Ork arriving would be one of the few things that could get the Valar to intercede. That is canon Bad End, as they save Middle Earth kinda like Godzilla saves Tokyo, which is why they only sent a few, power-limited Maia against Sauron.
no, you see Valar have means to mop up all the leftover spores, so we'll just have the orks do all the work and then get killed when Mordor collapses ladies and gents we have a grade-S crack fic
...Using Orks as minions in a plot is not a good idea, for Orks deal with complex plots in much the same way as a bulldozer deals with complex machinery.
thats the whole point, you see orks are natural wild cards, and unless you're the joker wild cards are basically ideal for busting complex plots (for better or and for worse)
Thing is, the Valar have shown no signs of being either Neglectful Precursors or Stupid Precursors. So no, I don't see them following the plot of "I know an old woman who swallowed a spider..."
Chapter 8: The Calm Before The Storm Even from a distance, the great fortress of Helm's Deep was an impressive, even imposing, sight. The nearly sheer rock face offered protection on three sides, while the Deeping Wall protected the flank of the Hornburg itself. The walls were high and thick, much more formidable than even Bowerstone's much vaunted town walls, the only gate made of thick, old oak reinforced with iron and steel. Éowyn pointed out the tower that held the great horn of Helm Hammerhand, more out of a need to keep her mind occupied than anything else. “What about down there?” Sparrow asked, pointing to a small gap at the bottom of the Deeping Wall, “Why did they allow such a weakness?” “That's to allow water from the Deeping Stream to pass through.” the Shield maiden explained, “It is barred at the far end and has never been breached.” “Still...” Sparrow stood at the base of the causeway leading up to the main gate, examining the high wall and the curved opening that led strait through it. “Something wrong?” Boromir asked, sensing her concern. “We need to keep an eye on that culvert.” Sparrow grasped her Guild Seal in her hand, something she only did when nervous or had something on her mind, “I don't know why, but I have a feeling it's going to be important.” Up close, the keep was an impressive edifice, only accessible by the long, curved causeway that led up from the valley floor to the thick, iron-reinforced oak gates. The small standing garrison stood above the gates, eyes darting from the rag-tag band of refugees entering below and the distant road by which the armies of Isengard were sure to approach. The air was heavy with an odd mix of fear and restlessness, a desire for battle to be joined, if only to end the waiting. Leaving the civilians to make their way to the extensive cave network behind the Hornburg, Éowyn led them to the crowded armoury where every man and boy capable of bearing arms was being outfitted for the coming battle. Most were either too young or too old to be of much use, but the situation was considered desperate enough to press every able body into service. A number of blacksmiths had fired up forges and were working to repair old armour and put a fresh edge on swords that had last been swung in anger a lifetime before. Shedding her pack and jacket, Sparrow donned a pair of thick gloves and made ready to work beside them, remembering the many hours she had spent at the forge in Bowerstone Market to earn the money needed to fund her vendetta against Lord Lucian. “Digression may be the better part of valour.” Boromir whispered from beside her, “While I do not for a moment doubt that you are not as well-versed in smithery as anyone else here; I have long since ceased to be amazed at anything you do, the people of Rohan are a more conservative type, and your intended actions may cause them... discomfort, at a time when we need them to be of clear mind and purpose.” “Perhaps you are right.” Sparrow put down the tools and instead looked around the room. With most of the weapons either handed out of undergoing repair, there was more space then there had been for a long time, and a small number of the Rohirrim were examining a number of chests and boxes that had been unearthed. One in particular seemed to be causing them trouble, resisting all attempts to open it, no matter what they tried. Walking over to where they stood, Sparrow examined the chest before pulling out her Guild Seal and pressing it against the lock. There was a click as the ancient mechanism snapped open, and she lifted the lid, a faint golden flash signalling that the wards protecting the contents from decay had been broken. “It's an old Hero's Guild lock.” She explained, “They were designed to protect supplies and equipment, and could only be opened by someone bearing the Guild Seal. Many Heros looking to lay down their swords would use them to leave boons for future generations. I should know; I've opened more than a few myself over the years.” She looked inside; there was something hidden beneath a scrap of warn blue cloth, with a scrap of paper on top. “Far from home you have travailed, and there are many challenges you have yet to face.” She read the faded, almost invisible words, “To that end I bequeath you a most trusted and loyal friend; may it serve you as well as it has served me. Fare thee well, Hero, until the day we meet on the distant, golden shore. Scythe.” Putting the note down, she reached into the chest and pulled aside the cloth, which seamed to crumble in her hands, to reveal a glittering shield. The face was inlaid with gold and mithril, mirroring the markings on the Guild Seal around Sparrows neck, a golden crystal set in the very centre. Her arm slipped easily into the oiled leather strap on its back: despite its size and thickness, it felt as light as silk, yet