[piosenniel]

Himaran's post

Dwali sat in the back of his small cell, listening to the sounds of battle coming from all directions. Such a horrid clamor did not bother, nay, even affect him; for it could only mean that some worse evil was approaching. Perhaps it is finally time to die. Time to leave this world of darkness... and enter another. Relaxing against the cold stone in a relatively calm fashion, Dwali contemplated what was to come.
Maybe it was the great spider they had spoken of, Shelob, or another rival orc army. Then the thought that it was a force from Gondor flickered through his mind, but the dwarf tried to ignore it. The mind is deceitful. It leads to hope, and hope slowly turns to reality. He shifted his postion, trying to find a comfortable spot on the rough prison wall.

And reality... is darkness. And death.

Although only a prisoner in Morder for three years, Dwali spent much of his time brooding in the inky blackness of his underground cell. He had been tortured for information about his race after arriving at the tower, but had since been left alone to guess his painful end; fed on scraps more putrid than orc fare. The dwarf's personality, already frayed since the murder of his parents, had molded into one of pessimism, sarcasm, and an assurance that his death was imminent. But on that particular day, Dwali's demise was not to be.

As the screams and clangs of metal began to fade, another sound caught the dwarf's keen ears. It was that of a key turning in a lock, and a rusty door swinging open. And then realization dawned -- it was his door! Dwali stood quickly, trying to recognize his rescuer (or murderer, more likely). It was a young man, but his other features were hidden by the darkness of the cavern. "You are free," he wispered. "Follow me, there are others."

Ignoring the nagging thought that it could be a trap, Dwali stepped out of his chamber. It was probably all some sort of trick, and he would soon be beaten and returned to his tiny prison; but even to be out for a few minutes would be worth it. Then he stopped, and hurried back inside. The dwarf felt around the bottom of the wall, hands digging and feeling about in a frantic manner. Then his left hand hit cold steel, and he pulled it out gingerly. There, it a hidden crack, was the knife he had stolen from a nearby guard over a year before. Perhaps it would be of some use afterall.