Search for Rhûn RPG

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek sat with his back against the cavern wall and the meager fire they had been able to construct from their assaulters spears in front of him, holding a red rag to his left biceps. The piece of cloth was tainted scarlet from blood, and it was all his. The thrice-damned savage had been quite crafty with his blade. Still, he supposed he shouldn't complain. Had he been a mere heartbeat slower or his opponent a fraction quicker, he would be lying face down on the cave floor, watching his own life-blood pooling up beneath him. It was the Rhûnian with a sword-shaped hole through his body and not the other way around, and for that he was profoundly thankful.

He looked around, gazing at the other members of the party who sat close to the fire in little groups, the quiet hubbub of their conversation like the murmur of an underground stream in the cavern. It seemed that they had all gained some new measure of strength from the previous conflict, finding it easier to accept the possibility of their most likely faith. That they would all die here, leagues from home and surrounded by jungle which in itself seemed to thirst for their life.
Now it seemed that all of them had come to the conclusion that they would rather entrust their lives upon the arms of comrades, people they knew and trusted rather than faceless strangers of whom they knew not a thing about. The process was long overdue, but as always, inevitable.

Gortek spotted Bali sitting a bit further away from the rest with Haenir, engaged in a hushed discussion like most of them. He had not forgotten how the young leader of the expedition had saved his life all those weeks ago, when he had been a hairsbreadth away from death dangling from the high stone plateau, far above the ground. It was Bali who had pulled him to safety, and Gortek resolved to learn more about him before the end.

He cut a fresh strip of cloth from his worn and old cloak, wrapping it tight around his wound as a makeshift bandage. He then got up and sauntered to Bali and Haenir.

As Gortek got closer he noticed that Bali was smoking his pipe. The sight of it sent a stab of pain searing into his heart; he was all out of leaf.
There seemed to be a brief pause in the talking between the two dwarfs, and Gortek approached them. He tapped Bali on the shoulder.

"I'm sorry if I'm interrupting, but could you find it in yerself to lend me a bit of that leaf? I'll repay you as soon as we get out of here."

He was probably being unduly positive about the future. Who said they would be getting out at all?

[Himaran]

Bali stood in the small cavern and stepped into the middle of the room. He watched the other members of his company, all talking and reminiscing about past days. Good. Maybe they will bond... on the journey home. Taking a deep breath, he began.

"Dwarves and Travelers, you have all come far from your homes to travel to this nightmare land. Every one of us made the journey for the same reason; to find Rhûn's Sea, and find the supposed riches beneath its waters. Can you even remember the talk now, for that was all it was. Talk. The sea has no diamonds, the mountains have no mithril, and we have no.... fuly party. Kain is gone.

I realize that all you have right to despair, for we lost a brave fighter, with perhaps nothing in return. But whether you are tired, sad or angry, all journeys --on this earth-- must come to an end." He paused for a moment, as if willing himself to speak.

"We are going home."

[Novnarwen]

"Not terribly exciting but I hope its a start to our friendship".

Dwalin was quite satisfied about the official 'foundation' of his friendship with Nerin. A truly wonderful feeling arose inside of him and made his cheek turn reddish. His delight was only interrupted by the movements from the corner in the room, of where Hænir and Bali sat. They were talking louder than before, and Dwalin could hear some of the words, such as:"leaving" and "tunnels". This didn't at all sound great, as Dwalin had expected to stay here a bit longer. In fact, Dwalin didn't mind staying here much longer. Surely, the Rhuians wouldn't come back when they had been so roughly defeated, and just that would make this place the safest place the dwarves possibly could be. He frowned, standing up as Bali had raised from his seat.

He excused himself, as Nerin looked questioningly at him, and went over to Bali's side. With a serious look, he goggled at Hænir, and the two brothers were left alone.

"Are we leaving?" Dwalin asked stiffly. There was a low "yes", before Dwalin turned, leaving to pack the few belongings he had.

**

Bali had told the rest of the company that they would be going through the tunnels. Dwalin hoped that it wouldn't be too dark in there, but the sound of tunnels made him, nevertheless, want to stay here in the room. Even some of his companions looked rather nervous. But they would eventually have to leave anyway, so why not now through the tunnels? With a sigh, he walked hurriedly towards the exit, which was nothing but a big hole in the stone wall. Muttering to himself about how everything could go so terribly wrong, he ignored the fact that he was scared to leave a place he thought so safe.

