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[Saraphim]

Nephil entered every battle the same way. Silently, with a cold and calculating air that only appeared when he was faced with possible death.

He watched from the doorway as several of his people, who aught to have known better, rushed into the room, and got only metal in thier body for thier pains.

Nephil sensed that it was time for him to enter. Crossing his arms, he pulled two poisoned daggers from the sheaths on his upper arms.

The room was chaotic, with intruders fighting for thier lives and sanity in a foriegn battle. The native Rhunians were not faring well; Nephil could see many bodies of his people lying still, while none of the enemy had fallen.

In a flash, an axe appeared from nowhere. But Nephil was ready, and leaped over the weapon, slashing with his knives at the arm holding it.

Something howled in pain, but Nephil barely heard it, as an arrow slid into his arm like a snake. he followed the arrow's trajectory until his eyes came to rest on one of the larger intruders. The one that was like a man, but not.

Thier gaze met for an instant, Nephil sensing wisdom and age unimaginable deep within the eyes of the stranger. For a moment, the battle was forgotten, the arrow in his arm put aside, as Nephil struggled to grasp what, and who, the archer was.

Then, in an instant, he was gone, leaping out of Nephil's vision faster than he had seen anyone move in his life. Only the wildcats of the forest could have compared.

But nephil shook off his reverie and noticed that many more of his peopl were dead, and those left were not faring well. The intruders were hearty folk.

Nephil took the initiative, as no one else would have, "Retreat! Back to the caves! Retreat!"

Nearly having to drag Maulka away by the hair, Nephil and the others ran from the room. They were loathe to leave, but with so many dead and wounded, they had little choice.

[Arestevana]

Maulká hissed angrily as Nephil called for a retreat. She had only just managed to penetrate the crush at the door and her weapons were still unblooded. She ignored the order, trying to locate a suitable enemy. At once she felt something grab her wrist. Her dirk-hand trapped, she spun around to stab at her captor with her shorter knife. It was not an enemy, as she had supposed, but one of her fellow warriors. "Retreat!" the man yelled at her.

Maulká shook her head and tried to wrench her arm free. "Retreat!" the man yelled again, catching her other arm and pinning it behind her back. One of the intruders was fighting with its back to them. Finding both her arms pinned, Maulká spat the dart in her mouth at the queer creature, cursing as it bounced harmlessly off the enemy's helm.

"Retreat! We must retreat!" said her captor again. Maulka twisted her head around and bit him. He released her in surprise, but she found herself swept out of the room by a tide of her own people. She understood the reasoning behind the retreat, but it did not keep her from cursing. They ran a short ways down the hall, the few warriors who had bows guarding the rear. When they stopped, Maulká asked with some apprehension, "How many did we lose?"

[Himaran]

The bodies lay twisted and contorted on the stone floor, gaping wounds showing from neck and torso. Hatchets and arrows littered the ground, along with the knives and spears dropped as the Rhûnians hastily retreated. They had been soundly defeated, with no loss of life on the dwarven side; although many had been cut and bruised. Bali look around the room again, surveying the carnage spread out before him. It seemed unreal; manufactured, like one of the violent and heroic plays he had watched at a theater in Rohan. The battle-hardened warrior was no stranger to combat and death; it was his life. But something about these foes had disturbed him. They fought well... almost too well; like animals trained from an early age to be savage killers.

Pushing such thoughts to the back of his mind, Bali snapped back into reality. "Well fought, lads! We showed them that the warriors of Free Lands are not so easily defeated. Now come; take these bodies and pile them further down the passage, or the stench will kill us all." The company followed his instruction in silence, some thoughtful, others pale. Most of the young dwarves had never killed a wolf before, let alone another person. War was a new concept to them, and one that seemed to be more depressing than inspiring.

Later, the company sat around a small fire, using the wooden spears of the natives as fuel. They ate half of their remaining warg meat, which was certainly not a nourishing amount, before sitting back against the wall to relax. Bali managed to find a bit of weed in his tunic, and took out his pipe. He looked it over, smiling at the golden inscription: To Bali. It had been wrought by his half-elven friend Burzdol outside the Green Dragon Inn... all those years ago.

Turning his head, Bali noticed Haenir walk over and sit down next to him. "Barak Kahzad, Bali. They stood not a chance."

The dwarf nodded. "Aye. That we did."

They sat in silence for a while, each thinking of past experiences, places and friends. Then Haenir spoke again. "Bali, I have heard that you are an experienced traveler, and saved Erebor at one time. I know that story by heart, but what of your other journeys? I feel that the rifts which occasional split this company are catalyzed by our lack of knowledge regarding one another."

Bali sat for a moment before replying. "Aye, 'tis true. When my company and I made the journey to Erebor, we became fast friends who would die for one another in an istant. There is less of that in this group. Ah, but I am not helping it by reminiscing about past days, and... better times. These dwarves have no reason to be joyful and friendly; they went on a treasurehunt and stumbled into the pits of Morgoth. But about myself!

