Logfile from Elendor.
Flashback: Last Days of
The Retaking of Moria by the Dwarves
1st year of
Dimrill Dale
Not more than a mile to the west, and up, is
the grey side of the Silvertine. An aged path travels up to what looks to be a
shallow cave at the mountain's base. Northward the dale runs up into a glen of
shadows between two great arms of the mountains, above which three white peaks
are visible: Celebdil, Fanuidhol, and Caradhras. At the head of the glen a
torrent flows like white lace over an endless ladder of short falls, and a mist
of foam hangs in the air about the mountains' feet. To the south the
A restless breeze flows around the channels
of air around you gathering force, as if to herald the approach of winter. The
before dawn autumn air is refreshing and brisk.
[Rukghash]
The Dimrill dale, down from the Great
Gates of Moria, lays in somewhat peaceful solitude. Sounds of battle and
cries of death have echoed down from the gates for days now as Dwarf and Orc
have fought to gain control over the mines of Moria. The grass, still green,
lies down upon its side here - trodden upon by numerous booted feet.
Orcs, a multitude of the carnivorous
beasts, a gathered around one Goblin of great importance. Its figure imposing over all the rest. They sit in noisy
silence a good bit down from the gate of Moria. The eyes of these orcs flicker
often back to the Gates - eyes seeking to regain control of what once was
theirs.
The wind whispers its mournful tune of the grass of the
land, causing the waters of the Mirromere to stir and ripple. The orcs grow
more noisy, armour, weapons, and shield being clanged against one another in
anxious anticipation of something to come.
[Balin(Frodo)]
The last.
This in itself is hope: a bracer for the hearts of the
dwarven warriors who now study the last of their challengers, the few remaining
beasts challenging the possession of their people's long-overtaken realm.
At the head of the group stands Balin, his face grim and
set, heavy axe clasped firmly in his strong hands as he gives a nod. . .the final signal.
"These are the last of those who would dog our steps
here. Today we rid Moria of the foul poison that has so long plagued our halls.
Let us go to it well and with honour!"
[Oin(Calriel)] The night is powerfully held above, in a sky
painted with midnight blue and darker colors, thin silver rays of almost full
moon stretched upon the field of Azahnulbizar, the Dimrill Dale as it is called
by the First born.
There is a coldness to the
immobile air. A chilliness that nips firmly against the flesh, frigid and
unmerciful, like the icy sting of a snowy tempest, that
has lingered into this night of early spring.
Hard like the snowy mountain peaks of the Hithaeglir are
the eyes of one particular majestic Dwarf, standing firm almost like a deity, a
Lord of Dwarves: it is Oin, son of Groin, and in fact first cousin to Balin.
"Indeed, this is the day that the glory of our race
shall be restored, and the city of
[Floi_the_Dwarf (Gollum)]
Raising his sturdy axe with a treetrunk of an arm, Floi shouts in a gruff
voice, defiant and bloodthirsty, a voice fit for hewing stone
.. . and orcish heads!
"Aye!"
he shouts from Balin's side, "My heart yearns for what is under these
mountains." His grey eyes turn fierce as the Dwarf furrows his brow and
spits on the ground through his long beard. A thick layer of sweat and grime
coats his forehead. "Let the filthy vermin stand in MY way!"
Gilur hefts his mattock in salute to Balin, "It will
take us a month to sharpen our blades anew and a lifetime to erase the stained
blood of goblins after this is done." His voice is low and rough, his
comment meant for himself and those in his company.
he Dwarf's hazel eyes survey the orc covered landscape. He
murmurs, "And a day to wash the rotten blood from my beard, no
doubt."
[Frar(Flarin)]
Frar stands completely still, his eyes peering deep down
the hill, concentration riveted upon his face, determination in his eyes. His
stance is ready for action, holding his heavy and bloodied battle axe before
him. The shouts from his fellow khazad rise a slight
grin upon his face and he takes one giant step forward.
The murmur of sounds below invigorates Frar, and his head
turns side to side watching his cousins ready for battle. "Let's
fight!" he booms out.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Away from the huddled masses and being
elbow to elbow with those who thirst for dwarves, an archer anxiously awaits
the signal from higher ground. Hands smeared with soot prepare for the wage of
battle and seeks an arrow from his quiver to drive it through these pigs'
hearts. Teeth bare, voice hisses, stench reeks from his mouth. His arm
straightens to a line while the arrow notches cleverly as eyes squint in
aiming. Little do their squeals to arms break the concentration Oarchone
maintains as there will be blood tonight.
[Grain(#20798)] "Hear, hear!" shouts Grain, son of
Drain, raising also his axe in salute. His visage is solemn, his heart of
flint, and resolve far more grim than either, or both
combined. Dried blood splattered upon his armor, caked throughout his beard and
hair, Grain vowed they should never take his home again. And never again they
should...
"Far had they come, but farther away they shall
leave! For Dwarrowdelf, friends and kin!" he calls, growling mightily.
[Grutka(#32096)] Crouched,
tongue lolling from his mouth, breathing heavily and scanning
left to right, Grutka's beady eyes lead the movement of his head as it
turns right and left. One of his tusky fangs appears freshly broken in half,
causing a slight whistling sound with each inhalation. A
trickle of liquid courses down his dark chin from a corner of his mouth - not
blood, but of undeterminate nature. Bleeding slightly from minor wounds
on his cheeks, arms and thighs, stinking of sweat, urine and blood even more
than usual and appearing slightly out of breath, he tightens his grip on both
scimitar and shield - the one freshly blooded, the other, freshly dented.
Placing one next to the other before him, his posture is that of perimeter
guard.
[Great_Goblin(#31889)] Squinted eyes narrow threateningly as a
large Goblin observes the mass of orcs surrounding him, daring any of them to
speak up as he demands of them, "Who of you would fall to these creatures
who have invaded our halls, pushed us back from the depths we claim as our
own?"
In one smooth motion, the creature known as the Great
Goblin, himself, draws forth his battle axe and thrusts it high into the air,
for all to see. "I fight to reclaim that which is ours!" he calls out
with a snarl. "Do you fight with me?"
[Rukghash]
"Let us fight! Retake our mines! Take it back!"
Cries come out of the group of Orcs, their anger growing in intensity. Orcs
elbow each other, pace, and growl as they await the orders to attack the mines
once more. Constantly their eyes flick to the Great Goblin. Then they cry out
in unison, a defeaning roar of orc verbs and curses all culminating in this, on
final yell:
"We fight for the Mines! We fight for OUR
mines!"
[Lurgat(#23381)] Along the lines of orcs, several voices
become raised in an angry snarl as they hear the challenge from Frar. A squat,
heavy set uruk in the middle slashes his blade in the sir before him, his lips
peeled back with malice. As the Great Goblin addresses the rank, he growls in
anticipation, and raises his weapon above his head. "Fight!" he roars
with the rest.
[.Ori(Thrak)] Shoulders borne
high with the pride of one whome is the heir of a long noble race, Ori, son of
Ghori stands tall and faithful behind his leader. His polished mail and garb of
a worhty khazad sag wearily on his swarthy skin, coated and wieghed down with a
layer of sweat and stains of blood from many days of tiresome battle. A burly
hand wipes the sweat and dust from his brow, and he breathes a sigh into his
long and glorious beard. Then impassively removing his tarnished yet baneful
axe from its home, he sets his jaw in determination and locks his eyes forward,
sweeping over lands that his father's once held. "How they gleam. It was
one said that the world must change and some other power than ours must come
before Dirn's folk walk in Khazad-dum again. Lead on, Balin, today we fight to
prove those words folly."
[Bo(#32027)] Shorter than nearly
all of his present company, Bo stands with the rest of the Dwarves, defiant, a
thing of firey spirit and ruddy complexion. Through his brilliantly red beard,
a rocky voice issues, though no lips can be seen moving on account of the
dwarf's coarse beard.
"You'll retake nothing!" he shouts to the
milling creatures below. "Except your place at the side
of your twisted maker! Come! Come quickly, you slime of these mines!
Hurry towards your death at the hands of the company of Balin!"
[Balin(Frodo]
"A thousand lifetimes would hardly be enough to wash
away such stench."
His expression distasteful, Balin tenses at the growing
outcry from the gathering of orcs, eyes blazing fire as he finally raises his
axe.
"Ahead! Purge Durin's halls of the
filth that stains its beauty!"
And with that, he charges ahead, axe brandished, leading
the company of well-armed kindred and companions -
[Rukghash]
The wind once calm breeze has ceased to be. The waters of
the Mirromere still ripple, though with each wave the waters slow to a
stillness of uneasy anticipation. No longer is their silence in the Dale. No.
Armour scrapes at the grass and dirt, the orcs ripping the grounds to shreds.
[Floi(Khazar)]
"Aye, I will fight you, black Rukh!" roars Floi
in husky-voiced reply, hefting his battle axe up in return to the Great
Goblin's challenge. The silver moonlight glints on the honed edge of it's massive blade, and the mighty dwarf's eyes twinkle with
a predatory gleam.
He strides forwards with the dwarven lines, his heavy
iron-shod boots clicking against the stone at his feet. His steely gaze remains
locked upon the orc leader--and ruthless and bloodthirsty that gaze is, full of simmering hatred long built up over the
centuries. Forwards the dwarves stride, in the vale of Azanulbizar.
[Grutka(#32096)] The sound of distant challenge by the
naugrim gathers Grutka's attention and his head turns towards it. Over his
shoulder, in response to the Great Goblin's challenge he calls, "Nar Mat
Kordh-Ishi! It is a good day to honor the Flame. We have a world of enemies!
Let us kill them all!" He begins thumping the hilt of his scimitar on his
metal shield - thump, thump, thump. The rhythm is picked up by one, then
another, then another of the nearby uruks.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] From his
perch does the archer echo the rumbling roars of the orcs and raises his bow
into the sky. Chants of death continue, louder and
louder as the anticipation and adrenaline builds until at once war cries erupt
to a charge-the dwarves scurry forth from their holes. Eyes gleaming,
bloodthirsty, Oarchone begins his assault by raining arrows haphazardly into
the melee along with the other archers.