there was still an unmistakeable heft behind it when she moved it back and forth. “A gift worthy of a descendent of the Archon.” Boromir studied the shield with an appreciative eye, “You'll need it...” A commotion from outside interrupted him before he could finish, and they quickly gathered up their possessions and headed for the courtyard before any of the Rohirrim had a chance to contest ownership of the shield. A crowed had gathered, and it took them a few moments to make their way to the front, only to stop dead in their tracks when they saw Aragorn standing before them with Legolas and Gimli. Boromir was the first to recover, and let out a mighty roar of triumph has he rushed over and embraced the ranger, lifting him off the ground in a bear-hug that hurt his already bruised ribs. For her part, Sparrow managed to maintain most of her composure, but there was no hiding her happiness at seeing their companion alive and well. “I see that reports of your demise were greatly exaggerated.” She slapped him on the shoulder, “Should have know it'd take more than a high cliff and an icy river to finish you off.” “We can't all rely on magic potions.” he countered, looking over her shoulder to where Éowyn stood. A look of unspoken joy and relief flashed across the young Shield-maiden’s face, but she quickly regained her composure and hid her emotions away deep inside, allowing only a warm smile and a slight nod to the returned Ranger. “Come.” Boromir put an arm around Aragorn and gestured to the keep, “We've still got work to do before the night's through.” XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX His wounds tended by one of the healers, Aragorn felt something close to his old self as he pulled on a leather shirt and searched for a set of chain-mail rings in his size. It had been longer than he cared to admit since he had last found cause to go into battle, even if he had seen more than his fare share of skirmishes since then. But still, he tended to prefer the far lighter protection of well worn leather that would allow him to move freely, avoiding blows rather than absorbing them. But when the army of Isengard arrived, it would be no skirmish, but rather a full, bloody battle to the death, with no quarter given or asked. A grunt from beside him awoke him from the melancholy thoughts that had crept into his mind, and he looked around to see Gimli struggling into a far smaller suit of rings, which fell down to the floor like a metal dress. “It's a little tight across the chest.” The dwarf huffed, trying to hide his embarrassment behind bluster. “Here, let me help you.” Boromir knelt down to adjust the straps across his companions back, loosening the upper part while helping to bunch up the bottom, effectively creating a double layer of protection, “Much better.” “Can you help me next?” Sparrow asked from the doorway of the small, private room where she had gone to change for modesties sake. Her long, flowing red hair was pulled back into a tight bun to keep it from getting in the way, her normal tunic replaced with the same leather shirt and chain-mail combination as the others. Only, for some unknown reason, her her it looked decidedly more flattering. The subtle leather lifted up her breasts and held them in place, while, against all logic and reason, the mail seemed to cling to her every curve like a second skin. The leather leggings she war likewise accented her toned body, and made it clear that there was not an ounce of fat on her, finally giving way to a pair of greaves that only enhanced the shapelessness of her legs, The effect was breath taking to say the least, and Gimli chuckled to himself as he used a finger to close Boromir's gaping mouth. “I think it's okay as it is.” Legolas mumbled, even the normally unflappable Elf taken aback, “But you might want a cloak; it likely to get cold when the sun sets. “A cloak would be a very good idea.” Aragorn nodded in agreement, worried what affect her new look might have on the other warriors. Sparrow muttered something under her breath as she donned her elven cloak, pulling it as tightly around her as she could, and the Fellowship made their way out into the main courtyard in time to hear the guard call out that a column of strangers were advancing down the valley. Legolas was the first to reach the Deeping Wall, his keen elven eyes scanning the evening twilight for the strangers, and a grin spread across his face. “Open the gate!” He called out, “They're friends.” He ran back to the Keep without explaining himself, leaving the rest of the Fellowship to follow after in bemusement. They found him standing with Theoden and Haldir, whom they had last seen in Lothlórien. “I bring word from Elrond of Rivendell. An alliance once existed between Elves and Men; long ago we fought, and died, together.” the Marchwarden explained himself, “We come to honour that allegiance. We are proud to fight alongside men once more.” As one, the 200 elven archers with him turned and snapped sharply to attention, their polished armour and bows glistening in the last rays of the setting sun. “As we are proud to fight alongside you.” Theoden offered his hand, not too proud to accept help when so desperately needed, and well aware of the impact it would have in the morale of his men. “We stand as one.” Haldir took the offered hand and shook it, “Where do you want us?” “Inside the Deeping Wall; you'll have clear lines of fire from there.” the King turned to the Fellowship, “And you, my friends, you may pick your own ground.” The small group broke up as all concerned made ready for the imminent battle. “Call me an optimist,” Boromir allowed himself a faint smile as he followed the others back to their pre-selected spot on the middle of the wall, “but we might just live through this.”