There was nothing really special about these tunnels. It was dark, but he hadn't expected it to be otherwise. The company found themselves surrounded by stone walls, bending into every direction possible. The sound of their steps echoed and made Dwalin feel most uncomfortable. What if someone heard them? he thought, looking suspiciously around. But he couldn't see more than about five paces away. He realised that he was only being paranoid, like always. It was ridiculous, really, but he couldn't help it.

"Do you think these tunnels end somewhere?" Dwalin suddenly burst out to no one in particular. Bali hushed at him, but smiled. Dwalin hoped this meant that there was an end.

Even though he settled with this thought, he couldn't help thinking of if the tunnels didn't lead to an end, (if that was possible). What would happen then? They were already short on provision, both food and water. He pictured himself leaning his back to the grey stone wall, cold as ice. He saw himself, eyes red with horror, mouth dry and his face thin and pale. Yes, if they didn't find a way out, they would starve! Dwalin gave a huge gasp, which made the rest of the company either turn towards him, or run up to his side. "Something wrong?" they asked eyes all over him. Dwalin excused himself and showed them off, telling them he was just yawning. "I'm tired," he said moaning.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The darkness of the tunnels was becoming oppressive and the only stay that Hænir had against it was his axe. He clutched it tightly in his mailed fists as they wandered through the corridors. They had been blundering about like this for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was they were seeking. His distraction led him to stumble into Nerin who had stopped short just before him. “Oi!” the younger Dwarf expostulated beneath his breath, “watch your feet!”

Hænir scowled into the gloom and muttered an apology. The whole party seemed to have halted for a time so Hænir took the opportunity to ask Nerin how he was enduring the trials of this terrible place – it was the first chance he’d had to talk with his friend since arriving at the edge of the deadly Sea. Nerin turned to face him and said, “I am well, I suppose. As well as I could be. I took a bit of a knock in the battle, but I acquitted myself well.”

“Aye,” said Hænir with professional appreciation, “that you did lad, that you did. It was a close fought thing, but we sent them back with memories that will prevent them from coming upon us again soon!” He chuckled mirthlessly under his beard as he remembered the Rhûnian he had slain. “They were good fighters, though; the best I’ve seen since we stormed the last holdouts at Gundabad! Ah, now” he sighed, losing himself in a happy memory, “that was a proper battle, lad. The goblins kept retreating deeper and deeper into their caves and cracks, and we kept pressing in upon them. In the final sorties of the war, we were so deep beneath the surface of the earth that we fancied we could feel the fire that burns at her heart, welling up beneath our feet. The dark was so thick, you couldn’t even remember the sight of sun.” He felt rather than saw Nerin shudder. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, laying a hand that he hoped was comforting on his shoulder, “I shouldn’t be speaking of such things at a time like this. There’s enough enemies in the dark in the here and now!”

Bali’s voice came to them through the dark, ordering the party onward. Hefting his axe, suddenly made lighter with the memory of the goblins he’d slain in that long-ago war, Hænir pressed ahead into the unnatural night-time of the cave.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Narvi trudged alone in the darkness of the tunnels. Water dripped from ceiling. Long ago, the same waters rushed through these rocks, carving exquisite sculptures of minerals. Any Dwarf would have adored this place, and even endured the damp cold for a glance. But Narvi's shivering was not from the cold outside, but from his heart.

The fury of battle left him, and his thoughts took control. The face of the man he killed appeared before his eyes; its face contorted in anger, its eyes blazing in fury, its mouth smeared with blood. The face never left him. It tortured him. He had the right to kill me. All of us. How come I survived while those whose wrath burned righteously fell? He searched for an answer. His mind gave none. So did his heart.

There was only one thing left to do. He approached someone, hoping that he would share Narvi's burden. He tapped the Dwarf in the back. It was Hænir.

"Is it right?" he asked without preamble.

"What do you mean?" answered the Dwarf.