[Oin(Calriel)] Cursing softly the horde of goblins, Oin
stands proud still surveying the lands of his fathers stretched out before him:
the distant glimmer and clash of steel on steel, the smoke and fire of battle
under a darkened sky. "The goblins are come in even larger numbers! Yet
not all hope of regaining the mines of our ancestors is lost!" he cries,
and pulls at his great beard.
"Follow BALIN!",
thunders the voice of the Dwarf Lord as he waves his heavy, two-handed mattock
over his head. "The day has come to earn our rightful place in mighty
songs!"
And with that, he too, storms forward, following the son
of Fundin into battle.
[Frar(Flarin)]
"For Khazad-dum!" Frar
shouts out as Balin begins to charge forward, Frar just a couple of steps
behind the leader. His battle axe is held high as he charges the collection of
filth below him on the hill, a snarl of hatred escaping from his lips. His
boots pound the ground, his ring mail clanging ready for the battle to come.
"For Khazad-dum" he repeats booming the words across the dale.
A descending ripple of mail armous clanking down from the
Great gates of Moria accompanies the ranks of Dwarves. Their
charge managing to drown the mull of the remainder of the orcish horde.
Some of the orcs turn to see the Dwarves begin their charge down the hill.
"AH! They come Great one! We will gnash their bones
and tkae their heads for what they have done!"
A fair number of orcs begin a counter-charge, rushing out
ahead of the main pack to meet in battle with the ranks of the Dwarves. Still
the air is calm, the waters of the Mirromere pulsating with the rhymic beatings
of booted feet upon the solid ground.
Long distance to Oin: Rukghash pumps up the jams.
[Bo(#32027)]
Following Balin, Bo brandishes his hefty axe, clenching
it in a bloostained grip that turns his calloused knuckles white and prompts a
slight split in his vermillion beard to open. From the gap, filled with broad
teeth, comes again Bo's voice, as passionate as his complexion is red.
"Azanulbizar's soil will be steeped in orc blood
after this!" he says. "Surely the Earth will reject the foul
stuff!" Laughing crudely, Bo's heavy boots thunder
behind his kin as he charges forth. "But the sooner we kill off
these creatures, the sooner my brother, Boz, can muster up his finest
ale!"
[Grain(#20798)] With a cry of
rage does Grain charge into the fray, thick legs pumping madly, axe held at the
ready in gruesome anticipation.
[Lurgat(#23381)] His face
twisting into a grim scowl, the sturdy orc, Lurgat picks up the call, and
roars, "Yes! Death! Kill! Slice! Rend the filthy worms' flesh!" He
leaps forward at the example of the other orcs, and bellows, "Die you
stunted maggots!" as he charges the dwarves. His blade slicing the air,
seemingly eager for blood, the uruk runs madly on, his muscles bulging as he
draws his weapon back to swing
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] Snorting
angrily, the Great Goblin tosses his head and turns his gaze to the dwarf-built
halls of Khazad Dum, inhabited for many long years by his own kin, the goblin
brood of Moria.
"They have come to fight!" he shouts gruffly,
over the sound of the horde of orcs beneath his command, "and so have we!
Onward, warriors! Onward to our home!" Leaping
downward from boulder atop which he had been hollering, the Great Goblin surges
forward, the orcs before him parting and following in
his wake.
"We fight to reclaim the mines! We fight for
Moria!"
"For Moria!"
[Yeckt(#31491)] With a snarl, a
curse, and a battle cry, Yeckt leaps up in the orc line, notching a black arrow
on his tattered bow string--one that has let its rueful twang cry out much as
of late. The commands of his captain are heard and he leaps forward with the rest
of his line, drool flying furiously from his curled lips. He lets his first
arrow fly away into the mass of coming dwarves, but as he knocks the next and
draws, the string snaps from the twisted bow. A weapon weary
of battle. With a cry the goblin pulls a crooked blade from his side and
charges.
Gilur's mail slaps against his legs as he joins the
charge of Balin. His guttural cry joins the chorus of shouts from his comrades.
The dwarf's mattock is held at shoulder as he runs, he
almost manages a smile as the lust of battle overtakes him and replaces the
gleam of his eyes with a fire.
[Rukghash]
All the orcs needed was a single order, and so it has
been received. The dwindled horde of orcs pulses forward, the sound of two
charging armies echoing off the mountains and into the realms below. In the
Dale the sound is defeaning. Numerous battle cries are screeched by both sides.
Orcs and Dwarves drawing near each other in order to do
battle. Soon the Dimrill Dale will no longer be green, bu red.
[Grutka(#32096)] The
charge of the naugrim quells not this rhythmic beating of weapon hilt on
shields as the uruks surge forward in response. Feet stamp in unison along with
the beat of weapons banging, war cry mixes with simple pure anger, rage fills the air like the fire of a red sunset. And the
lines of uruks move as one - not ragged in disarray, but as one and with
purpose.
Grutka takes a
deep breath, shouts "Flame take you!
Charge!" and rushes with his fellows forward to meet the onslaught -
scimitar waving high overhead. A short figure appears before him for but a
moment, almost too quick though his scimitar arcs downward immediately - red
blod filling the air where a head once was. Grutka's own charge resumes, up the
hill into the melee.
[.Ori(Thrak)] Swift,
fierce, defiant. Ori trods forth and charges the stench-laden hoard
before him on the shoulder of his leader. The dwarf's beard wags like a blunder
in the wind, and his axe is brandished by his side, catching a chilled glint of
the moon on its sleek and deadly blade. A fire gleams like black coals in his
hardened eyes, proud and filled with the lust of battle glory. His fiery amd
baritone voice is lifted. "Listen not to the threats of weaklings and
fools, Khazad. Only hear the words of the Lord of Mora: Balin son if Fundin! We follow you to battle, forth!" With his words
of inspiration spoken, the dwarf takes a quick survey of the fields about him,
laden with mail-clad and battle-ready foes speeding forth to clash in battle.
"Baruk Khazad! Khazad Ai-Menu!" His voice alone assails the orcish
line.
[Dworlin(#23795)] Joining the charge of the dwarves is the
hefty Dworlin. The son of Dworl moves down toward the goblins slowly at first,
his fat legs and large belly providing the most resistance to his efforts to
move fast. Yet gravity eventually lends a hand and the portly dwarf is soon
barrelling down the mountain, as reckless as his brethren, axe brandished in
his right hand, a burning hatred of fire in his eyes. "For
Khazad-dum! For the glory of Durin!"
[Balin(Frodo)]
Cries of "Baruk Khazad!
Khazad Ai-menu!" now fill the air, creating a clamour quite enough to
rival the curses of the orcs. . .and not least among the voices is that of
Balin, son of Fundin, who surges forward, axe swinging toward the nearest of
the creatures, mighty arms delivering a force to reckon with behind the blow.
Lurgat sneers in his rush as he sees the huge dwarf
Dworlin tumble away down the slope, and fixes his eyes onto Gilur as the khazad
runs forward. "Your body shall join him!" he rasps nastily,
"although you will not be alive still to enjoy the ride!" Snarling,
he charges towards the dwarf, scimitar raised to strike.
[Rukghash]
The orc before Balin stops, held dead in its run by the
axe now within its skull. It's body slumps, black
blood seeping freely from the wound at the top of its head. The weapon that the
orc once held now lies at its feet, useless and unused. Blood has been spilled.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Dwarf after
dwarf riddles the horizon engulfing the archer's sights. Arrow after arrow is
unleashed with a ringing thonk to the ears. Quick, precise to the targets, all
Oarchone sees is the want to rid their mines of these creatures. So, the hunt
continues to kill every last infectious dwarf. "For OUR mines!"
sneers the archer in a hollowed shout as another shot is made, aimed at a
dwarf's heart.
[Oin(Calriel)] Balin, Oin and
Ori have not come alone. An army of stout dwarves accompanies them in the
charge. Covered in hauberks and hoses of flexible metal mesh, the secret of
whose making only possessed by Dain's people, a grimness and determination can
be read on their faces. Banners of both the Iron Hills and Erebor are carried
as the weapons of orc and dwarf clash in the once peaceful Dimrill Dale.
With cries of "Dain!" and "Balin!"
and also "Moria, Moria!" the Dwarves rush forward. Red fire seems to
leap from Oin's eyes as the cousin of Balin hews the legs from underneath the
first goblin in his path, wielding his fierceless mattock.
[Grutka(#32096)] Against three naugrim Grutka finds himself
nearly pinned amidst the crush of forces and bodies meeting in a confined
space, yet with sufficient room for a desparate tactic. He leaps upward as one
naugrim swings his battle axe and allows the other charging naugrim to step
where Grutka once stood. Like a cat dropped from a height, Grutka twists as he
falls back to earth after bouncing off the advancing naurgrim's back, finally
landing on the ground only to roll over immediately - scimitar slicing downward
onto and through the foot of the first naugrim even as that battle axe
eliminates the other. Grutka springs up and finishes what his scimitar roll
started - an upward thrust removes an arm and its return swing removes the
naugrim's head. "We win! We win!" he cries at his early victories.
[Floi(Khazar)]
"For Balin and Dain! For
Khazad-Dum!" thunders Floi, his short legs picking up their tempo,
beginning to pump like two twin pistons as he charges down the rise. His great
two-bladed weapon swings in huge loops above his head, flashing dangerously
each time the moonlight catches it. His mail's jangling and the clanking of his
well-made helm are all but lost in the throng of
voices, as he sprints downwards, his gaze locked on the Goblin Leader.
CRACK! His mighty axe swings downwards, splintering a
flimsy wooden shield and coating his steel blade in a fresh coating of black
ichor, as one of the Great Goblin's bodyguards slumps to the ground.