I always intended to continue this, it's just that some times I need to take a little time off, maybe write some crack-or-smut-fic (those of you with links to my AFF account will know what I'm talking about) to unwind before I re-enter the fray.
Chapter 9: By The Pale Moonlight Rain fell in an unending torrent, cutting visibility by at least half and spreading a cold weariness through the assembled army like a rising tide. From her position on the middle of the Deeping Wall, Sparrow could see and hear the first mutterings of discontent, suggestions that their flight from Edoras had been a mistake, and that the Uruk-hai were not coming, that the armies of Saruman were either elsewhere, or a crafty hoax. She looked up to where Theoden stood high up on the battlements of the keep, then across to where Boromir and Aragorn stood together, eyes scanning the distant mouth of the valley. They stood, impatient, almost eager for the expected battle. For her part, Sparrow was more nervous than ever; it had been many centuries since Albion had last seen a true war, and the battles she had taken part in had been little more than skirmishes by the standards of Middle Earth, with at most a few dozen combatants. Now she stood in the cross-hairs of an enemy that numbered in the thousands, and she couldn't help but feel a little afraid of what was to come. It was only the fear and apprehension of the conscripted warriors around her than hid the dread that seemed to be welling up from somewhere deep inside her. “Do not give in to your fears, young one.” Theresa chastised her through the Guild Seal, no doubt watching events unfold from the safety of the distant Spire, “To fail here is to condemn our entire world to darkness and death.” “No pressure.” Sparrow muttered under her breath, wishing that for once the Seer had something more constructive to say for herself. “You are not a child any more, so I will not treat you as one.” Her former guardian responded, the first time she had indicated that the link flowed both ways, “You are a descendant of William Black, Archon of Albion; the blood of Kings and Heroes flows through you...” “And I'd like it to stay where it is,” Sparrow countered, keeping her voice as low as she could, less the men standing next to her think her mad, “not adorning the blade of some Uruk-hai who gets a lucky blow in.” “Then watch your back, Little Sparrow.” Theresa warned, her voice growing distant, “It is time.” The bellowing of a war-horn split the night air like the anguished call of some wounded beast, followed by the rhythmic pounding of thousands of feet marching in locked step. Looking out though the rain and the gloom, Sparrow could just make out the glint of rain-slicked shields and armour, capped by the towering pikes of the advancing Uruk-hai. Their number was so great it seemed to fill the valley from one side to the other, stretching back as far as the eye could see. Their snarls and war-cries echoed off the mountains, full of malice and bloodthirsty intent. All around Sparrow, the warriors of Rohan and their allies steadied themselves against the advancing juggernaut, but she couldn't help but notice that the man beside her, a boy in his late teens, had lost control of his bladder and was making the stonework beneath him that little bit wetter. “Archers, DRAW!” Aragorn ordered, Legolas repeating the order in Elvish, and the sound of bows being drawn taunt filled the air. Raising her own crossbow, Sparrow swept her gaze across the army before her until she singled out an Uruk-hai who stood slightly apart from the other's, atop a boulder, calling out orders Orcish. Her field of vision narrowed, time seeming to slow as she picked out a gap between his chest plate and the lower guard of his helmet where and bolt was sure to find something soft and vital to hit. Rain hissed to steam when it touched the white-hot tip of the bolt, the argument crystal already channelling power into the projectile. A momentary pang of regret flashed through Sparrows mind over the fact that she hadn't thought to bring any grenades, or even a decent rifle with her from Albion, despite the difficulty in carrying sufficient powder and shot for such a long journey. But she had what she had, and there was little point regretting it now. The Uruk-hai threw back its head to unleashes a deep bellow, and Sparrow took the shot. The bolt streaked across down from the wall like a rocket, its expert aim sending it strait between the targets blackened teeth, through the soft tissue at the back of the throat before finally embedding itself in its spinal column. Silence rolled outwards amongst the other Uruk-hai as they realised what had been done, then the now very dead general fell backwards with all the grace and subtlety of a falling tree. He landed in the mud with a wet smack, smoke and steam drifting up out of his gaping mouth almost comically. High up on the wall, Sparrow had already reloaded and was sweeping her gaze across the massed ranks, looking for the first Uruk-hai to react; they has started to think