"We were wrong to enter here. What right have we to escape, to leave this place? What right have we to kill those whose only wish is to be left alone? I fought before Dale once, and I was proud of that. The Wild Men and the ruthless Orcs deserved their fates. For trying to destroy us, and to take what is ours, they were punished.

"Now it was I who had invaded, and spilled blood on their own soil. Is it right that we live?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Narvi’s question stopped Hænir in his tracks, so surprised was he by the fact that he had never considered their situation in that light. Recalling himself, he moved on but Narvi had seen his reaction. “What is wrong?” he asked, “is aught amiss?”

Hænir shook his head, “Nay, lad, but your question has set me back a bit for sure. I had not thought of our journey in that way. I hate to think of what we are doing as being akin to the ravening of goblins or orcs, but there’s no denying the truth of what you say: we are the invading strangers here, and we’ve done a lot of what these folk will call murder.” He fell into an uncomfortably contemplative silence. “Nay, it’s not an idea that I relish in the least…”

“Then you believe we are in the wrong?” Narvi asked with a falling tone in his voice. “We do not deserve to win free of this place, I fear. If they come upon us again I shall fight, but I fear my heart shall not be quite right with that.”

Hænir chuckled mirthlessly. “I do not care where your heart is, lad, so long as your axe is at the ready. But I daresay that when they come upon us again we will have more and better things to worry about that the nice scruples of our situation.”

They trudged along in silence for a few minutes as Hænir turned these thoughts over and over in his mind. It had never occurred to him to question or even think about the rightness of their journey. After a life spent in the service of the King, he had become so used to following his lord’s lead, that it had been enough for him that Bali – the King’s own nephew – had felt the journey justified. Despite his early doubts about Bali’s abilities as a leader, he had never though to question his authority. And this unquestioning obedience and reliance, he now realised, had extended to a deferral of all questions about the morality of their situation to Bali. Hænir spoke to Narvi again as though their conversation had been going on that whole time. “I do not think that we are like the orcs, though, Narvi. They came to Erebor knowing that we were there and wanting to destroy us and all that we’d built. We came to this land ignorant of this folk’s existence and wanting no trouble. Remember, they attacked us first. We may have stumbled into their home unasked, but there’s other things to do than try to slaughter us without even so much as a greeting!”

“But would we have done any different if we woke up one day and found a strange folk poking about the halls of Erebor?” Narvi asked.

“I do not know,” Hænir replied slowly. “I would like to think that we’d at least try to take them alive so that we could find out what their business was. Remember, too, that these folk have not just attacked us now – they have been harassing and harrying us for days. Who do you think stole our maps and set those beasts upon us in the jungle?”

Hænir fell silent, not knowing if he had answered Narvi’s questions to his satisfaction.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Hænir's words sank slowly into Narvi. He's right, he thought. We were guiltless save of lust for treasure. We never intended to harm the natives or take thir land.

"But," he said, "we intended to take treasures that were theirs. What excuse have we for that."

Hænir was silent for a while. "We never knew that someone owned this 'treasure'. And this illusion we journeyed for, which we found out, to our dismay, was deadly, we never did take."

Narvi was frowning, his eyes on the ground a foot ahead of him. He was in a pensive mood again, the look he had long ago, while pondering the best way to shock the enemy with minimal force. Now, he was thinking of something equally deadly.

He raised his head, and understanding sparkled in his eyes. He cursed the fact that a thing so prosaic as a difference in toungues would have them fighting for their lives in the land of the enemy. Yet they were also to blame. They attacked the Dwarves without so much as an inquiry to their presence here. Understanding hardened to resolve, and he swore to himself that they would escape this place. None should dare stop him.

But, one more thing needed to be done.

"Thanks, friend." Hænir nodded, and went on ahead.

[Himaran]

Novnarwen's post

Everything had happened to quickly. Before the poor dwarf had given all this thought, he suddenly found himself and the company standing in a chamber, surrounded by these barbarians who were now closing in on them. Their blades were raised, and their eyes were lit up with a certain desire to end all of their petty little lives. They were ready to strike any moment now. But with a movement so fast, that the eye might have missed it, Hænir darted unexpectedly towards something which had obviously caught his attention. Grabbing a hold of whatever it was, everyone went silent. The Rhuians, who seemed quite pleased by the company’s arrival, seemed now to be in shock. Their muttering, their giggling and their smirking; all was gone. Now, everyone seemed rather tense. The barbarians, stood with mouths open, heaving after air. What was happening? Even Dwalin felt his sweaty hands almost losing their grip of his axe, which he had raised to defend himself.

