Jonn stretched out his limbs, preparing for his first morning constitutional in far too long. It had been some six weeks since receiving the injuries that required him to recover for so long, and he had done his best to heed his elf-healer's orders not to push himself. The rest was necessary to make sure he mended properly, but when he tried hefting his large shield and felt how much heavier it seemed than before, he realized enough was enough. It was time to start getting back into fighting shape.
Running his fingers over his almost fully healed wounds and bones, he began thinking back to how he received these injuries in the first place. A woman named Halmarna came to Bree, looking for support to aid her people, the Eglain, in their struggle against the “goblins” who had taken up residence in their land. Jonn readily pledged his sword-arm, and Arenborn promised to bring fellow fighters from the Knights Of Eriador. After some days, Jonn, the Knights, and a couple of other capable warriors set out from the ruins of Ost Guruth to attack and—if possible—retake the ruins at Naerost from the Eglain's enemies.
The battle went according to their plan. Jonn, fully clad in heavy armor and grasping his sword and shield tightly, along with Halmarna and a handful of her fellow scouts from the Eglain, goaded the host of half-orcs out of their ruins and onto the carefully chosen field of battle. A crowd of the brutes poured forth, cackling in delight as they descended on their apparently helpless prey, with only a minority falling to the scouts' arrows till the humans were nearly surrounded. Then the trap sprang.
A fierce battle cry sounded from behind the nearby mounds, followed by the thundering of hooves, as a cavalry charge erupted behind the half-orcs, cutting them off from their path to the ruins. Sir Arenborn Kolten of the Knights led the charge, shining in his armor atop his mighty steed. The man radiated pure discipline and determination. His wife Inayat rode at his side, her shortish red hair fluttering in the wind, making her appear like a torch held aloft; a fitting comparison to the fire-like zeal she brought down upon her foes.
From atop her own steed, the leader of the Knights, an elf by the name of Ramield, fired off arrow upon arrow into the surprised horde, displaying a sort of calm in such frenzy at which Jonn could only marvel. Three more horses ridden by the men Hamadryt, Allyster, and Aldilienno joined the fray, each bringing their own form of destruction upon the enemy.
All in all, the battle went well. Scores of half-orcs were slain, and while the ruins of Naerost were not completely cleared of their ilk, their number was reduced enough so that the remainder would stay holed up within, not having the forces or courage to trouble the Eglain for some time.
The forces of Light themselves fared exceptionally well, for while many were injured—some seriously—none were slain. This was in great part due to the tireless efforts of the elf healer Cesistya, aided by the leader of the Eglain, Frideric the Elder, who worked as a team to swiftly remove their injured comrades from the field and see to their wounds.
First to fall among the team was Halmarna, who suffered a lucky blow from an opponent early in the battle and had to be extracted. Most of the Knights received only minor scrapes and bruises. Aldilienno and Hamadryt themselves received deep enough gashes to require longer term treatment, as did their horses. Jonn himself suffered injuries severe enough that, had he not received such skillful treatment from Cesistya, he may not have survived.
Having recalled with wonder the bravery of his comrades in the battle, Jonn's thoughts returned to his own part. The whole thing seemed to last both mere moments and stretch on for an eternity. More half-orcs swarmed him than he initially expected, but he stood his ground. However, while he couldn't remember every horrid face that confronted him or even every nearly harmless attack that deflected off his armor, he recalled rather vividly the injuries that left him recovering the past month and a half.
The first was an arrow. Another inch towards his center, and it would've caught him in the throat or severed an artery. He got lucky with that one. As it was, it grazed the right side of his neck deeply enough to bleed, the blood making it worse than it was, but still possibly fatal if untreated. He remembered crying out in surprise, and then shouting the location of that wretched archer to Aldilienno, who quickly dispatched of the foe using his bow from horseback.
The second was due to a lapse of Jonn's own part. After felling one particular combatant, he failed to make sure he was truly dead. So the wounded enemy reached up from his position on the ground and plunged a nasty curved dagger through Jonn's plates and into the meat of his left thigh. The man quickly sent its head rolling after that, but the damage was already done.
The third was by far the most devastating. Somehow, a hulking behemoth of an orc plowed its way through the thick of things, ignoring the arrows peppering its skin as if they were stings from a sickle-fly. Its two hands grasped what may well have been the trunk of a Lonelands tree. One powerful swipe knocked Jonn's trusty shield aside, throwing him off what little balance he had left with only one good leg. The second swipe landed squarely to the right of Jonn's breastplate. The weary man both heard and felt the cracking of his armor and his ribs beneath it. Now on his back, struggling to breathe with his chest plates pressing in on him, he propped himself up on his left elbow and thrust his sword into the gut of the brute, stopping it with its huge club extended over its head. With his final ounce of energy, Jonn pushed himself to his feet and finished off the opponent.
Even if he had been able to gather the strength to continue fighting, his view was then obstructed by a fiercesome-looking Elf sliding from the back of her swift horse. “Stay!” Cesistya demanded, “Your part in this is over!” In no condition to resist, Jonn allowed the healer to help him off the battlefield, looking over his shoulder to see any remnant of enemies meeting their end by arrows and steel.
Jonn puffed as he ran down the path, feeling only minor twinges of pain from his nearly-healed ribs, and just some tightness of the skin from his new scars. That battle was more dangerous than anything he had ever tackled alone, and left him with more injuries at one time than he'd allowed himself to experience before. Frankly, he was rather proud of how he handled himself.
More than that, though, he was impressed. Not by himself, the simple man from Bree-land letting himself be beaten upon by half-orcs. Rather he was impressed by his comrades in battle, specifically the Knights of Eriador, who planned and spear-headed the assault. Through their training and experience fighting side-by-side, they were able to execute such a successful strike as this one, all without suffering any permanent injuries themselves or sacrificing the lives of any warriors fighting under their leadership
Theirs was a group worth considering.
((This account was accumulated, summarized, and (sometimes) even stolen from the exceptional RP of all characters involved. All thanks go to them for making this fulfilling RP possible!))