CRACK-CRACK! CLING! *CRUNCH!* A flurrying onslaught of parries and slashes, and
another orc slumps to the ground, his notched scimitar falling from cold
fingers.
"Baruk Khazad! Khazad Ai-Menu!" he howls to the
sky, his eyes glowing with a fierce pride and hatred as he spins to face the
Great Goblin.
[Bo(#32027)]
"Hah! Look at the blasted lot!" Bo yells
defiantly as his stride brings him closer, closer, closer yet to the maniacal
howling of the orcish horde. It sounds like a hurricane, but smells much worse.
Hundreds of gleaming red eyes loom before the Dwarf. It only heightens his
crimson rage. "They are as beaten dogs!" the ruddy Dwarf guffaws.
"Haw!" His axe rears back and Bo's face turns to something resembling
a very ugly rendition of his mother, who was called 'The Bearded Wench of
Undermountain.'
"Baruk
Khazad!" Bo yells as his weapon crashes upon an orc. The creature catches
the dwarf's blow with a wooden shield, but his defense is badly compromised.
Dislodging his axe, Bo hews at his opponent's legs and relieves him of the
left! As the orc crashes to the ground, Bo steps over him, foot on face,
scowling through his beard and looking for another target. "Bring your
scimitars here, miserable wretches!" he says. "You are keeping me
from my ale!"
[Rukghash]
A constant ZIP fills the air as arrows shoot forth from
the Orcish ranks to riddle a few unlucky Dwarves with their barbed hooks. More
often than not, however, the crooked arrows of the orcs riddle the soil with
their filth, making even walking treacherous in this battle filled area.
[Frar(Flarin)]
His eyes ignoring the occasional arrow swishing by his
ear, Frar's attention is centered upon the vermin that stand and rush towards
him. His beard bounces as his eyes penetrate the forces before him. A scowl
comes over his face as an arrow finds the mark of a fellow khazad beside him,
his eyes turning to watch his cousin fall. He brings the heavy powerful battle
axe over his head with both arms and with a quick stroke, brings the blade down
upon the nearest filthy orc before him. A heavy grunt comes from deep inside
him.
A sole orc steps ahead of the ranks, an axe brandished in
his right hand with shield strapped to his left. "Come here midget!"
The orc calls to Balin, though it stands not so much taller than the Dwarf
himself. "I need myself a good skullcap!" The orc charges forward,
metal-studded armour bouncing against his muscled body. His axe comes out and
down towards the Dwarf-lord. Seeking to slice away Balin's
own entrails in a horizontal cut.
Gilur charges into the ranks of the Great Goblin's
bodyguard, mattock swinging. The weapon shatters the skull of one orc. A spray of gore impacts on his metal helmet and beads away like
rain or snow, a lumpy red slush. The dwarf recovers just in time Perry a
scimitar.
[Balin(Frodo)]
With a wild cry, Balin cheers, but wastes no time on
gloating. Kicking the corpse atop its own weapon, he continues, swinging his
now-bloodied axe toward yet another of the foul foes, hewing mightily at any of
them within range. The shout of 'midget' evokes a broad, heavy laugh. .
."And I need a winter coat! We can't both have what we'd like, so I'll
take you as a fire-rug, since you look only a bit worse than my last one!"
And Balin darts away nicely, just managing to avoid the blow and swinging back
with his axe.
[Lurgat(#23381)] As he presses
on, almost in reach of Gilur, Lurgat's eye's flicker away from the dwarf, as
another comes up between them. Ducking his head as the new khazad swings his mace, the uruk bares his fangs, and escapes the blow by mere
inches. Before his opponent can strike again, Lurgat slashes upwards with
lightning speed, his blade hewing the dwarf's weapon arm off. Snarling, he then
plunges the tip into the other's neck, and growls as
he cuts out his throat. Panting with adrenalin, he looks about for another to
fight.
[Yeckt(#31491)] Like one of many
grains of sand blown among blades of grass, Yeckt is swept into the midst of
his foes with the gust of battle-lust. Baring his teeth he plants his feet against
the barreling approach of one bearded warrior, but the small uruk nimbly avoids
the swing of his axe. Jumping up the sloping ground past his opponent, a sweep
of his jagged sword knocks the dwarf behind him and down the hill. "Slice! Hack! Chop, chop chop! Lop off the beards, and the filthy heads too!" he screams in a
horrid voice that clashes with the deep-throated Khazad shouts. And onward he
runs, setting his wicked flickering eyes upon another opponent.
[Grain(#20798)] Whoosh! goes the mighty axe at the hand of Grain, Thump! goes its victim. Again does this sequence repeat, the son of
Drain whooping with victory as another and another fell creature drop to the
crimson ground. No thought to the gore around him is
given as he tears mercilessly through the throng of orc and goblin, for
bloodlust has blinded him to all save one thought and strain:
"Baruk Khazad! Khazad
ai-menu!" This does his voice lift up and call
out, but one voice in a chorus of many callings.
[Grutka(#32096)] "By all the dead," comes a battle
cry only to be answered with "They must have flowers in their blood"
by Grutka as he swings his sharp scimitar once again. Yet this swing is met
skillfully with a shield parry, followed by an immediate axe aimed at his
muscular neck. Only through luck and an off-balance half-step backward does
Grutka avoid decapitation, yet even so his own scimitar swings again. The
ragged and sawtoothed edge of his scimitar makes an ugly laceration as it cuts,
rips and tears meat from the bone of the unfortunate naugrim at the end of the
axe handle. Falling, Grutka is stepped on and that in turn causes yet another
to fall, mmore blood of the defenseless to flow and black blood mixes on the
grass of the Dimrill Dale in pools and mud ne'er before seen there. The tumult
continues chaotically, only the fortunate are not tripped if near this
maelstrom. "Vrasubatburuk ug butharubatgruiuk" is heard from amidst
the pile, though muffled it may be.
[Dworlin(#23795)] At last
Dworlin's speed has built up enough to where he has come to the first ranks of
the goblins. The large dwarf uses his momentum and throws all his weight behind
a terrific blow of his axe into the nearest orc. Blood spurts up and into the
dwarf's face from where his axe has found its mark. His first kill of the day
under his belt, the old dwarf has no need to look for another target, for the
entire mountainside is crawling with orcs.
"Skai!" The orc yells
out as Balin's axe manages to cut a swath along his chest, though the cut is
not deep black blood still flows from it. "Ah, buy you're beard would make
such a nice hat I would think!" The orc chortles, rushing back in to send
his axe in a rising vertical strike to hit the Dwarf beneath his chin.
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] With a
rumbling beginning deep in his throat, the Great Goblin draws his attention
away from the battle at hand and focuses his gaze on one dwarf which has managed to break through the ranks without being
slaughtered: Gilur. "Foul beast!" he cries out, the rumbling bursting
into a loud growl. "These halls are mine!" And with that, he lifts
his double-bladed battle axe and swings it in a downward arc at the dwarf, her
desire to kill inciting her to aim for her opponent's neck.
[Oin(Calriel)] With the legion of dwarves at his back, Oin
himself drives forth and through the hoarde of orcs before him. Swinging his
mattock as might a man a scythe at harvest, he shores at the challenger of
Balin from a distance, then pits another orc to the
death by hewing off his leg. Now well nigh unto Rukghash he comes, and throws
himself at the iron-clad ranks swelling up behind the foul orc. "Oh unholy
vermin!" he cries, "Khazad ai-menu!" Then
makes a mighty stroke of his weapon at the monster as Balin jumps out of the
way.
[Rukghash]
[Bo(#32027)]
"Here I am!" shouts Bo through his beard,
suddenly wrigling his pugnose at something unseen .. but sensed. "Gah! You remind
me of the trash heap outside Erebor!" A heavy swing! Crunch! A headless
snaga falls to the arrow strewn ground. "Gah again!
Send me something better than slaves!" the short clump of muscle yells.
"I'm gonna to turn you all into..."
Thunk! A
blackfletch barbed arrow buries itself in Bo's left shoulder. "Argh!"
the red warrior cries, no small amount of spittle spraying from his beard onto
nearbye orcs and dwarves alike. Brow furrows and he spots Yeckt nearbye. Pain
disappearng, Bo runs, arrowshouldered and all, in the orc's direction.
"Your comrades should watch where they are aiming, if they aim at
all!" he says, heavy boots thundering.
Gilur blocks the Great Goblin's attack by pure luck.
Another orc bumped him from the side and he raised the mattock by reflex. The
dwarf's eyes widen, "So yer mine to slay!" He pulls back and changes
the grip on his weapon, now holding it parallel to the ground and swinging it
in a horizontal arc toward the uruk leader.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] "Our
stew pots shall fill with their carcasses and hides," snorts an
affirmation from Oarchone to the archers at his side. All are seethed with war
lust, continuing their rain of arrows heads with ease. Another chortles a
grizzly and darkly bark of laughter, "Thick are laid to their bellies; all
the more to feast." The sharp ends dipped mainly in poisons to heighten
the toils of death. The archers' smirks grotesquely are inhibited with delight
in the battle. Oarchone notches another before firing in an attempt to lodge
the arrow in a dwarf's neck.
[Balin(Frodo)]
A slight nick rewards Balin's efforts, but even this is
so minor as to avoid serious bleeding. . .however, a
hair or two might well have been lost in the matter, and the son of Fundin
glares, eyes blazing. "Not half as nice as the door-pull your hand would make
for the gates of Durin's halls!" With a mighty thrust, he swings his axe
once more, seeking to finish the work begun by the slash to the orc's chest -
[Frar(Flarin)]
His blad finds its mark, the battle axe crushing the
shoulder of the orc standing before him, the orc's body crumpling to the
ground. A large grin flashes across Frar's face, as he quickly looks for his
next victim. He leaps over the dying orc on the ground, and brings his battle
axe back over his head. Spying an orc that has just felled a
fellow khazad a moment ago, Frar rushes towards the filthy beast.
