogdush stood straight again, and turned back towards the Elves. He grabbed hold of the arrow, and with a loud roar of anger, more than pain, he pulled the arrow out, his eyes still stuck to it. He was bleeding heavily from the eye socket, yet he shut it to try to stop the flood of blood. His right eye was now blood red as well, and he almost seemed to grow slightly larger.

"KILL THE DAMN COWARDS!!" He roared, louder than anyone had done during that battle. The archers aimed their bows and crossbows, sending torrents of arrows and bolts at the Elves. Rogdush turned towards the men standing below the wall. "DON'T JUST STAND THERE! KILL THE DAMN POINTY EARED GITS!" He roared at them. His anger seemingly spreading to his troops, they let out a loud warcry as well, before throwing the gates open and storming towards the Elves.

Rogdush grabbed hold of Erethor's collar and lifted up and held him over the edge of the wall. "I WAS IN A DAMN GOOD MOOD, ELF! NOW WHO DO YOU THINK WILL SUFFER MY RAGE?!! MY DAMN PRISONERS, THAT'S WHO!!" He roared towards the wild Elf leader that had shot him, not caring if he was still alive or not.
 
Shadowsigh let out a breath as he saw the arrow had hit the Orc, but hadn't killed him. That was what he had been hoping for, that he'd be able to shoot the arrow straight into his brain and finish half the job before the fighting even started. Without their leader, the Orcs would be uncoordinated. But, it seemed that strategy was useless now.

Taking his sword from its sheath, Shadowsigh raised it to the sky, and shouted, "Forwards!" before barreling forwards, ignoring the shouts of the Orc he had shot. He quickly took stock of the arrows coming at his men, and ducked beneath one just as it whizzed at his head, the arrow catching a lock of his dark hair.

The fools opened the gates. Smirking to himself, he kept running forwards until he reached the first of the Orcs, running into the man with his shoulder. Twisting around, he slashed at his knees with the sword, aiming to put him on the ground, a wide grin plastered on his face. He hadn't been in a good fight like this in years. However, upon a quick glance at Erethor, to see him held over the wall, his heart felt like it stopped beating for a moment.

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Erethor hadn't been prepared for the Orc to grab him. If he had, then maybe he might have been able to fight back or dodge, but apparently fate hadn't had that in store for him. However, looking down, he almost wished fate didn't have such a cruel sense of humor...He could distinctly hear the whooping hollers of the El'set, their love for battle unmatched by the hundreds, possibly thousands, of Orcs behind the wall.

Focusing his gaze upon the Orc, he gritted his teeth, trying to keep breathing normally. The back of his collar was digging into his throat painfully, and he was afraid that the fabric would break from his weight. His legs kicking uselessly beneath him, his heart beating like a rabbit's, Erethor moved his eyes to the sky, wordlessly moving his mouth, sending a silent prayer to the gods. But not for him. It was for his people.

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Daerela, after taking care of the first goblin, turned to the next one, and so on, taking a few slashes, but nothing that might kill her. Placing her hand upon the wall to balance herself, she wiped her face, trying to get rid of the blood there, but it only smeared and the blood on her hands added to the mess. Sighing, she went down the stairs of the tower, her blood-stained hands leaving marks along the walls.
 
The Orcs would have been taken by surprise about the Elves savagery, had it not been for their anger. They cared little for pain nor fear, only feeling the anger and the excitement of battle. As the two armies crashed, many fell on both sides. The Elves had the benefit of speed, yet the Orcs made up for it with strength. Bodies started to pile, and blood flowed in rivers.
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Rogdush held onto the collar tightly, as he watched his forces battle the Elves. He pulled the little elf slightly closer. "Your friend's a fool! He cannot possibly win this! And it's all because of you, isn't it? You were the one requesting his assistance, weren't you?" Rogdush asked with a evil grin. "It's your fault that your kind is slaughtered here, isn't it? Just think of all the lives that could be spared if YOU hadn't asked for their assistance. Even now, more and more of them are killed, with you dangling helplessly, watching your own mistake."

