Author's note: this is a chapter for later in the story. Voriath is an elven Maiar and Baranturiel is a normal elf. Yaomond, Voriath and Baranturiel are copyright me.
A bolt in the dark.
Yaomond, bloodied and confused amidst the cries from the attacking goblins, turned to look for his comrades.
Amidst the mud and the pouring rain, his eyes met with the sudden blaze of a burning barrel and behind the barrel crouched Voriâthion, dagger in hand, green eyes blazing as he examined the now shattered remains of his sword. A slight hint of panic passed over his calm face before he launched himself at a goblin that had its back turned to him. The jagged fault line on Voriâthion's broken blade vanished beneath a tear in the leather armour and moments later his blood soaked hand was clutching a cruel looking goblin sword.
Yaomond was suddenly snapped back into the fray when an arrow slammed into his buckler and bounced off, the tip scratching his forehead as it spun over and behind him. Turning around, he swung his left hand out high and wide, his sword cutting through the thick skin of a goblin's neck and stopping suddenly as it bit hard into the wooden struts of the burning caravan.
He then felt a dull, but sudden, ache in his side as a goblin's fist slammed into it with all the force of a battering ram. Dropping to his knees, Yaomond looked up at see the thick, towering figure raise its angular sword. Finding no way to escape, Yaomond rose, his fist covered now by a torn leather glove rose with him sharply to meet with the Goblin's chest. Rather than falling backwards, the goblin dropped his black blade, made a slight gurgling noise and collapsed forwards, nearly knocking Yaomond off-balance. As the goblin fell past him and then hit the floor, he noticed the shaft of an arrow protruding from the back of his neck.
Yaomond looked up to see Barantûriel flashing a smile his way, which he met with a thankful grin. But his blood froze in his veins and his grin faded as Barantûriel's face contorted with pain and her abdomen gave a jerk, then a crimson-black blade tore through the clothing she was wearing.
Yaomond gave a cry and tore across the muddy expanse that stretched between himself and Barantûriel.
Voriâthion finished off the goblin he was grappling with and then saw Yaomond streak past him. As his eyes followed Yaomond's path, his eyes met with the vision of Baranturiel falling to her knees as a goblin started to swing its sword at her neck. Giving a sudden shout and throwing his hands at the goblin, a huge burst of light tore from Voriathion's outstretched fingertips and made contact with the goblin, tossing him backwards like a rag doll. He too began to run to Barantûriel's aid.
Yaomond had approached the fallen goblin by this point, and with a barbarous swing of his sword, he hacked into the fallen attacker.