and were therefore the most dangerous. Aragorn cursed under his breath, then gave the order to unleash the first volley, Elvish arrows flying high up into the air, then coming down amid the massed ranks of the Uruk-hai while the Rohirrim fired almost directly down. While momentarily stunned by the death of their leader, the Uruk-hai were quick to recover and their own archers began firing up at the defenders even as they brought forward their siege ladders and battering ram. In one fluid motion Sparrow slung her bow back over her shoulder while drawing her sword and shield, ready to face the first Uruk-hai to reach the battlements. A ladder slammed into the battlements almost directly in front of her, and one of the Rohirrim pushed it away as hard as he could. Unfortunately, this exposed him to the archer below, and an crossbow bolt struck him high on the left shoulder, glancing off the edge of his armour and digging into the soft flesh behind. Unbalanced and in shock, he toppled forward, almost falling over the parapet, but Sparrow grabbed him by the belt and yanked him back as hard as she could. He landed hard on the unforgiving stone, badly hurt but still alive, as the Uruk-hai below pushed the ladder back against the wall, one of their more bloodthirsty warriors already climbing up, cleaver-like sword in hand. Sparrow responded by unleashing a quick fireball at him. It was small, weak and badly aimed, but it managed to score a glancing blow. The Uruk-hai roared in pain and surprise as flames enveloped their hand, turning to steam in the constant downpour. Realising that the weather would limit the effectiveness of that particular spell, Sparrow quickly changed to lightning bolts, summoning the full fury of the storm above their heads. Arcs of raw power fell from the heavens, the damp ground conducting the electricity, spreading the effect of the blasts to those around ground-zero. Unfortunately, as effective as it was, there was still a limit to the distance she could cast the spells, and there were simply too many Uruk-hai for her to take care of single handedly. They had also apparently worked out her position, and started concentrating their archer's fire upon that area of the wall, forcing the defenders around her to duck down or risk being turned into human pincushions. This allowed them to raise several ladders into position, and soon the battle had transformed from an archery duel to a brutal mêlée with no quarter given or asked. Sparrow found it hard to keep her footing on the rain and blood slick flagstones, but knew that slipping would be the last mistake she'd ever make. The blade and handle of the Daichi was already slick with black Uruk-hai blood, her new shield was an unfamiliar weight on her left arm, and the armour she had donned felt tight and restrictive. She was also outnumbered and surrounded in a way she had never encountered before. The only way she was able to cope was to stop thinking and let her instincts take over; entering some strange, trance-like state, her sword and shield became little more than extensions of her own body. Reflexes honed by a lifetime spent fighting allowed her to dodge swords and axes while she struck out with all the weapons at her disposal. Against any lesser foe, she would have been an unassailable berserker, but the Uruk-hai gladly threw themselves upon her blade, screaming and howling in their own, twisted language as they did so. The world around her became a macabre dance, eliminated by the few remaining torches and the near blinding flashes of lightning that arced across the sky, momentarily turning night into day, the air filled with the cries of the dying and the piercing ring of blade against armour. “Beware!” Theresa's voice cut through the fog of battle and the blood-lust, “You are in grave danger!” Taking the head of her latest foe, Sparrow looked out over the battlements. Her eye was drawn to a lone Uruk-hai was running towards the wall with a spiked metal sphere in his arms. Instinct, driven by her guardians warning, told her it was an imminent threat. Re-sheathing her sword, she pulled the crossbow from across her back with one fluid motion, the tip of the bolt already starting to steam as the argument crystal came to life. Time slowed to a crawl, the rest of the battle fading into the background as she draw a bead on her target, then led it slightly to pick the spot where it would be when it crossed paths with the bolt. Her finger drew back the trigger, each heartbeat in her ear sounding like the slow, steady beat of a distant drum. A flash of lightning eliminated the battlefield, allowing her to make out even the smallest detail on her target, to count its black, half rotten teeth. The eventual click of the latch letting go the string sounded like the crack of doom, drops of water slowly arching up through the air as the contained energy of the bow was transferred to the bolt. Even in the wind and the rain, the tip of the bolt still burst into flame, a near blinding spark of light in the darkness. The wooden shaft of the