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As the blood covered woman came down the stairs, all the Goblins in the rooms stopped and stared at her for a moment. Then they all screamed and dropped whatever they were carrying, before running towards the castle's gate. One of the Orcs on guard duty notices this and entered, wading through the fleeing masses. He saw the armed woman, and quickly pulled his axe from his belt. With a grin, he said "A little straggler murdering our Goblins, eh?"
 
Daerela dropped her knife as soon as the Orc pulled his axe from his belt, raising her hands at head-height, in a signal of surrender. The goblins weren't a problem, but an Orc would almost certainly best her in a fair fight. Kicking the blade away from her, she took a deep breath, and whispered, "I...I can't fight anymore. I just can't..."

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Erethor returned his gaze to the Orc when he began addressing him, pausing in his silent prayer. Guilt crossed the mix of emotions that shown in his eyes for a second, and for that second he truly believed that the death of the elves down there were his fault, but just as soon as the feeling came, he shook it away, instead focusing on the fear of being held easily one hundred and fifty feet above the ground. Taking a deep breath, he spoke, his words hardly above a whisper, "They came of their own accord. They came because they believe in the integrity of the Elven race and that we have a right to fight for it."

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Shadowsigh fought tooth, nail, and blade in his attack, and it was all literally. Several times he would leap at an Orc, biting him savagely while his claw-like fingernails would scratch at his skin. Indeed, the taste of blood still lingered in his mouth, and he reveled in it. Many of his men fell, but he would make sure that they got a proper burial. As the ground became slick with blood, he had to be sure of his footsteps, and fear crossed his heart for a second as he nearly fell. If he had, then it would surely be the death of him.
 
The Ork walked up to Daerela and tossed her onto his shoulder. "You got any more little friends hiding around here? Or do we have to get more Goblins killed before we'll know?" He asked, as he started walking outside. As he did, a few of the little greenskins peeked inside, to check if it was safe. "Get yer arses back in dere!" A particularly large and dark skinned Goblin said, as he shoved the ones in front of him ahead. "An if I hear o' one more o' da Elfs killin my lads, I'll damn well kill it meself!"
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"Of course you can fight for your race. It's what we do. I remember when I was young. They told tales of Elves attacking the villages of smaller clans!" Rogdush said, as he swung the Elf onto the wall again. "And when they fought back, suddenly your whole race declared war on all of our race!" He shoved him towards the two Goblins again, who grabbed the chain. "Or did you hear a different story?" Rogdush asked, as he brought his hand up to his face, to get some of the blood off. He groaned slightly as his hand ran over his empty eye-socket, his face turning slightly angrier again.
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Some of the Orcs had started trying to keep a slight distance from one, particularly savage Elf. One biting and clawing at them. Yet there wasn't much room to back up, as more Orcs came pushing from behind, and Elves were on the other side. Yet suddenly, one Orc with a rather large jaw charged against the savage Elf, attempting to grab and bite the head of the little bugger.
 
In the midst of a fight with an Orc, his sword got caught in one of his circular piercings, the one on his right ear, and the Orc took his chance, twisting the blade and tearing Shadowsigh's ear. Cursing and instinctively bringing a hand up to his ear, he rushed the Orc, taking his sword arm with the blade of his father, and not noticing the Orc behind him charging at him. Hearing rushed footsteps behind him, he glanced back, and was caught surprised, as he readied his blade for a fight once more.

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Erethor hadn't said or acknowledged it, but he was relieved to be on the wall again. Wincing as he was pushed by him, he was silent as the Orc told his version of why the war started, resisting the urge to interject. He looked angry enough as it is. When he asked if Erethor had heard a different reason as to why the war started, he said, "The assassination of our Archbishop War Commander Lavanor. All evidence points to Orcish work. He was one of the greatest Elves of his time. We simply acted in retaliation for an attack, but it was the Orcs who made it a bigger situation than it was, and declared war on us."