After a few seconds, as Hænir had grabbed whatever it was, he came hurrying back towards Dwalin. Showing sign to hold his hands out, Hænir handed him something . . . a stone . . . Dwalin looked hesitatingly at him and at the shining object. The Dwarf hadn’t noticed its light before, but now, as it shone so clearly before his eyes, he couldn’t take his eyes from it. Was it gold? Was this the treasure they had come all the way from Erebor to get? He wondered. As he got a proper look of it, it actually reminded him of the moon. It was letting out this silvery light; which gave the impression of being an orb. No, this was not at all gold.

“Lad, I think I could use your help with this; just hold your axe above this trinket and make like you’re about ready to break it. Maybe that will convince them to give us back our leader!" Hænir said.

"Wow, this must be valuable!" Dwalin muttered to himself, not quite following Hænir’s way of thinking. He kept staring at it, feeling numb all over, as if a spell had been cast over him. It didn’t exactly reflect anything, so it was most definitely not some kind of mirror. It wasn’t gold either, and it could certainly not be silver. It was way too heavy for that. “But it must be valuable," Dwalin muttered again, as he was able to turn his attention towards the Rhuians, Hænir and Bali. And just then, he knew what Hænir had meant. It was valuable, very valuable. If it wasn't, why else would the Rhuians stand so still as if it was the end of the world? None of them had in fact moved after Hænir had got his hands on it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot Bali. He tried to give him a wave. But as he was about to wave to Bali with his axe in his left hand and the orb in his right, he realised that it was quite complicated, and naturally he failed. He tried again, now almost losing his grip on the orb. There was a loud uproar in the crowd of Rhuians, as they saw how Dwalin had almost dropped the orb to the ground. The fear in their eyes showed that this thing, which Dwalin was holding, was something of the most precious they had. Giving this one more thought, Dwalin held his axe over the orb. Again, there was shouting and screaming. Frightened Rhuians looked as if they wanted to get a hold of the dwarf who was threatening to destroy the orb, but because of their fear that he would destroy it, they kept still. Dwalin smirked, hearing Hænir.

"Let the dwarf go, and I shall not give him," Hænir pointed at Dwalin, "orders to destroy it." The Rhuians looked sceptically at Hænir, showing no sign of letting Bali go. As Dwalin knew that they definitely had the advantage in this situation, he giggled. He lifted his axe, looked at the Rhuians who were surrounding them and Bali, ready to strike. Once more the Rhuians looked terrified, and they seemed to be having a disagreement. Dwalin couldn't make out what they said, but they seemed quite angry. "Don't give them anymore time," Hænir whispered into Dwalin air. He nodded, and sank his axe slowly. Just then, there was a loud scream from one of the Rhuians. As if seen a ghost, the Rhuian's white face lit up the chamber. Everyone seemed to turn their attention towards Dwalin and the company, who had just earlier burst into the room. Everyone held their breaths, looking horrified.

Just before the axe would have destroyed the orb with the beautiful light, movements from the corner interrupted Dwalin’s concentration. From where Bali stood, also holding his breath, the Rhuians spread to give the dwarf room to walk pass them. Dwalin looked surprisingly around, very pleased with himself.

[Himaran]

Bali watched in amazement as the Rhunians simply spread away from him. Deciding not to look surprised, he walked to the room's center and collected his weapons and gear in a leisurely manner. As he walked towards the party, the savages stepped back, giving the dwarf a clear path. He strode through the widening gap with an air of command, but when he reached his group became his old friendly self again. The dwarf patted Dwalin on the back, and gave him a smile that his younger brother had always longed for; one of respect. "Nice move, lad. Now let's get out of here. Oh, and Haenir, may I see that for a moment." The dwarf handed the crystal ball over, and Bali examined it.

"Beautiful. Rare and exquisite. It must be incredibly valuable. Keep it safe!" After handing it back to Haenir, Bali looked around the company.