"Die!" he shouts out as he takes a swing of his battle axe bringing
it down over his head at Lurgat.
[Grutka(#32096)] "Nar Thos" screams Grutka directly
into the face of the naugrim now facing him as he regains his feet. Without
hesitation, he rushes the short figure before him, bowls him over and slices
the naugrim's face with the scimitar. The blade breaks under the dwarven helm
and Grutka resorts to his dagger to finish the job. Quickly, he commits the
greatest insult possible to his victim, he cuts half
the beard off and holds it high.
Incensed, a
nearby naugrim spots the taunting gesture and rushes Grutka. Grutka crouches,
launches himself at the dwarf and they collide. When he rolls over to regain
his feet, Grutka finds his hand has closed on a weapon hilt and he stands ready
to rush his next "victim." He barrels forward towards Dworlin no
glancing left or right, only the scimitar above his head any indication of
deliberate control and conscious thought.
[Floi(Khazar)]
Stepping forwards, the Great Goblin in his sights, Floi
deflects a wild blow from a scimitar with an almost casual ease, a mere
sweeping of his great axe down to parry, and up again, to lodge the still-sharp
blade in the orc's solarplexus, cutting easily through the shoddy mail.
"Ha-ha!" the dwarf chuckles throatily, kicking the corpse away from
him with a iron-shod foot, his brown beard swaying to
and fro in almost a merry fashion
"For Dain, for Balin!" he booms yet again, his
muscular legs picking up speed as he surges through the Orc leader's
bodyguards, scattering them with three blows from his mighty axe and leaping
into the inner circle.
There Floi stands, his armor and weapon gleaming in the moonlight,
sweat and blood, both black and red dripping from his beard, his stout legs
apart, his axe held out in front of him; a true epitome of dwarven might.
"Face me if you dare, Rukh!" comes the deep
guttural roar of his voice, loud enough to shake stone, aimed in the direction
of the dueling Great Goblin and Gilur. "Face me!" he thunders again,
levelling his massive weapon at the orc leader.
[Rukghash]
"And your....." Thunk!
Balin's axe finds its mark within the cavity of the orcs chest. Deep its blade
has crept near enough the orcs heart for it to halt. The Orcs body quiver violently, his eyes turning to regard Balin once
more. "You've lost a hair, midget!" The orc spits weakly, his eyes
glazing over in a hurried death as the beast collapses to the ground, dead.
Lurgat spins away as an axe comes hurtling out of
nowhere, and grunts with discomfort as it catches on his armour, nicking the
skin underneath. A low growl bubbles in his throat as he steps backwards, his
own blade dancing before him as he draws his dagger also. Both blades
twitching, the uruk licks his fangs, and screams a rasping challenge.
"Come and try that again, and let my knives do their work!"
[Dworlin(#23795)] Spotting the
ugly orc Grutka, charging at him, Dworlin re-cocks his axe behind and to the
left of his body and runs to meet him. In his fury, the old dwarf pays too
little attention to the ground at his feet and half stumbles on a rock that
juts out just enough to trip him up as he goes to swing at Grutka. His blow
falls short of its intended mark, only slightly slicing the orc's shoulder.
[.Ori(Thrak)] The first foolish
orc to come before him is swiftly met with the blow of an axe to his skull,
none will stand before him. Quickly propping his iron-clad boot against the corpse,
he pries his axe free in hardly enough time to meet the readied shield of
another foe, but the poor creature did not consider the consequences of
kindling the wrath of Ori, son of Ghori. The shield is quickly dislodged from
the now armless orc, and his head soon shares a similar fate.
Through the cries
piercing the chilled night air around him, which whistle through his long and
glorioius beard in tones than hint at ought but mirth, and through the ever
repeated ring of steel upon steel or its bite upon flesh, the keen and
battle-hardened ears of Ori catch every taunt given to his leader, or shriek
from the foe the son of Fundin slays. His eyes pierce keenly through the massed
hoards about him, and he nimbly avoids random swipes of sharpened steel with
his warrior's reflexes. Through it all he wades, and with furious blows stays
faithfully on the heels of his leader.
[Balin(Frodo)]
"And you, my 'friend', have lost just a *bit* more
than that."
Balin grins proudly, pausing only to sever the
weapon-hand of the orc, dropping that into the bag at his waist before swiftly
resuming battle, still muttering darkly.
"Not *my* beard, mind you - "
[Oin(Calriel)] The long beard of
Oin, son of Groin, is forked and plaited, and thrust into his belts of thick
black leather. His armor gleams is metallic brilliance as the moon's fine
silver rays dance upon it. Two arrows now have missed him, another deflected by
his iron cap.
Quickly now does the dwarf spring aside as one of the
foul creatures attacks him, and with a might throw he hurls forth his mattock
at the creature, hitting it merciless in the stomach.
"By Durin's beard!"
Oin cries out. "To me, o kinsfolk! To me!"
... and with that, he slings the buckler from his back and draws his short
sword, the stars of Durin set in the hilt by diamonds, gleaming as living
stars.
Yeckt's eyes catch an arrow bobbing in a thick shoulder
that quickly approaches. The orc's eyes take in the sight, like a boulder
crashing down the mountain-side towards him--not a pleasant place for a sinyewy
uruk! But he lowers his head and charges against Bo's approach, his blade
pointed at the dwarf's belly. A screech comes from the goblin's throat:
"Arrow in the shoulder, blade in the belly! The only way a bearded run
should be met!"
[Rukghash]
Another rain shower of arrows fills the sky coming down
on the backs of Orcs and chests of the Dwarves. The Dwarves seem in control of
the battle presently, though outnumbered they battle with a
ferocity unmatched by the orcs. Still the orcs rush on. A pair of the
beasts rushing for the exposed Balin to try and oust him, Still
more come forth to meet in battle with the Dwarves under Balin's charge.
[Grutka(#32096)] Even
as they meet, Grutka whirls to arc the scimitar around behind the back of
Dworlin - but the whirl is not quite fast enough and Dworlin's blade slices
lose a shoulder piece from Grutka's armor. Still, Grutka's scimitar moves with
the speed of a galloping horse towards the back of the elderly dwarf as he
rushes by and stumbles.
"Vrasubatburuk ug
butharubatgruiuk" adds strength to Grutka's swing as he utters this
battelbry.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Satisfaction
appeals to each orc archer for their arrows mostly hit their intended marks. If
orcs cross into the arrow's path, the archers care not, giving shrugs and
directing attentions to the kill, their prey. Oarchone slicks his tongue across
the arrow's feathers before notching, the string held taunt, and firing upon
another target-a dwarf's backside.
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] Both hands
gripping the wooden haft of his battle axe, the orcen leader draws the weapon
back and snarls at Gilur, "Skar! I'll be the one doing the slayin',
varmint!" Managing to take a step backward as the dwarf attacks, he looses
another, wordless cry and blocks the mattock with the haft of his axe.
"Your blood will stain this ground, not mine!" he finishes, his voice
filled with contempt as he circles around his opponent, then surges forward and
swings his battle axe in an upward diagonal arc at the dwarf's chest,
attempting to split his hauberk.
[Dworlin(#23795)] There was no
better mark for Grutka to find than the exposed back of Dworlin. The dwarf lets
out a yell of surprise as the scimatar bites into his back. Yet Dworlin is
lucky, for the orc's blow was also off target. As the blood runs down the
dwarf's back, he rights himself and stands with his axe at the ready in front
of Grutka.
[Bo(#32027)]
"Ooompf!" Bo IS indeed
met by a blade in the belly: eyes go wide and face contorts (ugly as it is, the
pugnosed visage grows even uglier: red, wrinkled, only a face a mother could
love .. then again, a mother known as 'The Bearded Wench' can only be expected
to have low expectations!) Bo is not pierced, however. His fine dwarf-crafted
mail has saved his bowels from spilling on the battlefield. "Gah!"
One hand leaves axe and clenches midsection. Gladly, Bo finds not his entrails
but only a wide ghash in grimy tunic covering his armor. "My brother gave
me this!" he says, red beard flapping with the Khazad's red anger.
Growling, the short ball of muscle lowers his shoulder and charges Yeckt.
"... and don't call me 'Junior!'" What??? He aims to bowl his
opponent over where his size does not put him at such a disadvantage.
[Frar(Flarin)]
Frar growls as his swing misses the mark, clanging off
the armour of the beast before him, the momentum of the swing bringing the blad
nearly to the ground. His eyes peer at the creature before him in disgust and
readies his battle axe once again, quickly sweeping the weapon around his
shoulders and down towards the shoulder of the orc. "I shall try again and
again until your death," he booms out. "Die!"
[Grain(#20798)] At the cry of
Oin son of Groin does Grain spin around, focusing his attention to whence the
cry had come. Thinking he had discerned correctly, the powerful dwarf charges
through the crowds, slicing through where needed and holding still when the
times came, as well. Picking out the one whom cried out, Grain slowly works the
last few metres to get to him, shearing off limbs, hollaring with each new
victory. Within moments is he by Oin's side, swinging heartily away at any who
come to challenge him. "I have come - fear no more!" he cries.
Gilur's eyes go wide, his mouth works as he spouts a wordless
scream. The Great Goblin's axe cleaves through mail and flesh, opening a deep
gash in the dwarf's chest. A spray of blood comes from the dwarf's mouth, a
fountain from his chest. Yet the worse wound is in his arm. The Dwarf's last
swing had left him out of position to block, and his left arm had been carried
across his chest by the momentum. The Goblin's battleaxe had cut through the
flesh and shattered the bone of this appendage. Only a few strands of flesh
hold the arm together. Shock saps Gilur's strength, he drops his heavy mattock
and falls to his knees..