I was born in Erebor, and lived there until I was twenty or so. My mother died after giving birth to Dwalin, and thus was only there for my earliest years. I grew up around warriors and weapons, and was taught how to fight as soon as I could lift an axe. My father wanted me to be a warrior, I think, and there was great need for it with Sauron's power growing.

I always wanted to travel, but my father thought it a foolish and wayward path, not one fit for the nephew of Erebor's King. "You will not grow up to be a lazy sluggard, traipsing about the meadows while our people fight the great Shadow," he told me once. My aspiration was not aided by my brother, who was already training to join the small dwarven army as an officer. But then the day came when I had my chance to prove that I was born to traispe around meadows - and fight the orcs hiding in them!

My father was going hunting, and decided to take me along. We rode out on ponies with some good dwarves and our bows, but upon arriving at the edge of a clearing were ambushed by orcs. Most of the lads were shot, and the rest turned and retreated back north towards the mountain. They didn't realize it, but I had fallen off the horse as it turned, and had been left behind.

Lying in the tall grass, I watched the orc archers hurry towards me to check the bodies. Then crawling -- slowly, very slowly -- over to side, I lay quietly and waited for them to leave. Instead, they made a camp there! You can imagine how frightened I should have been, but thankfully I did not fully understand my danger and was therefore not unduly scared. I was simply mad.

Then late that night, one of the orcs was patrolling around the edge of the trees when he spotted something. The object was me, of course, and he called his band over. Suddenly, I did a rather stupid thing. I stood up. The charged me, and (although terrified by this time) I managed to run into the forest. One orc closed in quickly, and as I looked back my foot hit a tree branch. He leaped at me, but I rolled to the side and he fell too; landing on his knife. I pulled the weapon from the dead orc and jumped up, facing the others. By now, I was less scared than mad, and I made for the first with a furious bound. He was not expecting it, and the knife ran him through. The others were closing in on me, but I dashed straight at them. One fell to my short weapon, than another. Then two hit at me simultaneously, and (although I blocked one slash) the second tore the flesh on my arm. I moved to the side swiftly, and the orcs (obviously surprised that I was even brave enough to attack them) were felled with two quick thrusts.

The following morning my father was furious, and sent out a large party to search for me and kill the orcs. They returned two days later, ashen-faced. Nothing was there except orc carcasses. What a surprise those dwarves must have had when they saw me eating breakfast in the great hall!

At any rate, after my father saw that I could not only fight but travel and survive on my own, he view of me change. I was soon being forced to make long trips outside of the mountain. I think he suddenly wanted me to be his personal warrior, perhaps a deadly assassin. But I wished to be neither. My dream was to be free, and roam the world in a carefree fashion. Which I did for many years, until the siege of Erebor.

But enough about me, I am sure you are bored by my lengthy story. What of you, Haenir? What paths have you tread outside of this land living death?"

[Saraphim]

It was a ragged band indeed that limped away from the battle. They had gone to a large communal cave, seeing to thier wounds and planning thier next move. Nephil had eased the arrow from his arm and tended the gaping hole, and then simply sat, examining the arrow itself.

A voice near the door alerted Nephil to the presence of his kinsman, who mad his social way over to Nephil, speaking to almost everyone in hushed, vehement tones. Corith sat next to Nephil on a rough bench, gently taking the arrow.

"Beautiful worksmanship," he said, surprised at the prowess that an outsider had shown at the forge.

Nephil knew that Corith was only making small conversation, but it was something that had been haunting Nephil since he had first set eyes on the strange creature.

"The oustider that it came from was...a rather interesting specimen as well," said Nephil, touching his arm where he had been wounded, "It moves like a wild cat, but it's eyes...are not that of a beast. Something... more than a man." he finished, staring off, remembering.

Corith looked thoughtful. "Perhaps..." he began, but stopped.

"No, go on,"said Nephil, interested in any information.

"I've heard some very odd tales, about creatures, Quendi, I think they are called, who were like men, but different, who could not die. It is said they were born before men, but that they do not seem to belong here, on this earth. If that makes any sense."

Nephil concentrated on something Corith had said. "They cannot be killed, you say?" a flutter of fear passed through him.

Corith shook his head, "I'm only telling you what I heard."

He stood to greet another, leaving Nephil to ponder Quendi and await new orders for battle.

[Novnarwen]

The dwarf was still shaking by the thought of the attackers. They had been so swift and so experienced. It was like they had done nothing else than carry weapons and train all their lives. Still, they had retreated. Dwalin wondered why, but didn't want to complain. He was lucky to be alive without too many wounds.

When he had met his first opponent, he had been struggling to keep his feet on the ground. Nevertheless, he had fallen with a crack, and found himself staring into the attacker’s eyes. They had been filled with hatred and disgust. Dwalin, who had been scared to death, thinking that his last minute had come, was surprised to see Nerin accidentally nudge Dwalin's attacker hard in the ribs. Being immensely relived, Dwalin had gotten to his feet and swiftly ended the attacker's life.

