Search for Rhûn RPG

[piosenniel]

Prologue - Arvedui III's post


The first thing he remembered, very dimly, was the old instructor, scolding him over a small cut.

‘It's painful' he had cried in a pitiful, childish moan that is a plea for older, stronger beings to take pity and speak words of love and comfort. But the shriveled, scared weapons-master instead gave him a hard slap across the face. ‘Painful!?!' He had roared. ‘Fool boy. You do not know the meaning of pain!' As he lay in the cold darkness, unable to master his body even to the point of opening his eyes, he thought then that he now had an idea as to what the old man had meant. The pounding of his temples would surely reach the point to where his head would explode like the fabled Orthanc fire of the great war. Every inch of him felt leaden, even though he had discarded his armor days ago. Had it been days? How long had he been lying here? And just where was here, anyway?

His questions overriding his apparent hurts, he opened his eyes, but not without a valiant struggle against his heavy eyelids. It also seemed every inch of his body wanted to sink back into sleep. The ghostly moonlight sulked into a crake of the jagged, black ceiling of wherever he was, a wet, sickening heat hovering all about the air, as if mocking what real air should be like, bent on tormenting all who could feel it. And it certainly was working. He felt like reaching, but pushed past the sensation for the moment to survey his surrounding. He appeared to be in a cave of some kind, but with only the moon for light he could not be sure of how high up he was or how deep the crevice ran. What surprised him, though, as he blinked in the darkness, was that he was not bound. Although, as he tried and failed to sit up, he realized whoever had brought him to this place didn't need chains to keep him here. His own body would betray him to that end, and quite honestly, he was too tired to care.

What little strength he had amassed in sleep was leaving him, but suddenly the blurred image of what perhaps had caused his pain and unconsciousness was not.

It was as if a torch had been lit in his pounding head. The glow...lights against the water...unceasing, merciless drums, hammering like the pounding of his head. And suddenly he was afraid and turned his head wildly around. What if they came back? The sensation of hard wood and leather being hit against his aching skin returned with the full force of a blow to his mind. Rather in vain, he tried to back away, to force his legs by shear fear and will to respond and speed him from this accursed place. He should never have come here. All the rush of dread and memory achieved however, was that he knocked his head against rock. He then lay still, a pit of fear welling in his stomach, pain seeping into his entire body, weariness finally claiming him. Just before he passed into darkness again, he thought with a sickening clarity that he fully understood what true pain the old teacher spoke of meant.

He knew that he was going to die here.

[piosenniel]

Himaran’s post


The sea was like nothing I have seen before, since my journey to the bay of Belfalas in 1294. It was an incredibly wide expanse of water, and the mountains to the north gave it a majestic appearance. The waves tumbled against the shore, and from whence they came I had little knowledge. But the most amazing aspect of Rhûn’s sea is the great body of sparkling lights which shine near its bottom - not pearls, but perhaps a new rock form. If it were so, it could be worth more than mithril, as it could only be found in one remote area throughout middle-earth.

Of Rhûn’s its inhabitants, I have seen only tracks, which I have painstakingly recorded. I for one met neither man nor beast on my travels, but I have traversed only a small portion of this strange land. It is hard country to say the least, and it took all of my skill and wit to navigate it.

“So you and your brother intend to go through with it?”

Bali the dwarf looked up from the his book, The Diary of Baren Longhelm, finding the gaze of his father set upon him. “Aye, that we do.”

“And how many will to be taking with you?”

The dwarf set the book down and stood, stretching his arms and neck. He took several prolonged gulps from a glass on the table near him before answering. “About eight; all good travelers and fighters. We couldn’t justify taking a larger group; as we are not going on a mining expedition.”

The elderly dwarf walked over to a window in the Ereborian chamber, which faced the southwest. “Rhûn. The hidden land, filled with riches far greater than those which have been mined from the Iron Hills; as the legends say. You and Dwalin must be careful, Bali. We have heard naught of anyone living there; or if they are friendly.”

Bali looked down at the book he had been studying. Baren Longhelm had been a great traveler, and had journeyed to ever corner of Middle Earth. Rhûn had been his last venture, and when he returned to civilization he had died shortly thereafter. The cause of his death was unknown.