[Grutka(#32096)] "It is a good day to kill
.. and for you to die!" growls Grutka as
he watches his stroke make contact. Intense rage is all one might discern in
Grutka's eyes such is the fiery red of their color. He grimaces like a volcano
about to erupt and explodes forward in an instant. Raising his shield high, he
feints left and arcs his blade low and to the right at the dwarf;s forward knee, the ragged blade still dripping blood from
its last success.
[Oin(Calriel)] Although many
dark bodies of goblins litter the field, many more come to take their place.
Deflecting a blow from one, Oin plunges the short sword into a fat, goblin
belly... he finds himself deeper into the enemy lines than most his kin. The
Dwarven Lord is assailed! All roundabout him now are gathered Goblins. Two of
his kinsmen are there, but are sore pressed, and there is Ori and Balin
somewhere near with him, but further than his eye reaches.
Sweat pearls down his forehead, spit clinging to his bear
as his voice booms "To me!, as the Great Goblin's fearsome bodyguard
assaults him, "To me, my Kinsfolk!" and he is stricken at the
shoulder by the neck, his mail is rent and blood flows out from the wound; but
he bears himself up, and throw himself against the guard, shirking not the
challenge of the dark enemy.
Lurgat, on his guard now, nimbly darts to the side, and
pivots on his front foot to present a lesser target. Frar's blade hurtling past
his shoulder, he glares, and jabs out his dagger with the leading arm, the
point seeking the outstretched shoulder of the dwarves own striking arm
[Rukghash]
The battle has set itself into a rhytmn now. Weapons
clashing together and send sparks into the bleeding ground. The red and black
blood that pools at the feet of the combatants mixes into a cruel concoction -
adding its smell to the smell of death that already begins to permeate the
Dimrill Dale.
[Yeckt(#31491)] The gleam that
pierces through the ripped tunic from Bo's armor startles Yeckt, as the
surprised orc finds the thrust of his blade rendered harmless. The rusted rings of his own mail clatters as if in childish anger and
disbelief. The oncoming bearded ball catches the uruk off-guard in his
surprise. With a crash and a horrendous yelp Yeckt tumbles over backwards, arrows spilling from the quiver on his back, and helmed head
clanging against the ground.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Blood. The smell of it fills their noses much to the
archer's twisted pleasure. Again, Orachone resumes the fire of arrows aimed to
lodge, harm, and kill these pig ridden dwarves that
have taken their mines.
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] A wide grin splits the Great Goblin's face
nearly in two as his dwarven opponent falls to his knees on the blood-stained
ground, dazed and shocked out of his senses. "For the mines of
Moria!" he cries out over the din of battle, raising his battle axe high
over his head, then takes a step forward and lowers his axe, slicing
horizontally with full force at the limp form of Gilur, her malice-filled gaze
set on a single point on the dwarf's neck.
[Dworlin(#23795)] The orc
Grutka's blow finds its mark. The old dwarf Dworlin staggers as his kneecap
explodes in a spray of red. Crashing down to his good knee, spittle froths from
out of the mouth of Dworlin, intense hatred palpable in his dark eyes. With a tremendous cry of "Khazad-dum!" Dworlin
seizes his axe in both his hands and hurls it with such fiercenes that he falls
forward as he releases it. There is little distance between himself
and the orc, and the dwarf looks up from his prone position to see what damage
he has inflicted on the orc.
[.Ori(Thrak)] Oin's cries are
not missed by the ears of Ori, and through the maze of bodies before him, some
living and some dead, Ori spots the dwarf and presses forward to reach him. His
axe sings a song of doom upon the night air, and a body falls before his feet,
by his blow? In a few moments the two great dwarven warriors stand side by
side, Ori son of Ghori, and Oin son of Groin; a trail blazed behind him. A
foolish act it would be to meet them alone.
Standing with his
back to his friend of old now, Ori spits broken fragments out to his friend
through the clash of arms and cries of foes. "You're back is now guarded,
face the foe before you!" Weaving a pattern with his axe Ori holds off the
tide for swiftly fleeting moments. "To Ori and to Oin!
Come to us, O Khazad!" He continues the cry of OIn.
Long distance to Oarchone: Rukghash likes that song
[Floi(Khazar)]
"NO!" Floi roars, watching in a horrified
fascination as Gilur falls to the ground...dead. His eyes widen in sorrow, then
narrow, in rage. Hefting his massive weapon upwards, the
muscled dwarf charges headlong at the Great Goblin, mindless, heartless,
reckless, and boundless in his fury. "BARUK KHAZAD! KHAZAD
AI-MENU!" his booming baritone voice thunders, as SLASH!-SLASH! Two orcs
fall headless, the adrenaline and rage honing his notorious skills to
perfection.
Now bounding forwards, within striking range of the Great
Goblin, he growls, "Taste the wrath of dwarven might and mountain steel,
wretch!" As sends his massive axe in a montrous,
powerful stroke horizontally towards the orc's midriff, with a strength found
in few but the dwarves.
[Grain(#20798)] "Wretched varmin!" roars the son of
Drain, as he is once more seperated from his kinsmen. For once does his stupor
reside, and glancing about, he slowly realizes that other than Oin, none other
of the Khazad are to be seen. At this, his rage grows all the more, his slices
more powerful, his frantic attempt to reach Oin all the more frenzied.
Distantly does he recognize the sharp pain of a scimitar slicing through a soft
spot, but as with all else, is soon ignored.
Once more is Grain beside Oin, and now Ori, he realizes
with a grin. "To Oin and to Ori comes Grain! Baruk Khazad! Khazad
ai-menu!!" he cries, axe swinging into the gut of
one particularly unfortunate goblin.
Gilur's head and neck are separated, though only a
cross-eyed orc could call it a clean cut. Blood fountains from the deep wound
in places, and foams out in others. Vertebrae hang out of the body and part of
the neck, snapped out of the once living body by the force of the blood. The
dwarf's eyes lose their fire, they glaze over to
remain sightless ever more. Gilur, son of Talin falls to the earth and sinks
into the mud made by the escaping fluids of his own body.
The wind has once again brought its whispery tendrils
into the realm of the battle. Though the combatants can feel little of it the
breeze manages to push the smeel of acrid death off into the mountain realm and
beyond. The orcs are noticeably at a disadvantage now, their ranks being
decimated by the continuous onslaught of the Dwarven ranks.
[Bo(#32027)]
Tumbling and toombling, Bo laughs, roombling in gaudy
fashion as he crashes to the ground, his momentum carrying him over his foe and
onto the (increasingly damp) gound. "Hroom!" he says, sitting up and
smacking the side of his helmet with thick, sausagelike fingers. Dazed, Bo
realizes that his weapon is no longer in his grip! Struggling, halfstanding and
surely off balance, the dwarves scrambles, heavybreathing and cursing all the
while, for his axe that lays perhaps ten feet away. "Stay there!" he mutters.
"Your head would make a nice furnishing at my brother's tavern!"
[Frar(Flarin)]
A loud groan escapes the mouth of Frar as his blade
misses the foul creature before him and he tries to bring the blad back up for
the parry but Lurgat's jab catches part armor, part flesh, a line of blood
forming on his jerkin. But he emits no sound at the pain, and his beard bounces
up, his eyes do not move from the form in front of him, perhaps concentrating
more on the foe before him. He slides the blade with more care, bringing the
iron to his left now, and taking a quick stroke at the orc's right side.
[Grutka(#32096)] The
dwarven blade slices through Grutka's thigh even as his own connects with
Dworlin's knee. Sprays of black and red arc through the air between
them, dripping now from Grutka's leather, now down Dworlin's. Yet,
Grutka is staggered by the impact of the axe it seems and his next stroke with
the scimitar is made with slightly dropped shield, low enough that he
accidentally exposes his left side from mid-chest to skill. His own weak and
off-balance off-balance thrust is circular, arcing downward towards the dwarf's
head and shoulder joint even as Grutka stumbles and begins to fall. The dwarf's axe, withdrawn and now thrown at him whirls over the
shield and into his exposed neck, burying itself with in an angry eruption of
black liquid that spews the air above where he once stood. Grutka's body
moves no more even as it falls to the ground, the tongue bitten off as his chin
strikes a boulder enroute to the ground. Lifeless this orc lays now, no longer
in service to the Flame or anything else.
[Oin(Calriel)] "Ori! Grain!", a low grunt of exasperation escapes the lips of Oin
this moment as he sees his kinsmen appear at his side. "By Dain's
beard!" he says, as he raises his buckler in defense of a club.
Whirling himself forward, he smashes into his opponent as
his sword severs a head from one of the smaller goblins' body. "Let us
fight for Balin, for Dain, for the line of Durin!" - his
voice still full of vigor, despite the blood flowing out of the wound at his
shoulder.
[Rukghash]
The orcs still fight on. Their crooked
blades and maces trying to meet with the axes and hammers of the Dwarves.
Though the orcs have fell in great numbers, there is
still a good many of the remaining to do the fighting.
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] Desire to
take back that which is rightfully his grips the Great Goblin in the form of
rage, rage and determination, a melding which produces a fearsome result in
even the most ordinary creatures, and this orc is no ordinary creature. Orcish
blood runs through his veins, but ego controls the pumping of his heart, and
ego is that which causes the orcen leader to stand, victorious, over his fallen
foe, Gilur, son of Talin, heedless of his surroundings. At the last moment,
however, a glint of metal out of the corner of his eye prompts him to turn.
Seeing the charging figure of Floi nearly upon him, he just manages to lift his
battle-axe and barely parry the attack, though caught off guard as he is, he
has only enough time to block the blow and hurry back from the dwarven
onslaught.
[Dworlin(#23795)] A grim
expression of contentment settles on Dworlin's face as he sees his foe, Grutka
die in a crimson haze. The dwarf's expression soon vanishes as the orc's
scimatar finds its mark in the dwarf's lower neck. The old
warrior slumps forward, only barely able to prop himself up on one hand.