bolt seemed to wobble slightly as it was sped upon its way by the string, but the shot tracked straghit and true, crossing the distance between the wall and its target like a shooting star. It struck not the Uruk-hai, but the metal sphere in its arms, the sharpened bolt having enough force to penetrate even the crude iron and reach the contents inside. Time returned to normal as the world went suddenly white then red, a titanic roar almost deafening those closest to it. Of the Uruk-hai and its load there was nothing left but a smoking hole, but Sparrow was already reloading, her keen eyes tracking back through the massed ranks of the army below her until she found a cart loaded with more of the metal spheres. Taking careful aim once more, she unlashed a second flaming bolt before the echo of the explosion had died away, let alone the ringing leave her ears. This time the range was longer, giving the Uruk-hai time to recover at least some of their wits and try and defend. One of their number, fearing neither pain nor death, attempted to place himself between the bolt and its target, but his reactions were not sharp enough, and the bolt only gouged a deep wound out of his arm before going on to find its target. If the first explosion had been loud, the second was the enraged scream of a wounded god. Flames and burning debris shot strait up into the sky, before raining down upon the Uruk-hai. The blast sent a score of them tumbling across the valley floor, bowling into their comrades, a tumbling, bleeding mess of flesh, armour and swords. The effects of the shock-wave was felt even as far as the Deeping Wall, where one of the assault ladders fell to the ground as an Uruk-hai was shaken lose, and in a bid to regain its footing, dragged it over with them. It landed on the rocks below in a bloody, broken mess. Others already on the wall itself were almost knocked off their feet as flaming debris and pulverised rock started to pelt them without mercy of deference to which side they were on. More exposed than most due to her firing position, Sparrow found herself picked up by some unseen hand and thrown clear of the battlements and down into the culvert below, darkness claiming her. To Be Continued...
Nice. Oh poor Saruman you put such faith in those gunpowder balls bringing down the wall. Now they're not going to - especially since Sparrow twigged what they were from shooting that one Uruk'hai and took them out - demolishing a chunk of the attacking army in the process. Without the ability to breach the wall the Uruk'hai will have to focus all attacks on the doors which will really bog them down, all the while the defenders will be dropping arrows on their heads.
Chapter 9 is back where it belongs. I apologise for any confusion; I failed to give snubzilla sufficient time before growing impatient and posting the unedited first draft. I do hope I didn't put too many off you off the story, because I'm already hard at work on Chapter 10.
Continued thanks to Shubzilla Sparrow's Lament Chapter 10: Dark Prophecy Sparrow found herself standing alone on a battlefield strewn with dead bodies as far as the eye could see. In the distance, a city built into the side of a mountain was in flames, the screams of the dying carried to her across the still night air. The smell of decaying flesh filled her nostrils, making her gag involuntarily. A strange, dark, and yet somehow seductive voice crept into her ears, warning her that this was the inevitable outcome, that her death would be meaningless, all her sacrifices in vain. It warned her of the true horrors yet to come, of unspeakable evils and vile corruptions. Her mind was assaulted with images of women and children, begging for mercy even as they were cut down. Farms, not unlike the one she had been born on, burned, the sky thick with their acrid smoke. She could feel the heat of the flames on her face, the kiss of hot embers arms, the crumbling of charcoal beneath her feat. The visions blurred, and she was no longer in Rohan, but back in Albion, watching helplessly as Bowerstone burned, Castle Fairfax illuminated by the flicking light of the fires as the river ran red with blood. The forests around Bower Lake were turned to ash, while the Temple of Light in Oakfield lay in ruins. All this and more was shown to her, a dark promise of the things to come. But there was, the voice assured her, a way to not only survive, but thrive in the chaos. A way to regain the lost glory that her ancestors had once known. A new image came before her; a tall figure, clad in black armour, surrounded by a halo of eldritch energy. It stood atop a mound of skulls, the steel of its sword stained red with the blood of countless victims. Before them stood an army, ready and willing to commit any act, no matter how vile, if the order was but given. The dark and terrible knight raised up its free hand, dangling a severed head by its hair. The image swum into sharper focus, and Sparrow was shocked to see that it was Theresa's head, the old seers eyes and mouth open in one final, eternal scream