"Thank you all for coming after me. Hand you not, I would surely be dead. And, more importantly, we would not have found this!" They all chuckled.

"I wonder why they care about it so much," said Gortek. The Rhunians were still standing, as if frozen to the ground. They made no move in any direction, but simply stared at the shining light Haenir held.

"I have no idea, but let's not stay and find out," said Durin. Bali and the others agreed, and they left the cavern peacefully.
_______________________

Several hours later, they had left the caves, and headed north up the canyon. And they knew that they would all make it home.

[Saraphim]

No one had touched the Great Light. No one. Never in the life of Nephil, or indeed the lives of the Elders, some of whom had seen more than a hundred summers. It was the heart of the city, and it was said that it brought luck.

So it was, that when the Dwarf-creature had grabbed the Light, the entire cavern of Rhunians had frozen in their tracks.

It was as if, with that simple gesture of reaching out and taking the Light, the Dwarf had reached out and taken the soul of the people of Rhun.

We never thought to gaurd it, thought Nephil quickly, while he dared not move his body, Never. No harm has ever come to it before.

One of the other Dwarves made as if to crash his axe down onto the Light, and the Rhunians stiffened as one. But they still did not move to stop the thieves.

They slowly edged out the door. No one followed them.

The Light could still be seen as it moved down the carverns, but soon it would be gone. Forever.

Nephil thought of something. He broke from his frozen body and ran from the room.

No one followed.

The last of the party was disappearing down a corner. But Nephil wanted the one at the tail end.

"Quendi!" called Nephil, hoping it would answer.

It stopped and slowly turned, surprised to be called by that name.

One of the men stopped as well, and looked questioningly at his friend.

Nephil stopped and held his arms out, showing he had no weapons. The man drew his sword, but niether Nephil nor the Quendi noticed.

"Yes?" It questioned.

Nephil was shocked to find himself talking to the enigma that had haunted his thoughts since he saw him in the forest, but he collected his thoughts.

"Are you...truly...immortal?" he asked.

"I can be killed. But if not, yes, I live for eternity."

The Quendi looked at Nephil, judging him through his eyes.

"I am Raendin,"

"Nephil," he said.

The man put his hand on Raendin's shoulder and the two quickly ran from the hall, following the Light.

