The middle city was lost. There was only one course of action left, once the survivors retreat behind the last remaining safe haven in Minas Ithil.
Already, the warning cries of the upper city’s horns cut through the sounds of the siege. The gates were closing, regardless if anyone was able to retreat to the gate or not. The surviving soldiers were already running out of time.
“How many companies remain alive?!” The ranger, Talion, was breathless as he sprinted side-by-side with Idril.
“I-I do not know! S-Sergeant Tarandor and his men may still yet live, ranger!” Idril nearly tripped on her feet as the ground shook underfoot. Talion reflexively latched onto Idril’s shoulder to steady her. Idril gave the ranger a curt nod as they continued to run.
The sound of fighting grew louder. Closer. It was total pandemonium and chaos as men and orcs clashed, one side desperately trying to retreat and beat back the side that threatened to overwhelm and overtake them wholly.
Most of these men hadn’t seen proper action before the siege and it showed in the innumerable amount of bodies that were piled in the streets. The night spent in the lower and middle city took its toll and it left a mass grave in its wake. Idril could scarcely believe that the green sergeant Tarandor not only remained alive, himself, but seemed to have the bulk of his men still living under his command.
No words or orders needed to be exchanged. Tarandor and his men were on the cusp of becoming overtaken. It wasn’t quite a battle of attrition, but if one or more men were to fall, the tide of battle would have been shifted too far into the orcs’ favour.
Idril and Talion both were able to take several uruks by surprise. Six fell by their blades and suddenly, with a rallying cry, the Gondorians were able to push hard enough to cause the orcs to take pause before deciding the battle was lost. Seeing their heels brought another round of war cries from the men.
“C-Captain!” Sergeant Tarandor was red faced and winded. Exhausted, but invigorated from the sudden victory. “H-Herion-” He points towards the upper city. “H-He- They’ll need us, Captain!” Idril nodded, already turning to run.
“MOVE OUT, MEN!”
Idril’s voice cut through the horns sounding and the rumble and crashing of marbled stone against the paved grounds. All turned to follow, the ranger and sergeant included, and continued to rush for the upper city’s gates.
Sergeant Herion’s company was in far more dire straits than Tarandor’s was in. They were outnumbered two to one, yet still they pushed against the enemy with surprising ferocity. It gave the ranger brief pause, though he didn’t hesitate to cut down any orc that was within arms reach.
Herion was one of two sergeants who both led men that were unlike most that served in Gondor. They fought not like honourable knights but like street ruffians in the midst of a tavern fight. Once, Idril would think them uncouth, lacking in honour and respect of both the ranks they hold and those that command above them. Now? They are the difference between catastrophic casualties and acceptable loss of war.
“D-Damn-! It looks bad!” If they weren’t in the heat of battle, Idril would have given Tarandor a proper tongue lashing for saying something so idiotic.
“No shit- It’s been bad for weeks!” Herion had scarcely broken into a sweat as he cleaves yet another uruk from shoulder to waist. Idril snarled as she separated an orc’s head from his shoulders.
“Shut the hell up and FIGHT! The gates are closing as we speak!”
Idril wished she wasn’t speaking the truth. With their aid, Herion and his men were able to spook this group of uruks into fleeing once they saw the tide of battle shift in the Gordorian’s favour. Such cowardice was distasteful but Idril couldn’t be more pleased as the beasts scattered in the ruined streets of Minas Ithil.
“Move up, men! Sergeant Dagor is covering the gate!” Sergeant Herion shouted over the sounds of the siege. The warning horns of the upper city cut his order short, though his men didn’t need to hear him to know where to go.
“The middle city is lost! Retreat to the upper city! RETREAT!” Idril shouted to any man that may hear her. It was likely in vain but Idril would shout until her throat was raw and bleeding before she stopped ordering her men to fall back.
The men of Minas Ithil didn’t stop fighting even as they retreated back to the upper city. Many smaller groups still fought hard against the uruks that threatened to follow them to the gates.
“Fall back to the gate! We’ll cover you! Fall back!” More fell in line with the two existing companies. Some lost their commanders, some lost their entire company to the orcs. Whether they were separated or they were killed, they all took out more and more uruks as they climbed to the upper city’s gates.
“S-Sergeant Dagor! The lower cities are lost, we must retreat!” Idril was beyond exhaustion. Pure adrenaline kept her on her feet and fighting. Sergeant Dagor nodded as he pulled his blade from an uruk’s abdomen.
“FALL BACK TO THE UPPER CITY!”
She didn’t think they would make it. Too much time has passed, they are too overwhelmed, they haven’t the archers to provide support- Idril’s lungs screamed for air and her arms and legs begged for rest as they became heavier and heavier with each step she took.
“They are sealing the gates! Move out- MOVE OUT!”
