[Groin Redbeard]

His eyes darted across the map, for the most part the ground was rocky and treacherous but not easily defended if outnumbered. He sighed in frustration and rubbed his beard above his lip. Where was there an opportune spot? The Goblins held their own many years ago in the great battle of Azanulbizar, but they had something he did not: a regular army. Every Dwarf in Khazad-dum could wield a weapon, and did so five years ago in the storming of the Dwarrowdelf, but most of them had gone back to a trade or went to seek riches in the mines and the army that he and Balin had commanded had shrunken to less than one hundred and fifty Dwarves. The soldiers that he had, were eager for military life and had been shaped into a force that would be formidable fighting force, but still nowhere near the skill of the elite group of Dwarves that he commanded at the Batte of the Five Armies.

The elite warriors in Khazad-dum consisted of a force less than twenty, most of them being a part of his old regiment. A few of the council members were among the few who could be considered up to his standard, one of these was Frar: a grand middle-aged warrior with a knack for getting the impossible done. Trór considered him a great friend, one of the few Dwarves who he could relate to, and in return he earned the loyalty of Frar. Even now Frar, who Trór affectionately referred to as "my old war hound", was quietly standing by. Trór could expect little to be said by his friend while the council lasted, Frar had no gift for tactics or strategy or diplomacy but when the blast of war was sounded he wanted this Dwarf by his side.

Hand still pressed to his upper lip, Trór's eyes lifted from the map to the Dwarves gathered. Ori was speaking to Kénan, both seeming very cross at one another. Although he could only hear the whistle of their breath and the deep tone of a syllable or two, he guessed that they were talking of him. He was about to rebuke them both for their quarreling, especially since when a commander did not give you leave to speak you remained silent, however, Trór gave one glance at the map and stopped still. There it was! The ground was perfect for holding against great odds, but it was far away and speed was everything now!

"Gaurd!" Trór blurted abruptly at one of the eight soldiers standing around the council. "Quick! summon the regular soldiers, not a moment is to be lost!" Have the Dwarves in battle attire and ready to march. Bring out the thickest hauberks and the sharpest swords. Muster them in them in the First Hall when all is ready. Do not stop for question or errand, save the one that you are on. Go!" The doors of Khazad-dum were swung ajar and the startled, but not stunned, the guard took off with two others through the great doors at the top of their speed.

Trór had spoken firmly and fast, though his posture assumed that he was at perfect ease. He turned back to the map and placed his two forfingers on it as if measuring a distance. Trór was now muttering words outloud, he tilted this and that way to make sure that his eyes had not deceaved him in his descision. Silently nodding his head in agreement with his conscience, Trór rapped his fingers on the table, folded his hands behind his back, and started to pace up and down.

“Gror, go to the map and tell me which way the Orcs are coming by. I realize that you are not familiar with the ground around here but I need to have an exact description of the Orc Army's march. Do you think you can do that?”

Nîsa

The scurrying noise had disturbed Nîsa and left her shaking even after the appearence of the stoat creature. Thank heavens it wasn’t a rat! Nîsa let go of Onli’s arm and stepped back. Somehow the Dwarf seemed changed, his expressions no longer seemed a facade of cheerfulness but genuine.

Onli gently picked the pet, which he named Vriti, up into his arms. What a curious creature. Why on earth does Onli suffer to keep that thing, unless... of course! He doesn’t have to argue with it, it doesn’t have to respond to his discussions; what a perfect companion for such a lonely wretch.

"Come on, you can palm her. She is nice, are you, Vriti?"

Nîsa smiled at this offer, and slowly extended her hand to do so. She flinched at the touch of its wiskers but hestitantly brought her palm across its neck and down the back. What a sad and lonely thing for a man to live with. Nîsa began to understand this grumpy Dwarf, who had to put up a wall of courtesies to keep anyone from getting too close to him: he was lonely, that was all there was too it (or so she thought). I wonder if he has any true friends in the colony?

Just then, there was a rushing of feet outside the door and a grinding of stone against stone as the doors were pulled open. Onli and her rushed to the side, hidden from the view of the oncoming guards. When they passed, however, the doors where left open. Vriti nuzzled Onli’s neck in his protective embrace as the three companions slowly peered around the stone doors to see what was happening.