Knowing that his foe has killed him as surely as he killed his foe, Dworlin
pulls out the scimatar with his dying breath and slashes at another orc, who
was impatient for the dwarf to die. Dworlin catches the hapless orc off guard
and slays the orc with Grutka's scimatar- the last action the defeated dwarf
takes before death takes him.
Yeckt is nearly flattened into the ground by the
tremendous tumble of roombling red-faced Bo, but he cackles with the sound of
clattering stones as he realizes the dwarf, having tumbled past him, is without
a weapon. A cry flies threw the air after the dwarf and Yeckt follows in suit,
leaping like a wretched insect after Bo as he scrambles on the ground. The uruk
shoots through the air aimed at the dwarf's wide back, twisted blade raised in
right hand.
[Zurgal(#21600)] The Crazed rush
of battle holds Zurgal his tarnished Scimitar flys about madly from one Dwarf
to another, there is not lack of game here. Zurgal looks across the hoards of
fighting creatures, for a target he will prove himself with. Sticking out his foot,
Zurgal trips a dwarf whom is badly overpowering a snaga but he continues
walking not bothering to see the results. He has found his target,
Zurgal begins pushing his way through the crowed toward Ori.
The orc Zurgal
however never makes his way there an arrow, black arrow from an orcs bow at
that, pases through his leather armor and deep into his back. The arrow would
have proven a perfect shot had it been intended to hit him, going through his
spine Zurgal loses feeling in eveything below about midpoint in his back. The
blood begins flowing freely down his leather protected back, black blood, an drips onto the ground. Eyes widening
Zurgal attempets to move his legs but fails instead falling to his knees.
Droping his sword he holds himself up in a crouch with his arms still allowing
him use of them. Zurgal is helpless, a dwarf Warder stands before the large orc
and smiles kicking Zurgal in the chest. Zurgal falls to the ground knowing but
not feeling his broken ribs, the dwarf laughs and says "Fear, for the
Dwarves are apone you!". Lifting the large battle axe, this dwarf warder
brings the axe crashing down apone Zurgals neck the last thing he ever saw was
the face of the Dwarf.
[Lurgat(#23381)] A soft rasp of
encouragement escapes Lurgat's lips as his dagger scores a hit, albeit it
merely a token one. His eyes narrowing as he glares at Frar, he brings his
other arm about in a fast swing, his scimitar snaking through the air as it
travels down at the dwarf. He sees too late the subtle strike to his side, and
he squeals in anguish as the axe bites deep into his explosed flank. Grimacing,
his swing goes astray, and veers to Frar's left.
[Floi (Rukghash)]
The Dwarf Floi uses the momentum of his failed attack to
carry him again towards this Great Goblin. Eyes gleaming with a ferocity unknown to most Dwarves, Floi presses on with his
axe prepared for yet another strike at the vile beast.
"You have riddled the halls of Khazad-dum with your
filth for too long now! No longer shall orcs occupy these halls! Indeed, the
Dwarves have returned to what is rightfully theirs."
Floi smirks, leaping forward with his great axe to
deliver a descending chop towards the shoulder area of the Great Goblin. The
power behind the strike is immense. The axe whistling in the
air.
[.Ori(Thrak)] "Little will
snuff our flame, too long have you plagued our halls. All in Khazad-dum will
serve Lord Balin, son of Fundin. The battle is ours!" A
grunt, a parry. " What say ye, Oin?"
Before the other dwarf can answer, Ori's axe answers
in response to an arching scimitar. Batting it aside in a reflexive motion he
hefts his baneful weapon high over his head and brings it down on the large orc
in an air-cleaving blow, surely the mighty Ori Stormrook will slay him? Nay, no
mere orc is this, but the guard of the Great Goblin. Still feeble he may be
deemd for daring to oppose such a foe.. "Oin, we
are mightily pressed!" He shifts his iron-clad boots in the stained ground
with lithe movements to gain an advantage. "We must here stand, or here fall and so lose our fate... Baruk
Khazad!"
[Grutka(#32096)] Too
many times uruks double and triple team a naugrim, surrounding him and striking
all against the one. Yet, also too often, that dwarf somehow manages to dodge a
scimitar and stroke his axe blade underneath it - the end of the stroke far too
often, a spurt of black blood, stinking of lost life. Still, leather creaks and
metal cuts through it as weapon tears at armor and weapon meets weapon in the
thrust and parry of combat. Cries of pain mix with those of
anger, of frustration and of pain - the latter in various stages of injury,
dying and death. Bodies litter the field, limbs lying akimbo, awkwardly
posed even in death. Pain etches the faces of the bloody dead and maimed, the living and the raging.
[Rukghash]
The winds of change have blown through the Dimrill Dale.
The Dwarves are now fully in charge of the battle before them. The orcs still
fight on, valiantly in their own right, to regain control of their desired
mines. The blood on the ground is blacker than red, pieces of combatants
scattered about in the drying liquid.
[Oin(Calriel)] Dark clouds that
packed itself over the field of battle are torn by the cold wind, the coldness
in Oin's eyes is like a virgin blanket of white gleaming frost, and he charges
forth, tough as the ground itself -- like stone and mortar forged by an
ungentle Earth. It is amidst the darkness of the hour, that he answers Ori's
cry, his rich voice rolling like a mighty thunder across the field "We
shall not fall! Dain, Dain!" and with that, he hews off a goblin's arm,
black blood splatting over the Lord's armor and beard and face. Disgust, hatred and a deep anger burn like a cold winter's fire in
Oin's eyes. "Let's hold our ground!" he cries out!
[Bo(#32027)] Sweat streaming
from his ruddy brow, Bo reaches it axe but GAH! His foe is upon him! It is all
the khazad can do to utter a few words of defiance and 'face the music' or so
it is said (though it is also said that the orcish race swears off all forms of
music, dance, art, or self expression, preferring mutilation and tattooing)
Regardless, Bo turns on Yerck, sputtering, muttering, and otherwise revealing
himself for somewhat of a foulmouth.
"You
filthy dog in heat!" he says, quarting his axe over a chest as broad as he
is tall. "I'm stuck fighting vermin like you while my wife is surely home
in bed with the local butcher!" Grinning.
"I'll be damned if I perish at the hands of an orc while she's bedding
mister thinslice!"
[Great_Goblin(#31889)]
"Rightfully yours?" the Great Goblin sneers, steeling himself for the
dwarf's attack, but when it comes, his eyes widen in surprise. The orcen leader
had not accurately predicted his opponent's next move, and as such, his battle
axe is not in the right position to successfully block Floi's chop. As a
result, the double-bladed axe of dwarven make descends full-force on the
goblin's shoulder, slicing clean through the ring mail hauberk and deeply
rending his skin. Black blood spills forth as once more, the Great Goblin must
pull back.
[Frar(Flarin)]
A fierce shout comes from Frar as his blade finds the
mark, plunging into Lurgat and a grin crosses his face listening to the beast
squeal in pain. His head turns as the orc's return swing goes nowhere near the
mark. Frar takes a moment to bring his battle axe back for the retaliatory
blow, a slight trickle of blood crawling down his right arm, though the dwarf
pays no attention to it -- his attention is only on one thing -- Lurgat. He
readies his weapon, bringing full force now, bringing the weapon over his head
and bring a quick strike at the injured orc.
[Floi (Rukghash)]
Floi sneers, his eyes gleaming as his axe descends into
the flesh of the Great Goblin. "Righfully ours,
worthless creature!" The Dwarf marches forward, black blood
spattered all over his once shining armour. A few dints are present in his helm
as well, but the Dwarf still presents an imposing figure squaring off against
the Dwarf. "Now you shall have the full wrath of the Dwarves upon
you!" The Dwarven axe rises and then descends diagonally for the neck of
the Great Goblin. Again the Dwarf's power is surging, his muscles tensing in
anticipation of the strike.
[Grain(#20798)] Grain catches only part of what Oin speaks,
and this does he reverberate loudly. "For the line of
Durin! We shall not fall!" Upon the last word is given special
weight, for it was then that he sliced off cleanly a weaker orc's arm.
Finishing the job, he plunges his axe through the middle of the surprised
varmint, and both halves fall to the ground with a splurt of blood.
On to the next, ever onward, ever harder! More and more
continue to plague the three Khazad, supply of evil goblins seemingly endless.
And then does one of the bodyguards charge forth, scimitar slicing through the
foul air, come at the valiant son of Drain. The vicious blade swipes at the
dwarf, landing with a thud! against his barrel chest.
The blow knocks him back a good ways, but his armor stayed true to the end. He
is left unharmed, albeit breathless, and upon standing does he cry out,
"Many are you, but stronger are we! For my mantle shall I have your head! KHAZAD AI-MENU!"
[Rukghash]
The orcs mount another charge of sorts, surging forward
to the wall of Dwarven defenders that bar their way to the Mines of Moria.
"We will take it back! The mines are ours, midgets!" The battle cry
comes and the Orcs surge for the Dwarven defenders - a last ditch effort to
reclaim their pilfered home.
[Grutka(#32096)] Cries of pain mingle with battle, a few sounds
fainter and further away than others now as if not all are still in the
clearing of the Dale. The focus and locus of the battle is spreading even as it
once was thick with compression in the Dale. Yet, like tides on a shoreline,
the ebb and flow of contact and combat rage on, first near the stone column,
then nearer the Mirrormere. Hacking, slashing, brutal thrusts
through soft flesh. These are the sights of the conflict.
The smells of
the battle too are evident, for many a blade thrust has rent open a stomach, a
bladder, an intestine. And thus, various half-digested
contents mix on the ground along with the liquids and semi-liquid bodily fluids
of dwarf and uruk. The stench has moved form that of mere sweat to nearer what
one would expect of a pigsty... and the slaughter continues, the refuse and
detritus of war added to with each carving stroke, each slicing of a body part,
each amputation and decapitation.
