[Amanaduial the archer]

Turning with speed that belied his age and size, the speed that takes many dwarven enemies by surprise, usually fatally, Flori hacked viciously at the orc's head as it raised it's blade over Ori. The creature hit Ori with a flailing arm at it fell, dead, causing the dwarf to turn sharply, his weapon raised. Flori flashed a grin at his brother, winking briefly.

"Can't watch out for you all the time, little brother," he called over the noise, grinning. Ori raised an eyebrow and grinned back, before both turned back to their battles.

Amazingly, the dwarves were holding their own against the tide of orcs, but where the dwarves were clearly numbered at only a handful, really, the orcs seemed unending. Flori kept seeing them oozing like relentless, vile mould from doorways, corridors, coming across the bridge, even from the ceiling... The orc snipers were fatal and, despite Flori's warning earlier, the dwarves were venturing further out from the doorway. Some could even have got up the stairs, he realised with a sudden lurch; into the Chamber of Records even. They could be after Lin, Narin and Oin - if they came in such numbers, how would the three dwarves stand against so many?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout of depraved glee and triumph from the orcs and he looked around with dread, trying to work out what had happened, despite all the warrior training that told him never to let his guard down; he had a feeling they had just lost an advantage. The orc behind him certainly thought so, and took full advantage of Flori's distraction; the next thing the dwarf knew was a searing, white hot pain in his left upper arm which, the intensity of which almost caused him to cry out. Spinning around a little muzzily, he faced his opponent...whose eyes suddenly crossed and rolled backwards before he fell forward, an arrow in the back of his head. Flori saw his brother staring at him, pale-faced, and the younger dwarf pointed his bow tip at Flori's arm.

"Brother...your arm is..." Flori looked down at the offending limb, staggering a very little from the dizziness which had suddenly set in. Through what seemed like someone else's eyes, he saw his arm distantly - or what was left of it. His arm now reached only down to his elbow, a bloody stump: below that, there was nothing. His chainmail did not cover all the way down his arms. Biting his lip desperately, he urged back the adrenaline of battle into his system, fighting down the sickness at seeing the stump where the rest of his arm, his hand even, should be, and he shook his head at his brother, who was coming towards him

"I'll deal with it, Ori - don't waste time!" he snapped, his voice overly brutal in an attempt to get rid of any tremor or pain out of it, for his brother's sake. Turning away from the younger dwarf's anguished expression, he looked across the bridge to see, with horror, the object of the orcs' delight. Two hulking, bent figures, standing a full twelve feet each, even hunched as they were. Around them, seemingly tiny figures danced nervously, holding the chains around the hulks' necks in an attempt to restrain them as they thrashed.

The beasts were like nothing Flori had ever seen, but he heard his brother murmur something beside him, under the cover of the rock, momentarily safe from the distracted orcs. "Cave trolls."

"What?"

"I've read about them," came the horrified reply, Ori's eyes wide and white. "They..." he trailed off, aparently unable to continue as he looked at his brother.

Flori looked back at the hulks and, much as he wanted to, he could not reassure his brother. The things were huger, almost the size of Oliphaunts, and Flori had never had to directly fight one of those. And there were two of these. They were huge, vicious looking, mottled creatures, the blood of the orcs who had got in their way staining their hands and chins. And they were evidently furious at the audacity of the ridiculous-looking orcs trying to control them - they could whip the largest aside with a hand. One protruding jaw filled with terrifyingly sharp teeth dropped as one troll threw back it's relatively small head, about the size of Flori's upper body, and bellowed furiously.

Flori found himself feeling suddenly weaker, but forced it away. The orcs filled bridge and the flat area between it and the stairs to the second hall: the dwarves contained a small area of it, and Flori was sure he had seen at least one of them fall. He had no time to dwell on what he had to do.

Standing, he bellowed, "Dwarves, retreat back! Up the stairs, now, go! Take down all who try to fight you!"

Whipping his good arm around, he hacked from beneath one orc it's legs, then brought down the axe with a sickening crunch upon it's spine.

"To the hall, dwarves of Moria!" he called again, still defiant.