The stairs leading up to the upper city’s gate is in view. Almost- Almost! Idril grits her teeth as she gives herself one last push. She needs only to cress the top of these stairs and she’s done everything she possibly could have done. Another step. One more step. One more-
Uruks were trying to push into the gates. Idril lunges towards one with a feral snarl, cutting down one, two-
The ranger stole her third kill. Idril shoved him out of the way as she cut down what should have been her fourth. Soldiers pushed past them both as a bone-shaking CREAK curled her toes and caused the hairs on her arms to stand to attention.
The gates are closing.
“Quickly! UNDER THE GATES!” The handful of men that rushed through the gate collapsed as soon as they were on the other side. Idril backed up, eyeing the uruks that already washed upon the stairs like a black wave. The ranger has yet to move from the top most step of the upper city’s staircase.
“What are you-?!” Idril nearly tripped on her feet as she only just made it behind the gate before it fell atop her head. On the other side, this mysterious ranger faced the oncoming orcs then turned to meet Idril’s gaze.
“What the hell are you-?!” Idril was flabbergasted as the ranger raised a hand to silence her.
“I won’t be long. Go.” Idril balked at the calmness in which he stated this. The ranger clashed swords with an uruk. A small group had converged at the gates. Idril didn’t have the energy to feel anything. Fuck.
She’s so tired…
“H-Have archers provide support…” Sergeant Dagor nodded before sprinting up the rampart to the upper walls.
The uruks weren’t ready to assault the upper city just yet. In small groups, they were cocky and reckless, especially when they were led by a grunt-wannabe-captain. Why the hell did that fool not enter the safety behind the gates?! Something about that ranger didn’t sit right with Idril.
He was a good fighter- likely he’s fought uruk-hai for many, many years, not unlike Idril and a few of the sergeants that served in the Minas Ithil army. She stood on the safe side of the gate, baffled as the ranger took on seven different uruks with a grace and speed that didn’t seem… human?
Perhaps she is merely exhausted… She… Damn.
Idril could scarcely sheath her sword, her arms burned and ached so intensely. Her legs and feet were in no better condition. Every step took monumental effort on her part. Idril nearly tripped as she walked up the steps that led to the upper wall. She swallowed dryly as a familiar set of armour reflected in the scant, overcast light of the afternoon sky.
As second captain, it was her duty to report to her General. Even if it left her trembling and nearly heaving from dread.
Have a bit of writing that my brain just barfed out! :D
„What do you mean there is no school for magic and wizardry in Germany?“, Jonathan exclaimed, dumbfounded.
Dagor scoffed, a half-hearted grin on their face as they picked up their glass of wine-
„How can you expect every kind magical being that calls this place their home to visit one single school AND get along with one another? Not even mentioning the different types of magic! Not just destruction, enchanting, conjuring, no. Every type of magical being has their own type of magic. You can not teach ALL of them at the same place.“, the drude explained as they looked up to Jonathan, who now had completely deflated and sunk into his bean bag.
„Druden have their own magic, Jonathan. Juffen do, Bilwisi do, Draks do, not even counting the big loners like Rübezahl, Miss Holle-Precht, Krampus, … even the Boandlkramer.“
A honest grin formed on Dagor’s face, as they noticed Jonathan’s confused expression.
„If your craft reaches a certain level due to practice, research, outside influence or age, you can come up with your own ways to bend magical energy to your will. And with that you can become an entity outside the boundaries of your own kin. Just like yours-truly.“
Jonathan sat up, in thought for a moment.
„Sooo, tell me if i got this right … it becomes a type of magic that is so different that it can not be taught to others? No matter how hard you try?“
„Let me explain it this way- you can not teach someone advanced algebra with ease, if they have a severe weakness in arithmetic. You would need to have a lot of patience and might need to find different ways to get them to understand what you want to teach them. Eventually you’ll get there, but the way will be much different to those who don’t have that weakness.“
„Ah! So it’s like I can’t expect to get the exact same type of magic like someone else because magic is composed of endless combinations of preconditions and possibilities coming together? But I can find other ways to get a similar if not the same result?“
„Precisely. Take a simple healing spell. Some focus on simply fixing what is broken. Others focus on simply speeding up the natural healing process. There are some who rather let a thing foreign to the body fill the injured region. Sometimes it depends on the situation and you want the spell to work differently. Maybe you need to stop the bleeding before closing the wound. Maybe you want the wound to become numb while it heals.“, Dagor scratched one of their teeth with a claw as they continued to explain.
„All these different intentions might look the same to others. Or completely different. In the end you can’t really teach it, unless you are lucky and you and your apprentice are on the same level and they „get“ your exact trail of thought and intend. But that’s so rare that no one really bothers. The one thing you CAN teach however, is how to come up with different ways to fight a problem. The journey to your goal. And that’s what I’m here for, my dear. “