Lurgat howls with pain as Frar withdraws his axe, and his
scimitar clatters to the ground. His dagger flails impotently to his left, and
he merely gapes as the khazad strikes the killing blow. The axe bites deep, and
buries itself into the orc, slicing through the neckbone and on into his
breast. Lifeless, a stare of angonised astonishment frozen on his features,
Lurgat's body lurches to the ground, defeated.
Yeckt rolls off of Bo as the tremendous dwarf turns on
him, but leaps up again with a fierce, sneering tenacity, and raises his blade.
The weapon is poised in the air a moment as the orc cries out, "BUTCHER
BUTCHER BUTCHER!" catching the word from the dwarf's insult. "If we
cannot butcher the belly we'll butcher the beard and whatever's beneath!"
With that his blade starts to fall, slicing with a jagged hiss through the air,
like his own raspy breath.
[.Ori(Thrak)] Grim as the night, furious as
the dawn, mighty as the stones of the earth. The winds howl through his
beard, and the shouts of hatred echo in his ears, but they are shut out and
pushed away to be recalled in a later time by a distant memory. The son of
Ghori will not be swayed so easily, nor will his axe cease its potent rhythym
unless it it pried from cold and dead fingers. The bloodied shaft of the weapon
gripped tightly by the callused and war-torn hands of a might khazad, its
headsplits the air and meets its target with fell speed, ringing and scraping
horribly against the sheild of the large uruk guard. Though still grimly set is
his jaw of iron, Ori allows a small and mocking grin creep onto his sullen yet
vigorous features. "You have been tried and tested,
foul beast of rancorous pits, slab of black hide, and Ori son of Ghori has
found your weakness!" If there were countable moments between the quickly
fading echo of his words amongst the shrill and baritone cries of battle, and
the moment his head was cleaved from his shoulders, they were uncounted. Thus
the last guard of the Great Goblin fell to the axe of Ori. Ori places his boot
upon the hewn head in utter defiance of the dwindling hoard about him. "I
say again, flee before us, and be thee scattered into the pits from whence you
came! Moria, Moria!" His cry is echoed by many throaty voices, and the
fury of the dwarves is increased.
Bo catches Yeckt's foul blade with the haft of his axe,
but just barely. An audible rumble escapes his lips, and Bo's read moustaches
flare outwards in raise. "Not while I'm still standing you won't!"
With all of his pent up strength, the khazad tries to thrust away Yeckt's blow,
aiming to create a window from his relatively ungainly, albeit destructive,
weapon. "Follow your brethren in retreat and escape with your head
attached to your rounded shoulders!"
[Zurgal(#21600)] An insult to all
orcs, a Dwarf warder quickly takes the head of Zurgal up from the ground.
Feeling sick and the orc blood black on his hand the Dwarf looks about him and
seems to be momentarily forgotten. Spotting a Orcish
captian the Dwarven Warder takes carfull aim. Throwing, no...pitching
the head of Zurgal with all him might the Dwarf throws it at the face of the
Orc leader. Hair and scalp first the bodyless head hits the Orc square in the
nose. Letting out a bellow of pain, the orc screeming brings his hands to his
nose. After a few moments of pitiful howling the Uruk moves his hands showing
that his nose is about 90% to what it should be. The dwarf laughs coldly and
brings the axe across the unprotected neck of the orc, creating a fountain to
sit by in the midst of this battle. A shower of black blood.
[Oin(Calriel)] Not far from the
elven
Oin himself, cousin to the son of Fundin, forges his path
forward towards the Great Goblin. At his side Ori, the son of
Ghori, and others. Hammers, mattocks, axes, and Ori's beblooded short
broad sword almost dig away through the mass before them.
In Oin's deep eyes, beneath his furry brows, dark clouds
seem to pack themselves, a brewing tempest of storms and billowing
thunder-claps, mirrored in his commanding voice: "Moria! Moria! Wonder of
the Northern World! Long have its vast mansions lain empty since the children
of Durin flect. Today, today is the day that we shall
set foot once more in Dwarrowdelf!" - and with
that, he plunges forward forther, into the ranks of the Great Goblin's
bodyguards.
[Great_Goblin(Zurku)] Finally
regaining his balance, the Great Goblin ceases his retreat and plants his feet
firmly on the ground. Lifting his battle axe in an attempt to meet Floi's, he
begins to cry out, "RIGHTFULLY MI--" but his words are cut short with
a gurgle as the dwarf's blade slices cleanly through his neck, severing his
head from his shoulders. The goblin, filled with rage, determination, and ego,
had forgotten--or perhaps ignored--Floi's previous blow to his shoulder, but
all this was not enough to allow him to react in time, to deflect the blow
which ended his life.
The Great Goblin, leader of the orcs, falls to the
blood-soaked earth.
[Frar(Flarin)]
The death blow! Frar stays silent this time as the blade
slides into the now lifeless beats before him. He now pays no more attention to
the creature turning to his left, looking at the victorious khazad. Then,
another smiles crosses his lips, and he brings his
battle axe back into a ready position. Frar then looks to the right, seeing his
cousins hacking apart the filthy creatures. He spies Loni and Nali fighting
side to side, thick blood on both of their blades. He cries out and rushes over
to them, battle axe flying in the air before him swinging at the foul beasts that
attack them.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Hisses and cries tear from the archer's
throat at every arrow shot zipped through the skies to land in a deadly descent
upon the melee. Oarchone craves more blood at his hands, deciding to press
forward and closer to the combatants on lower ground. He readies another arrow,
again licking the feathered edges. A slow guttural chant escapes his mouth,
"Now I will lay you down to sleep" Eyes of yellow spark to flames,
heated in greedy desire to slay another dwarf. This arrow, however, seeks to
pierce the pig that killed the Great Goblin, the orc leader.
[Lurgat(#23381)] A howl of
dismay rises from the ranks of the remaining orcs, as the Great Goblin is
slain. Confusion and panic enter there snarls as they look about themselves
nervously. A few uruks take a few tentative steps in retreat, and as one, a
large part of their force creeps away with haste from the Gates of Moria, their
spirit seeming to fail at last. Worried growls begin to carry upon the air as
the orcs shrink from the ferocity of the dwarves.
[Balin(Frodo)]
In the midst of the fray, Balin still stands, but the
same cannot be said of the orcs surrounding him: a pile of bodies litters the
ground, black blood puddling as orc-limbs and discarded weapons pile, leaving
the fierce dwarf standing with his axe intact. As his cousin plunges ahead, he
cheers, grinning broadly despite his disarray, snowy beard now soiled with
spray of blood and filth. "Indeed, and long shall this day be remembered
in our history. . .when our kindred walk here a
century hence, they will remember with pride! Baruk Khazad! Khazad
ai-menu!"
[Grutka(#32096)] Snaga nar baj lufut" -- "Slaves
don't make war" is the cry of the uruk retreat. Eyes wide with
desparation, arms and legs blasting paths before them out of the Dimrill Dale,
uruk line falter, fall back and then break as the Great Gobllin crashes to the
ground. The cry "Mabaj bot ob armauk" -- "I have a world of
enemies" heard early as a challenge to the dwarves is now uttered in
retreat as the tenuousness and then collapse of their position filters through
their ranks.
Crashing through the brush, over boulders and
along paths freshly beaten by others, uruks flee in total disarray. Off their
bodies as they run, they throw weighty items that slow them - leaving a path of
armor, helms, shields and weaponry in their wake. The swiftness of the retreat
is as intense as the fierceness of their earlier bravado.
[Grain(#20798)] At the cheers of the dwarves and the howls of the orcs does Grain,
son of Drain look about to see the cause of the uproar. And then do his
eyes spot the body of the slain Great Goblin, and his voice rises with his
kinsmens', his furor increased, for the dwarves have slewn their leader!
Fearless does Grain charge into the retreating ranks of the slithering varmint,
methodic does his swinging axe become as heads roll and limbs become lost in
the blood-soaked ground. A final arrow does come hurtling through the frenzy,
finding its place in the thigh of the dwarf, sending him stumbling to the
ground. And yet, his bravado outweighs his pain. "Baruk Khazad! Khazad ai-menu!"
[Floi (Rukghash)]
Floi follows through on his strike, his axe quickly
coming into contact with the blood soaked ground at his feet. "Retreat you
orcs! Leave this place and come never again!" Floi raises his axe in
victory, his eyes glaring out over the faltering horde of Morian orcs.
Withdrawing his axe, Floi uses it to lean on as he turn to regard Oin and Ori
as they approach.
"We have won the day, friends. We have won
the..."
A zip, followed by a sickening thunk as an arrow buries
itself deep into the neck of the Dwarf Floi. Managing to pierce his trachea the
Dwarf grabs his throat in shock and pain, blood beginning to flow down his neck
and chest. Floi can only gurgle as he collapses atop his battle axe, body
beginning to spasm from the lack of oxygen in his bloodstream.
"K....ad.....um" Floi's garbled words and indecipherable in the hum
of the waning battle. His grip weakening around his own throat Floi's eyes seek
Ori and Oin. Pitifully the eyes of Floi look up at them, and slowly they glaze
over. A final jerk. A twitch,
and the Dwarf relaxes into the realm of death.
Floi lies still in the midst of the battlefield,
surround by his enemies in their own death throes. Floi's arms slip to his side
and his eyes slip closed as the proud Dwarf slips off into his death.
Yeckt hears the rise of orcish howls and shrieks, and he
looks around to see the Great Goblin himself slain upon the ground, head
severed from body. His own voice takes up the cry of dismay and he turns in a
sudden rush of blind fear and confusion, leaving the burning red face of his
foe behind. His turn is too sudden, though, for the orc's flight is met
promptly by the finely-honed blade of an axe. Just as the gardner's scythe
clears the weeds from his beloved soil--the fertile grounds for the treasures
he brings forth from the earth--so the goblin Yeckt is lopped in two, purged
from the land before the gates of Moria, home to the Sons of Durin, sowers of
stone.