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Daerela hated being thrown over the Orcs shoulder, hated the feeling of his hands upon her. She didn't answer him as he asked if there were any more Elves in the castle, even though she was almost certain that Hadiir was still on top of the tower. If he wanted to let his presence be known, then so be it.
 
The Goblins once more started roaming the castle, again looking for stragglers and loot. They knew they'd have to carry at least some of the valuables back into the castle after the battle. After the battle, the Chief would most likely want the castle for himself, at least until they would march on.
One of the goblins struggled a moment to get the hatch for the tower up. Getting the hatch opens slightly, he stuck his nose out the crack, seeing of there was anyone there. He slipped for a moment, slamming the hatch closed. Hanging from his nose, he screamed in pain, attempting to get hold of the ladder again.
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Rogdush chuckled almost in disbelief. "You think we, Orcs, a lot bigger and bulkier than you, snuck in and assassinated one of your important sounding guys? Orcs sneaking up on Elves, unnoticed? Hah! Either we're better at sneaking than I thought, or you really are bad at catching assassins!" He laughed a bit more. "Its more likely that a bunch of your brethren..." He pointed towards the enemies outside the walls. "did some raiding on some clans, and it escalated from there."
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As the Orc threw himself at the Elf, he could feel something pierce his chest. It was the last thing he felt, before his lifeless body slammed into the Elf, his mouth still open and about to envelope his head.
 
Shadowsigh was tripped up by something in the ground, and fell, his sword still in the chest of the Orc that was now on top of him. There wasn't enough leeway to take his sword out of him, nor did he think he would be able to push him off without help, so he was stuck there, the Orc's mouth too close for comfort. As his last breath fell over him, Shadowsigh squeezed his eyes shut, his mouth curving to a snarl. Not one to ask for help, Shadowsigh kept as still as possible, hoping no one would notice him for the moment. A sneak attack might be the one thing the city needed.

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Erethor ignored him, casting his gaze down over the fight, trying to gauge who had the upper hand. It appeared the Orcs did, just by sheer numbers, but Shadowsigh's men were born of death and animalism. However, doubt filled him when he saw his friend go down underneath an Orc, and grief filled his eyes for a second. When he was in control of his emotions, he said, "You are stating what your ancestors taught you, I am stating what mine did."

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Hadiir looked up from his hands when he heard a rustling sound at the trapdoor, glancing towards it to see it opening. He had been watching the second part of the battle the whole time through the spyglass, and hadn't realized how much time had passed until he looked at the sun's position. Starting when the hatch slammed shut and screams followed, the Elf decided that it wasn't worth it to investigate.
 
"I state what I've been told, yes. Yet I doubt you Elves speak with your ancestors as clearly as we do!" He looked down onto the battle for a moment. He found it to be a bit to even for his liking, so he moved his hand to the hilt of his sword. "It's always fun chatting with the prisoners, but my brethren need me." He gave a glare to the two Goblins holding the Elf's chain. "If you let him go, my foot will be going down your throats!" He barked, before he started running towards the gate, to join the battle. As he reached the bottom of the stairs of the gate-tower, he let out a warcry to rally his men with him, giving quite a few of them a needed boost of morale.
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The two Goblins being left to guard Erethor laughed slightly, as they saw Rogdush run to join the battle. "Yer brodas are gonna die now, pinkie!" The one not holding the chain had a small spear, and poked the Elf in the side with it. "And dun you try nuthin! We'ze trained herdas!" He growled, trying to intimidate him.
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The Goblin hanging on the tower hatch pulled himself free, and clung to the ladder for a moment, before looking down. A small crowd of other Goblins had gathered under him, curious about the screaming. After a few moments of awkward silence, the one on the ladder had an idea to lessen his shame. "Sumone on toppa 'ere slammed da hatch on me nose! Gimme a hand and we'll take da pansy hidin up here!" With that, a couple more goblins started climbing the ladder and attempted to help pushing the hatch open.
 
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