"Well, that my lad would have been the Second Battle of Calembel. Biggest, most dangerous battle fought in the Gondorian heartlands in the past 50 years." Dimitri began.
"It all started when we got the rallying order, had to scrap together 100 men in four hours. A whole lot harder than it sounds, but nicer than endless hours of practice in the sun. We marched to Dol Amroth, joined up with the 600 there, then moved north. We were lucky enough to have some Knights of the Swan with us." Dimitri started. "I still remember them. Clad in silver, mounted on shining steeds and armed with beautiful swords and lances. Like the old legends..." he said, staring off into the distance. "Anyways, we got to Calembel a few days later and prepared. We were facing a warband of orcs thought to be 2000 strong. They'd been burning their way through the heartland for a week now and seemed to want to plunder the town of Calembel. My troop was positioned on a small hill in the center of the force, right at the front. Little did we know we'd take the brunt of the assault." He pauses to take a breath.
"The orcs came right as the sun began to fall. They fight better in the dark. They charged right at us from a forest, over a flat field. Great target practice. The captain managed to get three, maybe four volleys, before the orcs slammed into our line. Our line buckled and bent, but we were stubborn. We didn't break. I fought in the front with my warhammer, cracking skulls and breaking arms countless times. We repelled the first assault rather easily, but then the second came, and then the third. Little by little, we were worn down. The flanks shuddered and almost broke after the third, they were saved only by the Knights of the Swan. It was brutal to be in front of their lances. We eventually came down to a mere 400 tired, wounded men against a horde of orcs." Dimitri said.
"The fourth and largest assault came right at midnight. They howled and roared, chanted and raved. The orcs were bloodthirsty, for they sensed our weakness. They surged forth, and then the slog began. I watched my brothers fall on all sides of me, hacked down by orcs, but we stood our ground. The 4th of Pinnath Gelin always did. I came face to face with the biggest orc I ever saw. He had a sword that dripped with poison, and armor thicker than a troll's hide. So we fought, and eventually, he got the best of me. Cut me real bad in my arm. But I wouldn't go down without a fight. I shouted, "Tulkas, give me strength!" and with a roar, slammed my hammer right into his head. He fell, but so did I. I could feel the poison burning through me and could do nothing. Two of my buddies dragged me away as the general retreat was sounded..."
"We were supposed to get reinforcements, but they didn't get there till two days later. Two days after Calembel burned. Two days after I lost my arm. Two days after the orc feasted on the dead and butchered the wounded. They didn't come, apparently, because the acting commander, some high-born rat from the east, thought that we didn't need help. But us survivors knew why: he was scared. Scared of battle and slaughter, scared of death. The 4th was disbanded after the battle, the orcs scattered following a decisive battle, and I went north after all this. Got my metal arm, went to Bree, etc., etc."
"So, how's that for a story?" he asked.