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] Further arrows are lobbed off at the
dwarves in a furious and maddening display. Oarchone's anger rages to a heated
boil overtaking his wit for the arrows fire in all directions with one
intention-kill dwarves.
[Lurgat(#23381)] Within the orc rout, a few faces turns in fear, and see the arrow spear Floi's throat. Hisses
of vengeful satisfaction fill the air, but the uruks do no halt, and scatter
finally out of range of the battlefield fully, their scurrying forms becoming
dark shadows against the sloping terrain.
[Bo(#32027)] "That's right, you bloody messes of
orcflesh! Run away! Fly like the whipped wargs you are! And bring your dead!
They're not fit for fertilizer!" As Bo watches his opponent flee and then
tumble to the ground (in two pieces) a satisfied grin splits his ruddy face,
parting his beard with broad teeth, grinning. His axe, covered in black blood,
hefts into the air. "He have taken back what is
ours, my brethren!" He laughs a haughty laugh and spits. "Perhaps the
carrion mongers will clean up this mess ... no doubt it will sicken them."
[Oarchone(N’Kyata)] The cries from his fellow orcs boom in
his ears, the signal to draw back. Snarling and spitting to the side, Oarchone
slithers backwards on foot while continuing to release arrows at those who
remain behind. There will be another day the archer can play with these pigs.
For now, the shadows call and the leaders order much to his dismay.
[Grutka(#32096)]
Zzzzt.. zzzt...zzzt. Even as they rush headlong away from the field
of slaughter, arrows guard the retreat of the uruks. From hidden shadows and
from bough'd trees, scores of arrows rain down in protection as the remnants of
the once-coherent Morian force disintegrates into chaos, a group scamping off
together here, inidividuals running away there. Heads bob to and fro in the
tumultuous rush of headlong withdrawal, yet apparently at least one officer has
managed to corral a few archers to harry and slow any pursuers. Zzzzt.. zzzt.. zzzt!
[Oin(Calriel)] Blocking off
passage to Floi lifeless body, Oin and his followers stand a firm wall against
the last goblins standing. Trumpets ring throughout the valley as at the other
side of the battlefield a charge is led by one of the dwarven commanders, as
here, Oin's voice thunders a victory cry, as if his voice could split the very
rocks of the Hithaeglir. "Flee, you horrid creatures of darkness! Flee for
the hunger of my sword has yet to be stilled!"
And with that, he
swings once more, this time his shield, crushing the skull of one of the vile
goblins with his might. His forked beard, through the commotion, released from
its belt swings freely in the cold breeze of sping. The only thing warm is the
blood on Gloin's sword.
[Balin(Frodo)]
"As it would anyone."
Balin hastens to Floi's side, pulling back his hood as he
drops to his knees.
Nothing.
Shaking his head, Balin swiftly pulls pieces of fallen
armor, dwarven and orc alike, laying the dwarven ones swiftly over the fallen
one to shield the body from the rain of arrows.
"Dearly has this day been bought," he mutters darkly. . .before rising to face any who would remain rather
than retreat in the face of the valiant warriors.
[Frar(Flarin)]
Frar rushes onward, hacking at any slithering creature he
can find, Loni and Nali at his side. Arrows dot the area around him, one
glancing off his arm, causing another slight cut. He quickly stops the rush as
he sees the fleeing orcs ahead of him. As he turns, his look of conquest and
victory changes to the look of death, his head bowing down to his dead cousins.
He gazes over the battlefield, a grim look on his face as he sees the body of
Floi lying on the ground not too far away. He turns to Loni and Nali as they
begin the trek back up the hill and hears the clear voice of Oin declaring victory.
Only at this does another grin cross his face.
[Rukghash]
A new calm has risen to engulf the Dimrill Dale. Though blood coats the land the breeze harbours news of change and
of death. The Orcs have been routed, flushed to the woods and lands
beyond the Mines of Moria. The Dwarves have reclaimed the hallowed halls of
Khazad-dum from the orcish horde.
[Zurgal(#21600)] As the rush of
battle is removed one Warder, that which killed Zurgal, looks about him at the
cost this battle has taken... and weeps for the cost of victory i rarly light.
Falling to his knees in woe the warder looks across the field, hundreds of his
cousins have died and he can't bare it. "May vengence be claimed for our
fallem brothers!" he bellows in a tearfull cry. "Vengence...be...taken...."
his voise slowly quites in sadness.
You paged Oarchone with 'That's fine Nk. Thanks for
participating!'.
[Oin(Calriel)] Not many moments pass when Oin kneels at the
side of his cousin, laying his gauntletted hand on the other's shoulder. Even
here, at the heart of the battle, the goblins have been driven away, and many
of the remaining dwarves cry out in their pursuit.
"Balin.", rings out Oin's voice, calm,
powerful, yet not so that it jars the ear. "Balin, he is no more, yet we
won the fight. We shall bury him here, at Kheled-Zharam, where his name shall
be praised with Durin's."
[.Ori(Thrak)] Bowing his head to rest his hands on his knees,
Ori Stormrook breathes a weary sigh into his beard, puffing disordered and
frayed strands from his mouth. "Onward, Khazad, onward.
The day is ours." This he speaks to himself, though it is truly felt by
all of Durin's folk as they charge fiercely after the fleeing orc hoard.
Hefting his axe high in a final victorious motion, he turns to make his way to
the fallen body whom many gather about, hastening in horror as he espies the
lifeless face of Floi.
[Grain(#20798)] With a great effort does Grain son of Drain
stand once more, swinging his battle ax at the few straggling orcs that yet remain. Step by step does he hobble back to his brethren,
back to his leaders. But there, he finds sorrow in the
midst of joy, tragedy competing with victory, tears mingled with blood and
sweat. Dropping to his knees beside Balin does the valiant dwarf drop, gazing
down with heavy heart upon the one whom gave his life for the mines of
Khazad-Dum.
A soft prayer does he murmur before standing once again,
for the victory of regaining their home from evil could not be taken away by
the life of one dearly loved. And in this somber state does the form of Grain
gaze upon the bloodbought gates of Moria, and with a single cry does he lift up
his axe; "Forever you are cleansed, and to the Khazad shall you be alone! Moriaaa!"
[Bo(#32027)] His breathing slowed now, Bo's grin rights itself, first into a grim horizontal line, and
then into a downturned frown fit for a dwarf in anguish. Are his cheeks really
made of stone? That beard IS the color of granite ...
"Bah!" he cries, roughly slinging
his axe at his side. An arrow still protrudes from his left shoulder and Bo
hastily snaps it off, too tired or grief-ridden to show much of a grimace. His
black axe swings back and forth as Bo traverses the field of battle to where
the dead are being gathered. The dwarf gingerly sidesteps any slain khazad
while his boots plant themselves in the chests or on the faces of hewn orcs.
[Traug(#32096)] A
single shaft arcs high through the sky, silently. From the darkness of the far
woods it comes - alone yet deadly. A cry of "Ashdautas Vrasubatlat"
-- "Someday I will kill you" eechoes through the silence after the
battle... The arrow tips over and plunges downward towards Bo... landing
between his feet even as he strides. Thunk! The cackling of uruk voices fades
to nothingness as the black shaft vibrates to stillness in the ground.
[.Ori(Thrak)] Dropping to his
knee beside the body of Floi, Ori bows his head low to his chest in respect of
the fallen warrior, and in utter grief. No words come from his battle-hardened
lips, but perhaps it is tears that now wet the toiled cheeks of the khazad.
Thus he remains for many lingering moments, poised, as the moon seems to break
its veil and the eve's stars shine down upon his helm. "A great warrior
was he. I, for one, will sing of his deeds long after this day."
Now his eyes,
still grim and fiery from the flame of battle, survey the field with a deep
sorrow swirling within them. "Come, let us honour the dead." Giving
his friend of old, Oin son of Groin, a sullen pat on the back, he rises grimly
to his feet. Then, with a faint yet victorious smile spreading his bloodied and
toiled lips he nearly whispers. "It is ours, look upon it... it is ours at
last..." His eyes turn to the Gates of Moria.
[Oin(Calriel)] The lines on
Oin's face seem to have become a little deeper, as in his dark eyes a
bittersweet mixture of victory and defeat wells up. With care, a deep respect,
he lifts up the lifeless body of Floi as his eyes carefully glance over Balin's
face.
Climbing to his feet, the Dwarf Lord of Erebor looks
around to those standing near him and exclaims "Let none present here
today forget this moment - the first day of the restored Kingdom. And in our
songs, the name of Floi shall resound in the halls of Durin of old, for his
bravery on the field of battle must never be forgotten!"
The words ring with a deep respect,
and a single tear finds its way down Oin's cheek.
[Bo(#32027)] Stopping in his tracks, Bo frowns and his eyes
are cast downwards. "Blasted ..." He grabs the orcish shaft and
wrenches it from the earth. Shouting into the woods, Bo directs his anguish at
the defeated horde of Moria, the arrow in his fist and raised skywards.
"Show
your filthy faces again in his fair valley and Floi's spirit will reap its
vengeance ten fold!" Snap! Bo's fist breaks the arrow in two. The throws
it in the direction of the orc retreat and continues to the circle of khazad
mourners, his bloodspeckled cheeks drooping with sorrow.
[Balin(Frodo)]
"Let this be recorded. .
.the names of those who have fallen, and the deeds done this day, that they may
be remembered when we are naught but dust."
With a dark sigh, Balin rises, his face marred by sorrow.
"The Halls of Durin have been rebought at dearer
price than I would have seen. But so it must be sometimes: it is our part to
see that those sacrifices do not go in vain, or fall into forgetfulness. Let
Floi be remembered with the honour he deserves. . .as
all our people who have fallen thus deserve. Till Durin rises, let the
Mirrormere keep the memories of the fallen."
And with that, he removes his hood, bowing his head
before leading the funereal procession to the halls.