of terror. Throwing the ghoulish trophy down to the baying masses, the knight reached up and removed its mask, and the very breath was stolen from Sparrow's chest. It was a sick and twisted mirror of her own face that looked back at her. Her skin and hair had taken on the lifeless hue of alabaster, while her eyes were two solid orbs of red that glowed with the promise of dark power. A faint scar traced down from just below her left eye to pick at her upper lip, turning her mouth inter a determinant, leering snarl. Ever since the awakening of the powers within her at the Chamber of Fate, Sparrow had know that she had the capacity for great darkness, the same flaw that had led her ancestors to bring the glory of the Old Kingdom crashing down upon their own heads. And here she was, remade in that image, little more than a puppet, dancing to the tune of a greater evil. A torrent of images assaulted her mind; her army sacking a town, displaying the heads of their enemies on their pikes. A forest burned, the smoke turning day into night as the horde under her command killed and devoured anything in their path. A fleet of ships, the biggest the world had ever seen, scoured the seas for fresh targets, spreading the dark shadow of war to the furthest corners of the earth. None her stood before them lived, while those who tried to run were cut down, be they man, woman, or child. She drank the blood of the fallen from their skulls, savouring each and every kill, every travesty and atrocity, as her appearance grew ever more twisted and demonic, until no one would have been able to call her human. The images faded into the mist, and she was once again alone, only now on an empty mountain top. Before her, hanging in the air, was a sword with a long, curving blade that was split in two down the middle. The hilt and grip were blood red, while its pommel the colour of bleached bone. She know, somewhere deep down inside, that to take up the blade was to surrender her very soul itself. Her arm reached out, almost of its own accord, but she managed to stop herself before her fingers touched the cold metal. “What can you offer me?” She demanded of the darkness that surrounded her, “I sacrificed my family for the sake of others; my husband... our daughter! I turned my back on a mountain of gold!” unbridled rage filling her voice, the guild tattoos on her exposed flesh glowing a bright, perfect blue, “WHAT MORE COULD YOU OFFER ME?” “Death...” The voice hissed in return, the shadows coming together and coalescing into the form of an armoured giant. It raised a massive, gleaming mace over its head, ready to bring it down with enough force to crush the life out of Sparrow, “DEATH!” “YOU SHALL NOT TOUCH HER, FOUL DEMON-SPAWN!” A deep, booming voice commanded, thunder and lightning splitting the skies and a painfully bright light appeared behind Sparrow, causing the demon before her visible pain, “She has rejected your empty threats and treacherous promises, Dark One; you can lay no claim on her!” Sparrow glanced back over her shoulder, and was shocked to see a tall, withered figure in a tattered royal blue robe with white fur trim, the tarnished remains of golden armour hanging off in places, and his skin was drawn and had the colour of weathered leather. While much of his face was hidden behind scraps of the same blue cloth that his robe was made of, intricate Guild tattoos could still be seen. In his gauntleted hands he held a massive scythe, the blade of which looked sharp enough to lay a god low. The armoured spectre with the mace hissed like an enraged snake, but the newcomer raised his weapon and took a step forward, evidently ready to stand and fight. “We are not finished, little sparrow.” A howling wind filled the air, and the creature started to fade back into the darkness from whence it come. The world around them changed, the storm clouds overhead parted, the once dark and foreboding landscape replaced by rolling hills of soft sun and velvet grasses, while distant streams of quiet waters offered to sooth a beleaguered soul. “Am... am I dead?” Sparrow asked, unsure if she was more afraid the the answer was yes or no. “Death is not your destiny this day.” The robed stranger smiled down at her, his voice and eyes now warm, the hard edge they had held melted away like the first mists of dawn. The light behind him grew until it became all-consuming, enveloping everything, “Perhaps one day, when the world has no more need of you, you will walk these hill with me, and we shall talk again.” Sparrow woke again, only this time she knew it was for real; there was simply no way the human body could hurt that much in a dream. Opening her eyes slowly, and with some trepidation, she found herself laying on a blanket in the cave behind the Hornburg, surrounded on all sides by others who had been hurt in defence of the keep and the wall. But unlike their wounds, many of which they would carry to the ends of their days, her own body had almost completely healed itself, leaving only a few faint scars. Looked down at herself, she