He chose to watch the conversation, as he had too much going on his mind. From the corner of his eye, he could see Hænir and Bali talking. It still annoyed him that the two of them were acting as if they were hiding something. Both of them were avoiding socializing with the others. Whether it was intentional or not, Dwalin did not know.

The Dwarf ate slowly. The meat from the warg was something of the most horrible thing he had ever tasted. But his hunger overcame it. Swallowing it, reluctantly, he went to sit next to Nerin. He hadn't yet thanked the dwarf for saving his life, even though it was by mere luck. Dwalin owed him something nevertheless. Trying not to make too many grimaces by the taste of the meat, he turned to face Nerin.

"What a fight, eh?" he said with another jerk. Nerin nodded. His black beard shimmered in the dim light from the fire. "I must thank you.." Dwalin started after a while. He watched Nerin's sparkling eyes, as if he was surprised. "I must thank you," he repeated before he continued:" You saved my life, you know... This company is very lucky to have you.." When finishing, he felt relived, but also satisfied. "If there's anything you need anytime, just come and ask. I will certainly repay your deed," Dwalin added hurriedly.

Nerin smiled humbly, looked seriously at Dwalin, before both of them broke into a laugh

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

“That’s quite a tale, indeed,” Hænir said through mouthfuls of meat. “Although I’ve never heard the full story, it is one I’ve heard before. All the King’s Companions are very well aware of your exploits – how could we not be aware of the doings of our King’s own nephew!” He smiled at Bali and spoke in answer to the question in his eye. “I have not spoken of it before, as you did not. I did not know if you would relish of having one of the Companions with you – I assumed that part of your reasons for journeying forth on this adventure were to escape your life in Erebor, for whatever reason. I knew that I could only be a reminder of that life.

“But you ask to know somewhat of me. Indeed, Nerin and I have spoken much on this journey, but even to him I have not revealed much. Having been alone for so long, and unused to the company of friends I have not the practice I need to unburden myself. But I shall do my best, if it will do you ease; for I see that you wish to know more of the folk with whom you are likely to be spending your last days!

“I was fostered by the King at a young age, when my parents were killed by orcs during our journey from the Iron Hills. I fought by the King’s side in the War of the Ring – many of the Companions fell about him that day, but we were unable to save him. Alas! That I was forced to live beyond that day, carrying the shame of having outlived it when my lord did not!”

Bali said the words that many had uttered to Hænir over the years, “It was not your fault; I’m sure you fought with great honour and did requite yourself well – you must not bear the burden of that guilt!” But Hænir only smiled wanly and shook his head, “Nay, lad,” he said sadly, “I know all that, and I’ve heard it from many a Dwarf as I look up to and respect, your uncle among them! But I cannot feel it in my heart. I should have fallen that day in defence of my King, but the numbers were too many. They parted us and I was knocked down and unconscious before I could join him in death. This is why I have travelled on this journey…” He looked at Bali with a stern frankness and thought for a long moment before speaking next. When he did so, he spoke evenly but Bali could tell that it was only with a great effort. “When I heard that the King’s own nephew was going on a near hopeless journey to near certain death, and that he was doing so without so much as a single one of his uncle’s troops or Companions to protect him…well, the memory of my failure in the War began to stir and I saw why I had been spared. I would not let the issue of my King’s blood go into isolation and death unaccompanied. I left the service of my King and joined your party – if not to protect you, to at least die by your side. I have done the first already, now I hope that if it comes to pass, I will be able to the other with honour!”

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin chewed on the warg meat slowly, his whole body was aching. He recieved quite a beating from the natives.

His jaw was throbbing from a blow he had taken from a fist that was bound in leather; his forehead was grazed with a dagger leaving a red mark and he had been tripped numerous times by the animal cunning of the Rhûnians. Many times his life could have ended if it wasn't for his companions coming to his side in the nick of time.

Nerin too had tried to do his best to defend his fellows, sometimes without even intending to. He had whipped out one his throwing hatchets at his attacker but he dodged it, so it continued to hurtle through the air, making its home in the back of another Rhûnian's head who was about to ambush Hænir from behind.

Another chance came to show Nerin's uncanny ability when Dwalin was about to be chopped to bits. The young Dwarf was swinging madly trying to deflect anything that came at him when he struck Dwalin's assailent in the chest with his elbow.

And now Dwalin sat beside him thanking him for saving his life. Nerin smiled slightly as his cheeks turned slightly red, they both laughed.

"It was the least I could, I'm sure you or anyone else would have done the same, we're all in this together even if we don't know eachother that well, which seems such a pity to me. If ye don't mind me askin' since we're on the subject, would you care to tell me a bit about yourself? It long overdue that we start to build friendships".