Red Flows the Sirannon RPG

[Arry]

A week had passed and most of the Elves were on their feet, Skald noted. ‘Saw some of them take mighty hard blows. That one there took an arrow clear through his leg. Must have the constitution of a slab of granite.’

His father chuckled, nodding his head ‘yes’. ‘More like diamonds,’ Viss said. ‘Full of clear light and near impossible to crack.’ He glanced for a moment toward Riv who still looked pale. ‘We’re the granite, I think,’ he went on. ‘Hard to rend . . . hard . . . but it can happen.’

Skald touched his father lightly on the forearm. ‘But he’s alright. The healers say he will soon be well. And Bror, too! Look there where he’s up and about.’

Viss smiled at his middle son and clapped him on the back. ‘You’re right . . . you’re right . . .’ He watched, the smile fading on his face, as Skald crossed the room to scoop up Leifr and deposit him on Riv’s lap. ‘For now at least . . .’

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In a fortnight, all were well enough to don their mail and helmets; to pick up their axes and spears and bows. Thirty-five Dwarves were mustered to bolster the remaining eighty Elves. King Durin was taking no chances that the Orcs had not somehow crossed the mountains and would harry travelers on the western roads.

Riv and Bror and twenty of the other Dwarven warriors led the party out of the West Gate and east down the wide track that ran along the northern bank of the Sirannon. Skald and Orin were with the others of Dwarves who formed the rear guard.

Five days at a steady pace and they would reach the Elven city . . . Mahal willing . . .