The second was shadow - stumbling up, the Elf sprinted into the ruins of a nearby building as a Balrog of Morgoth thundered down the street in pursuit of a score of Gondolindhrim. They were escorted by a trio of dissheveled warriors, two with their spears and the third wielding a longbow. Utilizing his Elf-eyes, he saw that, from the fan of purple feathers upon his helmet, the archer was of the Folk of the Swallow - the finest the City could offer.
The archer turned about, pulled the arrow to his ear, whispered under his breath and let fly a shot. It soared through the smoky air and, right before impacting the Balrog's face, lit with a white flame. It exploded on contact, but to no avail. The turned Maiar barreled forward, and unleashed his rancour.
A pillar of flame overcame the lone bowman, and continued on into the crowd of Elven civilians. Their pained screams were drowned out by the roaring fires. The two spearmen were cooked alive in their maile, which was itself unwrought from the heat.
The Balrog continued down the street, its' shoulders shattering through the marble buildings upon either side.
Breathing heavily, the Elf gathered his wits. He'd been one of the lucky ones - stationed on the wall in full dress. He'd been girt with spear, shield, and longsword. He hadn't opted for a bow - having never been skilled with such a device of war. He'd been fully dressed in armour as well - a long coat of Elf-maile, greaves, and vambraces along with a tall helm. Due to his status among the House of the Golden Flower, he wore a brooch of similar appearance on his neck.
The Guard had been light that day, due to a holiday - all the folk of Gondolin were upon the wall, in the finest raiment in their possession. Banners were floating in the wind, minstrels were singing, and Elf-maids laughing. All were awaiting for the rise of the Sun.
And then it came, arising in the East - but a second light burst forth in the North.
The army of Morgoth - Orcs, Dragons, Balrogs, Wolves, infernal machines of war, all of them innumerable came running to the great Wall of Gondolin, burning the ground as they came. Reaching it, they then loosed their wrath upon the gathered Gondolindrhim.
Many were in the first moments slain - but the Wall held and the Guard proved their worth. Arrows soared from either side, tongues of flame split the air, and battle was joined.
For a time it seemed like a fair fight - the Children of Gondolin were numerous, their weapons well-forged, and their tactics honed to nigh-perfection over four hundred years.
But then a Balrog came to the Wall, and unhindered itself of physical bonds - a great storm of shadow and flame erupted and overcame the wall. The Wall was broken, and an entire section fell to the awesome power of a Maia. Fortunately, the Balrog was itself spent, and burried amongst his ruin.
All the Servants of Morgoth then picked their way through the debris and bodies, with Gothmog Lord of Balrogs at the head.
The Elf had been stationed at that point in the wall, and had been thrown far by the casting out of the Balrog. He'd lost his spear and shield upon landing, as well as his helmet. Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, the Elf checked himself and found that he still possessed his longsword. Releasing a breath he hadn't known he'd been holding, he drew the straight-bladed weapon and sprinted into a side alley.
Into a quintet of raiding Orcs.
The Orcs had been busy hoarding precious things from the nearby houses, and so were not aware of the Elf until he was among them. Screiching wildly, the Orc-chief swung out with his scimitar - but it was a wild blow and the Elf easily sidestepped it. He thrusted forward and calmly ran cold steel through the wretch.
The other four were upon him then, when a hail of arrows met them. The volley tore easily through their poor armour, and brought the beasts down quietly.
One survived, though and gripped onto the Elf's leg. Cutting down, he severed its' hand and head in the same motion.
Turning to his saviours, the Elf saw that they were three Elves - two Folk of the Heavenly Arch and the third also of the Golden Flower.
Greeting them, the Elf spoke quickly, "There is much to do. We must reach the Lord Glorfindel."
The others nodded, and one of the archers answered, "'Tis a dark day, indeed. And the Sun herself is just newly arrisen."
"Then we must maintain her flight." Spoke the third.
Will post more over time.
Edited by elfhelm.., 24 May 2008 - 04:46 PM.