The Threat of Angmar

Upon the Steeple of Weathertop

They rode in silence for several hours, under trees and over plains. The moon was high as they reached the highway and went past, up to the crest of a looming hill. The hill was ringed by stone blocks and rubble that used to be part of a watchtower. They looked as if a child had knocked them over as with wooden toys and then burnt them to the ground.

"So this was once the great tower of Weathertop." Norfirion whispered.

"It was, until the Witch-King of Angmar razed it during the war." Laerorneth replied, equally softly. "Now it simply lies in ruin, abandoned with the exception of the occasional traveler."

Dreogan remained silent, one hand on the hilt of the dagger he retrieved from the Barrow-Downs, lost in thought. He gazed up at the ruins with great interest as the three approached. Leaving the horses and Frostmane at the base of the hill, the companions clambered up towards the destroyed tower, over large chunks of stone and under collapsed arches. Soon they reached the crest of the hill, and stood upon the top of Weathertop, overlooking the surrounding plains and forests.

Dreogan finally spoke up, sounding worried. "These ruins are most impressive, but more pressing matters first. We were being watched on our approach."

"I noticed..." Norfirion replied, his eyes flickering towards the ominous shadows surrounding them.

"As did I. I fear orcs or goblins, most probably from Mount Gundabad..." Laerorneth whispered, her hand dropping to her sword's curved hilt. Norfirion whipped out and whirled his twin blades as padding footsteps drew near and dark eyes glinted in the darkness.

"Why does this always happen at night? I know the answer, that was rhetorical." Dreogan sighed, and drew his own blade. Stepping together, the three formed a defensive triangle as orcs drew forth, snarling and talking amongst themselves in what sounded like a distant dialect of the Black Speech. One particularly large and formidable orc stepped forwards.

"What have we here?" He spat, in a deep, guttural version of the common tongue. He stood rasping for a moment, before speaking again. "Two Elves and a Man! Did you get lost in the woods?" Several other orcs cackled and hooted at this. Motioning with a long, hooked blade, the lead orc bellowed. "You know how we feel about Elves. Kill them! Kill them all!"

"Why does it always feel like everyone is always trying to kill us?" Norfirion muttered. "I think not!" He shouted, and with that he rushed into battle, swinging his blades at an orc that charged him. The Elf hacked his head off and stabbed a second orc through the gut, sending it to the dirt with a shriek.

Laerorneth drew her sword, sending it flashing around the orc's heads, slashing and hewing. Jamming her sword into an orc's stomach, she pinned it to a wall and drew her bow. After sending several arrows into orc skulls, she simply stabbed several of her opponents with arrows.

Meanwhile Dreogan had stuck down several orcs with hacking cuts from his Rohirric blade. A large orc swinging a brutal flail leapt in front of him, growling and hissing. The Man raised his sword to block a downwards attack, which took a chip out of the blade and sent Dreogan stumbling backwards into a piece of rubble. Muttering, he lunged forwards at the orc and thrust at the berserker's chest. The orc grabbed his blade, sending dark blood spurting across himself and the Rohirrim. Dreogan yelped, as the orc brought his flail down on the former's sword, shattering it to the hilt.

With a yell, Dreogan drew his dagger and jammed it into the orc's chest, causing the orc to kneel face-to-face with him, both gritting their teeth. Wrenching the dagger out, the Man let the orc fall to the ground with a loud thud. Wiping himself off with a rag, Dreogan inspected his shattered sword, now useless. Lifting his dagger, he dove back into the fight.