Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori's teeth were gritted so tightly he thought they would break, or that they would simply meld into one. The pain was more intense than the dwarf had ever felt before and he felt himself sweating coldly simply from the pain, and in a moment felt like laughing about it - he felt the other cuts on his body, and ordinarily they would be easily enough for any weaker being, but this searing, sweeping, numbness was deeper than anything else.

He saw another dwarf fall, Alrik Stonebeard, the oldest of their company, his white beard the only thing visible in Flori's misty vision as the venerable old dwarf fell. Flori yelled out in anger as he forced himself to concentrate his pain on the force of another blow struck against an orc, slicing clear through it's shoddy armour. It died with a look of surprise on it's face.

"Surprise? I'll give you surprise! Flori Bronzeshield will show you how to die!"

Ori looked at him, shocked, as he said this, and the older of the two bit his lip as he felt tears rise and shook his head, leaning against the tomb in a momentary respite. The orcs were gathering in the stairwell, he knew it, but he didn't know exactly what was planned. He looked at his brother sorrowfully, pain in his eyes both physical and emotional.

Nali, Frar, Loni, Oin, Lin, Alrik, Narin...

"We can't do it, brother," he whispered.

"Flori, don't say that! We'll get through, and get-"

"Ori," Flori silenced his brother with the one quiet, gentle word as, putting down his axe for a moment, he reached for his brother's hand. "There are but three of us left. Mali...and us. That's all, Ori. We are finished."

"Flori..." Ori now had tears in his eyes as well as he gripped his brother's hand tightly, as if he would never let go.

And then the first tremor came.

It spread through their feet as if the whole world had jumped, but seemed almost silent at first, a feeling rather than a sound. Flori tensed, grabbing his axe once more as he let go of his brother's hand and spun around to the door, currently blocked, although he doubted that would do much against the orcs. They were still planning....The second boom came, this time a deep, rumbling echo that seemed to roll in from all sides. Flori crouched, almost knocked off his balance but still gripping his axe, his stump pressed against the refreshingly cool stone of the tomb.

"Drumming from the deep..." he whispered, unable to keep the fear from his voice. But there was anger too, as he rose, even as the third boom followed, then a fourth. They were speeding up, building to a climax.

"I will not be intimidated!" he roared at the door, then turned to Ori. "Brother, get the book."

"The book...-?"

"We will not be forgotten, brother!" Turning back to the door, his voice rose to a roar again, a primal, angry bellow that seemed to come from deeper reserved than ever he knew as he voice competed with the accelerating drumming.

"You will not scare us! Give us what you will, you will never inspire fear into dwarven hearts, for we are the people of Durin and upon that which is rightfully ours do we fall!"

And then the hinges on the door burst open.