Nephil stared after them, deep in thought.

~~~

It was some days later. The entire city was present in the largest cavern. The Elders stood in the middle, looking harrassed and tired.

Maulka was standing near them as well, proclaiming as loud as she could that the thieves must be stopped, the Light returned.

Nephil had been only vaguely following the events as they unfolded. He stood fairly close to the middle with Corith.

Suddenly he heard his name and felt hundreds of eyes on him. On of the Elders had asked him a question.

"Well?" said the old man,"Should we go after them? You were the one who ran out after they did...the unthinkable. Sould we go?"

Nephil cleared his throat. Thoughts rushed through his mind, of the Quendi, of the Dwarves, of the half-starved catch. The question echoed in his mind, and he knew with certainly that if they went after them, the intruders would not live to see another sunrise. The Light would be returned, and life would return to normal.

"No," said Nephil, and the entire carvern began to murmur. His voice grew stronger, "No. We should not. We have lost too many, and the Quendi...the Quendi cannot be killed. By any means. We will lose."

The absurdity of this statement almost made Nephil laugh, but the Elders, unbelievably, took him seriously.

Nephil turned and left the room, pushing through his people. He left the main hall, and turned down the exiting tunnel.

Outside, rain fell in torrents, but Nephil climbed a rock outcropping oblivious to the slippery ground.

He faced west, the direction the intruders had come, and where they would be going now.

He thought of them, making thier way through uncharted forest, fearing pursiut.

But they had the Light. And Nephil wished them luck.

[Himaran]

The dwarves continued to stumble through the tunnels for over an hour. Progress was slow, and the single torch was repeatedly being dropped or snuffed out. The company tried to keep their hopes up by talking about Erebor or their other home, but the general morale was low. Most believed they were lost.

Then, however, they began to see signs of recent movement in the tunnel. Streaks of blood stained the floor, and weapons lay along the walls. The path itself seemed suddenly larger, and the air more fresh. "We must be near the entrance, "Bali said happily. "Not much farther now!"

So they hurried. Through the widening passage, up the roughly hewn stairs, and straight into a room filled with the very enemies they had hoped to leave behind.

[Saraphim]

Silence decended as the strangers burst into the room.
For a moment that seemed to strech for an eternity, they stared at each other, the Rhunian natives just as shocked as the intruders.

The look on the faces of the small ones in the doorway was different, however. The shock on thier faces was mingled with pure horror and fear. It was clear, to Nephil at any rate, that they had not meant to come into that room.

The moment ended as an arrow was fired. It hit one of the incomers, a glancing blow, but it started the battle again.

Maulka seemed overjoyed at the new opportunity for battle, and entered into it as if she had never stopped. Corith, while caught off gaurd, improvised with a large smithing hammer he carried with him, stuck into his belt.

Nephil tried to remain calm as the mysterious Quendi stepped into the room. His kinsman's words echoed in his mind:

"...They are like men, but different. They cannot die..."

"We will see," said Nephil to himself. He leapt over one of the small axe-weilders and threw his spear with all his strength.

The Quendi moved faster than breath, the spearhead burying itself into the rock wall not inches from his head.

Nephil crossed his arms and unsheathed his knives. They shone in the firelight, dripping with fresh poison.

The sounds of battle seemed to drift away, as if it were happening in the next room. Nephil could only see the Quendi, and the Quendi, for the first time, saw him.

Time stood still as the two began to fight.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

This time, his arrow did not fail. As soon as he saw the natives, his hands reached for an arrow and fitted it in the bow in one smooth manoeuvre. The same arrow planted itself below a native's eye socket moments later. Narvi smiled. He was once again that warrior who stood before Erebor's gates, defiantly standing between his home and his enemies.

As he refitted an arrow to his bow, a man lunged towards him. Too close for an arrow, he dropped the loaded bow and drew his axe. Too fast! The man's poisoned knife threatened Narvi's throat, and would have found its way had he not stepped to the left.

This time, his enemy's speed worked to his advantage. Narvi turned, and the enemy's back was before him, undefended. He raised his axe for the kill. The man caught the act in a sideward glance. As Narvi struck, his left hand shot up.

The Dwarf uttered a curse. His blow was held back by the man's knife, long enough for him to twist out of the axehead's way. Now the two adversaries stood face to face, barely a yard between them. Time slowed as they both raised their weapons to kill.

Narvi had long ago developed a trick to increase the strength delivered by his two-handed strike. He stepped forward as he raised the axe, and its iron head came down at a terrifying speed, its force provided by the momentum gained from his step. The enemy used the sword on his right hand in an attempt to block the blow, but realised too late that it was not enough. The axehead swept the sword aside, then found its way to the mans chest.

He removed the axe, and looked for another opponent. But the wound on his right thigh opened again, and the blood loss weakened Narvi.

Three men came after him.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The ferocity of the onslaught caught Hænir off guard, despite his so recent experience with fighting these savages. They came at the Dwarves like beasts – very deadly beasts. As last time, they fought with incredible skill and speed, but with greater caution than before. He smiled as he realized that the Dwarves had won an odd form of respect from their enemies, and it showed in the caution they demonstrated in their fighting. Hænir returned this respect, particularly as he watched the glittering dance of their blades.

