The sun rose with a red glow. Blood had been spilt the night before. All that was left now was one. One lone man left among many men that lay wasted throughout the city. It had been a great massacre that night. They were out numbered completely. There was no hope. Osgiliath had been taken.
The lone man woke from the blow he had suffered the night before. It was difficult for him to stand, much less sit up. He had been knocked out for hours from what he could tell. He did manage to stand, and look around at the bodies of his comrades. He could not believe this had happened. They were men of Gondor. Fearless and strong. He wanted to morn for the loss of his friends, but he knew there was no time. He must move. He must get out of Osgiliath and head for Minas Tirith at once. He did not know what strength was left in him, but he knew if he could help in anyway, he would.
He gathered what supplies he could find lying around and picked up his sword. It was stained with the blood of Orcs. He wiped what he could from it with a cloth and headed out. He decided that it would be best to lay low in the shadows before he made his run across the plains to Minas Tirith. He snuck around the east side of the walls and hid behind some fallen statues. He had not seen an Orc yet, but he knew that they were there, searching for any survivors. Just then, he caught sight of a lone Orc, walking toward him, unknowing of his presents. He waited till the Orc turned the corner and walked past his concealed body under the statues to make his attack. He leapt up from under the statues, grabbed the Orc around the neck, and slit his throat. Standing up, he could now see the open plain and the ruins below him. Thousands of Orcs, and Goblins, pilled in the ruins, bows raised pointing at figures in the distance. He could not see them clearly at first, but, when they drew closer, he could see a figure he longed to see, alive.
It was him, Captain Faramir, charging into battle on his steed with other knights of Gondor by his side. He had thought he was the only survivor of the attack. He now had a shimmer of hope about him. Though that hope did not last long. He then realized the reality of it all. Mordor's force knew they were coming. They were even ready to attack with a barrage of arrows. He wished he could do something to help. There was nothing. He had no way to reach them, or even get their attention to warn them. Then he noticed that Captain Faramir had drawn his sword and signaled for the others to do so. They must have seen the enemy already. Why were they still charging? They must have known this would happen, that they would have suspected another attack.
Then the moment came. The Orc Commander stood up, and ordered for them to fire at will. Arrows went sailing through the air toward the riders. Nothing could stop them. It was going to happen again. Many more deaths at the hands of these monsters. He had had enough. He could not save anyone here, but there had to be a way to save others. He then turned to his left and went down a narrow walkway. He could not see another exit. The only one he knew of was straight across the plains, but if he tried, he would surly be killed. He could not, and would not die like this. There had to be another way. He then remembered the tunnel through the sewers. He had gone through them with Captain Faramir when they had left Osgiliath before. There were many ways through the sewers, but he knew he could find the right way. Anything was better than were he was. He then found the entrance to it. He turned around and looked back at the ruined Osgiliath. A city that was to never fall. He knew he would not let the same thing happen to Minas Tirith. Not while he was still breathing. He turned, and started off down the sewer, leaving the city behind.
The lone man woke from the blow he had suffered the night before. It was difficult for him to stand, much less sit up. He had been knocked out for hours from what he could tell. He did manage to stand, and look around at the bodies of his comrades. He could not believe this had happened. They were men of Gondor. Fearless and strong. He wanted to morn for the loss of his friends, but he knew there was no time. He must move. He must get out of Osgiliath and head for Minas Tirith at once. He did not know what strength was left in him, but he knew if he could help in anyway, he would.
He gathered what supplies he could find lying around and picked up his sword. It was stained with the blood of Orcs. He wiped what he could from it with a cloth and headed out. He decided that it would be best to lay low in the shadows before he made his run across the plains to Minas Tirith. He snuck around the east side of the walls and hid behind some fallen statues. He had not seen an Orc yet, but he knew that they were there, searching for any survivors. Just then, he caught sight of a lone Orc, walking toward him, unknowing of his presents. He waited till the Orc turned the corner and walked past his concealed body under the statues to make his attack. He leapt up from under the statues, grabbed the Orc around the neck, and slit his throat. Standing up, he could now see the open plain and the ruins below him. Thousands of Orcs, and Goblins, pilled in the ruins, bows raised pointing at figures in the distance. He could not see them clearly at first, but, when they drew closer, he could see a figure he longed to see, alive.
It was him, Captain Faramir, charging into battle on his steed with other knights of Gondor by his side. He had thought he was the only survivor of the attack. He now had a shimmer of hope about him. Though that hope did not last long. He then realized the reality of it all. Mordor's force knew they were coming. They were even ready to attack with a barrage of arrows. He wished he could do something to help. There was nothing. He had no way to reach them, or even get their attention to warn them. Then he noticed that Captain Faramir had drawn his sword and signaled for the others to do so. They must have seen the enemy already. Why were they still charging? They must have known this would happen, that they would have suspected another attack.
Then the moment came. The Orc Commander stood up, and ordered for them to fire at will. Arrows went sailing through the air toward the riders. Nothing could stop them. It was going to happen again. Many more deaths at the hands of these monsters. He had had enough. He could not save anyone here, but there had to be a way to save others. He then turned to his left and went down a narrow walkway. He could not see another exit. The only one he knew of was straight across the plains, but if he tried, he would surly be killed. He could not, and would not die like this. There had to be another way. He then remembered the tunnel through the sewers. He had gone through them with Captain Faramir when they had left Osgiliath before. There were many ways through the sewers, but he knew he could find the right way. Anything was better than were he was. He then found the entrance to it. He turned around and looked back at the ruined Osgiliath. A city that was to never fall. He knew he would not let the same thing happen to Minas Tirith. Not while he was still breathing. He turned, and started off down the sewer, leaving the city behind.