The orcs, unprepared for a fight, howl and scream and die as the onslaught of arrows continues. A few manage to fire back, and those rangers without bows flatten to the ground, gesturing for Spoon to do the same. The arrows flying back are thick and black, with cruel barbs on their heads. Most likely they are poisoned. When the archers exhaust their store of arrows, they draw swords, the ringing of their blades as clear as bells over the cacophony down below.
"Now, Spoon, Now!" Glorfindel sings out just before the small troop charges over the ridgeline and into the clearing, smashing into the closest of the orcs with all the force of an avalanche.