Aeonian [Legolas]

12

"Bones will be shattered. Necks will be wrung. You'll be beaten and battered. From racks you'll be hung. You will die down here and never be found. Down in the deep of Goblin-town."

If someone could be both tone deaf and have a voice incapable of remaining even, the Goblin king would have it as he swung his arms about, singing, and encouraging the crowd that was watching and urging his minions to keep on with their efforts of restraining the Dwarves so they could more easily be restrained on one of the death machines.

Viridis looked around, eyes studying the scene; searching for anything he could use to win the upper hand. Amber eyes lit up when he caught site of a scabbarded sword tucked away at the edges of the dispute and easily bent down and swooped it up into trained hands with one move.

Unshielded it was more powerful than any other effect a weapon could ever have: stone struck silence.

"I know that sword! It is the Goblin cleaver!" The Goblin king said, retreating like a child and pressing himself as close to the back of his throne as possible. The rest of the goblins cried out then too, retreating and pushing each other out of the way in attempts to put as much distance between the weapon in Viridis' hand and themselves. "The blade that sliced 1000 necks!"

"Slice them!" The king went on, ordering the goblins to push onward. "Beat them! Kill them! Kill them all. Cut off his head!"

The smirk Viridis'd had on his face dropped away in an instant, going slack as he realized that things were going quite impossibly in the direct opposite way he had imagined them going.

Fool, he chided himself under his breath as he braced his arm and readied himself for combat with the so-called Goblin cleaver. He hadn't known the direct make of the blade until it was too late, and now everyone was suffering for it.

Alright. Alternative plan.

Viridis charged toward the fight, murderous gaze focused determinedly forward on a specific Goblin that had somehow managed the pin Thorin down and was now holding him at knife point; a point that was coming dangerously closer to the leader's neck.

Before the Elf had the chance to bring the blade down, something else washed over him. In fact, whatever it was seemed more physical in a way no subconscious moral ethic belief ever could. He stilled, as did the rest of the Dwarves and the Goblins. They all turned to see what had created the thing worthy of stopping them all from something already so set in motion.

A grey streak was the closest thing to describe it. Arcing through the air in a shallow curve and turning the Goblin kingdom into something a little less menacing even if it was only for a moment.

Gandalf the Grey.

His figure emerged from the darkness; stalking forward gradually into the light where his features were cast in the warm glow of soft flame.

"Take up arms." the Wizard said into the silence. "Fight. Fight!"

As if one word were enough to draw whatever strength and resolve that was left in the company forward and into the light where it was nurtured and turned into something more empowering.

The Dwarves cried out their battle cries and then they were pushing themselves up and reclaimed the control that belonged to them.

Viridis watched the fight and skewered a Goblin that tried to sneak up on him from behind in one fluid thrust without taking his eyes off the scene before him. He turned only when he heard the body fall and then he was letting the blade slice through the air and burry itself into flesh. He pulled the blade out and watched blood seep from the wound he had inflicted on another Goblin with little remorse.