was somewhat shocked to see that she had been stripped of her armour, which was now laid out beside her bed, along with her weapons and pack. Instead she was dressed in a plain white cotton gown, stained red with her blood in places, but more than up to the task of keeping her warm and protecting her modesty. “My Lady!” Éowyn appeared at her side, a relived expression on her face, “We did not expect you to awaken so soon.” “I told you before; I'm a hard person to kill.” Sparrow pulled herself up into a sitting position, her head spinning slightly, but the aches and pains she had felt upon first awakening fading away, “How long?” “Two hours.” Éowyn explained, holding up a cup of water, “We still hold the Deeping Wall and the Hornburg, thank Eru, but I hear the enemy are massing for an assault on the gates.” “Then I am in the wrong place.” Sparrow started pulling on her armour over the top of her gown, “I have seen the face of the enemy; I will not let others stand in my place against him while there is breath left in my body.” “You're hurt!” Éowyn protested, surprised yet somehow happy at the fact that her companion was so willing to re-enter the battle that raged outside. “You need rest.” “I'll rest when I'm dead.” Sparrow responded as she gathered her weapons and made for the doorway that lead into the keep proper, “If I am destined to die this day, then I intend to make such an end that it is not easily forgotten.” she warned as she made her way though the main hall and out into the courtyard, flexing her fingers to make sure her gauntlets, and their augment crystals, were firmly in place, “I don't know what emotions Saruman gave the Uruk-hai, but I for one intend to teach them the meaning of fear.” The rhythmic pounding against the main gates indicated that the Uruk-hai had managed to get a battering ram up the ramp, despite the best efforts of the archers on the battlements and wall. Boromir seemed to be organising a party carrying beams and hammers, no doubt to shore up the one remaining weak spot in their defences, while Aragorn and Gimli slipped through a side door on a mission of their own. “Anything I can do to help?” Sparrow asked. “You have yet to cease amazing me.” The Captain of Gondor chuckled as he looked her over, “When I pulled you from the water, I felt sure that even your luck had run out.” “I've survived worse.” Sparrow had to stop herself from reaching for the scar over her right eye, just under her hairline; it was a constant reminder of the night she had first met Lord Lucien Fairfax, the night she had watched her sister die, unable to do a damn thing about it. “Of that I have no doubt.” Boromir laughed as the pounding the battering ram stopped, only to be replaced by the clash of steel on steel, “Let's see just how strong you really are.” Grabbing a thick plank, Sparrow held it up against the weakened gate and held it in place while others worked to secure it with nails. Peering through a narrow gap in the wood, she could see Aragorn and Gimli battling the Uruk-hai, buying the those inside time to work. Once the first plank was held in place, Sparrow grabbed another that was passed forward and placed it lower, holding it in place with one knee so she could pick up a hammer of her own and work to hold it in place. All the hours she had spend making swords and horseshoes at the forge in Bowerstone meant that she was an expert at hitting a target as small as a nail with even the biggest hammer. With the last board in place, she dropped the hammer and ran up to the battlements overlooking the causeway. Two of the Rohirrim were preparing the send down a rope for Aragorn and Gimli, but the Uruk-hai were massing for a fresh attack. Reacting on instinct, Sparrow summoned a trio of burning blades and flung them into their ranks, followed by another attack, and then another. She didn't have the time to summon a larger more powerful attack, so instead she just kept summoning and flinging the blades. They sliced through the thickest armour, burning as they cut, turning a few of the Uruk-hai into living, writhing touches, if only for a little while. The sudden ferocity of the attack was enough to force them back long enough for Aragorn and Gimli to make good their escape. To Be Continued...
Old Soul has the idea way back on page two of this thread: I just took that basic idea, tweaked it a little and built the start of this chapter around it.
I have to say I still prefer Fable II: it felt longer and I found the interaction options better. Hopefully in the next game (and no, I don't mean The Journey) they can merge that with the better pints of Fable III. It was a good idea and I'm thankful that you proposed it, because I wasn't sure how to address the issue of Sauron trying to tempt Sparrow, which was something I wanted to show.
I've seen Fable II go for less then £5 (second-hand X-Box/new PC), and it's worth picking up if you get the chance.
I preferred Fable 1 over Fable 2 and 3. Seemed better to me than the other two. More fleshed out. Still, Fable 2 was better than Fable 3