All time for reflection was soon gone, however, as he was plunged into the middle of the maelstrom. He planted his feet at a shoulder’s width apart and depended upon his axe to guard him from their blows. The last time he had fought these people, he had been constrained by the closeness of their battleground, and he had tried to make up for that by matching them speed for speed. Such a strategy had almost got him killed; and now that he was fighting them in the more open space of this grand hall, it would have been suicide to try and keep up with them. Instead, he fell back on the kind of battle he was most familiar with: maintaining closed ranks with his companions and giving no ground, he dealt out a series of precisely calculated powerful blows to any who dared come near him. The Rhûnians hard-won caution was well repaid, however, as they nimbly darted aside from his attacks, before launching themselves at him, attempting to get under his guard and wound him in the leg or under his arm where his armor was weakest. He countered each such attempt, but with every counter he was forced to move back a half step. Sometimes he was able to regain that ground, but sometimes not, with the result that he was slowly but inexorably being pushed back toward the wall where he would not have room to swing his axe…but where there would be ample space for knifework.

Seeing how the battle was ending, Hænir knew that he would have to change his strategy if he were to survive. Despite the risks, he began to press forward, advancing into the attacks of his enemies. This brought him closer to their blades and lessened the time he had to react to their attacks, and soon he had been cut twice beneath his left arm. Neither wound was grievous but it did not bode well. One particularly large Rhûnian seemed to have selected him as his intended prey; seeing the blood on the Dwarf’s side, the man lunged in at him, looking for the quick kill – it was a fatal mistake. With an easy upswing Hænir removed the man’s weaponhand, before killing him with the backswing. The other Rhûnians gave way slightly, horrified, he supposed, by the ease with which his sharpened blade had moved through his enemy.

But he had gained something far more valuable from the exchange than the death of a single enemy, for in the attack he had seen something that he had not noticed before, but which now stood out to his eyes as clearly as gems in a mine. Most of their attackers wielded two blades, and until now he had assumed that they sought to counter the weapon of their enemy with the lead blade so that they could slash with the following. But it was not so – they did counter his weapon with the lead blade, but rather than holding his axe with it, they would slash with the same blade while simultaneously countering his axe a second time with the following blade. It was a marvelous tactic that depended on blinding speed and a tremendous amount of skill. But now that he realized what they were doing, the advantage began to tip somewhat in his favour.

The very next attacker came at him and tried this precise maneuver. Prepared as he was for it, Hænir ignored the woman’s following hand, knowing that the lead hand, currently engaging his axe, was destined for his throat. Stepping into her guard he countered the blow that would have killed him with the shaft of his axe, and aiming low to avoid the second counter, he swept aside his enemy with a single blow. There was an almost audible gasp from his enemies as they saw the sudden ease with which he had dispatched her. Suddenly filled with the love of battle he cried, “Khazad!” and rushed at the murderous savages before him.

[Arestevana]

Maulká gave an ecstatic shout as the battle began. Taking her javelin in both hands, she ran towards the intruders, laughing aloud. She was slightly disappointed to see the one called Quendi already in combat with Nephil, but there were plenty of other intruders to fight, if none so intriguing. She paused just short of the thickest part of the battle, looking for an unclaimed enemy. The incomers seemed to have no qualms about barging in on their companions’ fights. In fact, they often acted pleased rather than outraged if an ally brought down the enemy they were assailing. Shaking her head at this barbaric attitude, Maulká caught sight of a group of the trespassers fighting back-to-back closer to the chamber’s entrance. One in particular seemed to be having good fortune, as the strange axe-wielder brought down several native warriors one after another.

Watching for a moment, Maulká recognized a battle-rage in the creature’s eyes. It was going to charge them! Maulká jostled several other natives aside and placed herself in the creature’s path. She set the end of the shaft against the floor and steadied the point level with creature’s throat as it gave a strange but fierce battle cry and charged toward her. Maulká fully expected her opponent to be speared on the end of her javelin, but it dodged the point and swung its weapon at her head. She wrenched the javelin up, warding of the blow. She was forced to parry the blows by striking the shaft of her enemy’s weapon, as the sharp axe-head would easily cut through her wooden javelin.

Twice more Maulká parried, trying to find an opening in which to strike at her adversary’s unprotected face. Even a scratch might put enough poison in the wound to kill. She blocked another attack and jabbed at the creature’s head, but it darted to one side, shearing a foot of wood from the end of her weapon with a sweep of its axe. Maulká cursed and splintered the shaft of her broken javelin against the creature’s armor, winding him. She drew her dirk and dagger so quickly that they seemed to jump into her hands.

Before the other could recover, she attacked with a maneuver she had been taught as a child; parrying with her dirk, then striking with the same weapon while parrying with the dagger in her other hand. She moved with little caution, knowing that outsiders never expected this technique. It seemed that this particular intruder was familiar with the attack though, for its counter blow left a deep cut in Maulká’s side. She fell back momentarily, and another native warrior took the opportunity to step in. Maulká cursed the man for taking her fight, but she stepped back again, reluctantly taking a moment to recover her strength.