[Taralphiel]

Maron

The dwarf wheezed as he struggled to keep up with the remaining of the company as they headed for the halls. His lungs were burning and he was finding his axe weighed heavier than ever before.

"Maron, don't you slow down yet, not just yet..."

In his panic he had still been able to manage keeping his footing right, something he thought miraculous in the back of his mind. But his greatest thought was of his fallen comrades, and the blood spilling freely on stone.

"You musn't give up now Maron..." he said roughly, and pushed himself forward, following the backs of the dwarves in front of him.

An orc dove across his path, and his reaction seemdd almost fluid. His axe planted swiftly and Maron stepped over the fallen creature and kept on his pace.

He had come and seen what he could have only dreamt of, and all he could wish for now was to see his greying Uncle again and tell him that the shine of truesilver had lost its lustre to him.