“We will be careful, father. And remember, Dwalin is leading the party, not I. He asked me to go with him, and I could not refuse. We have our maps, and can travel both there and back safely enough. And of course, we have several excellent dwarves traveling with us, and if Baren did not meet any inhabitants, neither will we.”

~*~

The next morning was hot and hazy, typical of a summer in Erebor. Bali rose and dressed, hurrying downstairs for the meal. He spoke with other members of the group, who were saying goodbye to friends and family in the hall. They all agreed to leave by noon.

After the meal, Bali returned to his room and chose his weapons. Lifting the heavy Ereborian axe off its hanging place on the wall, Bali patted the sharp blade fondly and set it with the rest of his bags. Snatching several throwing hatchets from the closet, he attached them to his leather belt. Then, opening a small chest, he removed his prize weapon; a long, beautiful elvish knife encased in a magnificent golden sheath. It had been given to him by an elf from Greenwood many years before, and the dwarf threw it perfectly. Strapping it on his belt, he gathered his things and carried them down to the hall.

Dwalin was already there, greasing the exit hole on his crossbow. Bali eyed it nervously, unconsciously feeling the scar across his eye. It had been received by one of his brother’s arrows, which had been released from the weapon accidentally.

The dwarf looked up from his task, setting the bow aside. “Good, I am glad that you are ready. As soon as the others arrive, we can discuss our route and leave.”

“Do you much knowledge of the region?” Bali blurted out. The question had been bothering him since early that morning. “It is not wise to walk blindly into a new land.”

Dwalin looked down at a map spread out on the table; now covered with lines and scribbled writing. “The map shows clearly where the region lies, and even gives us details of its properties. See here? Mountains, and just south of there a forest. And here is the great sea. But remember, we may be the first group of adventurers to enter Rhûn. Do not think it odd that there are no detailed maps of this strange sea and its surroundings. Just imagine it, Bali; whether or not the mountains carry anything beyond iron in their roots, there is a sea. A sparkling ocean filled with pearls, worth greater than mithril itself!”

“That is one dwarf’s wild estimation, Dwalin; there may be little truth to these… legends.”

The gleam did not leave the young dwarf’s eye as he continued. “They are true, Bali - I assure you.”

Bali shrugged, sitting down at the table. It would be useless to try to convince Dwalin that the great riches thought to be at Rhûn could be nothing more than a myth. But the dwarf knew that his brother was set on finding treasure in a new land; and after all, maybe there was some truth to the legends. Either way, Bali was going, and so he pushed the worry to the back of his mind and waited for the others to arrive.

[piosenniel]

Dwalin sat in the staircases. He looked downwards trying to get a satisfying look of his short brown beard. Too bad it isn’t longer, he thought being disappointed. Everyone else had long beards. However, what annoyed him the most was the fact that he couldn’t actually get a proper look, or any look, of his chin; and therefore not where his beard started. The dwarf started making odd grimaces, turning his gigantic head in all directions. Nope, his chin couldn’t be seen. No matter what methods he used, it wasn't possible to get a glimpse of it. Chins are only an illusion, he thought, smiling. Dwalin giggled. He had in fact never thought of this before. It was indeed brilliant.

The dwarf soon remembered why he actually was sitting here, and he felt the hunger of gold and treasures lurk inside of him. Why was he sitting here, looking like a complete idiot, when there was gold to find, and adventure to start and the finding of Rhûn? However, in order to start his adventure, he needed companions; which, by the way, he already had arranged. Now he just had to wait, wait for them to come. No more ‘chin-nonsense’, he thought. He put up a grim face and started waiting instead.

Not long had passed before his brother, Bali, came hurrying down and found Dwalin. Dwalin had now settled by a table, with a huge map covering the table’s surface. They chatted for a while, looking at the map and discussing further. Dwalin paid attention, but in the back of his mind memories from his childhood disturbed the conversation he had with his brother. As a child, he remembered he thought of days like these; when he would at last would travel and find riches. He had dreamed long of an adventure, this adventure. However, Dwalin didn’t have the slightest idea of how it was going to be like; what he would experience or what they would find in the ancient kingdom of Rhûn.

The feeling of wind, cold as ice, ran down his back and the dwarf jumped up, eyes wide open. Bali turned towards his brother, “Nervous, Dwalin?” He giggled, but the anxiety in his voice could clearly be heard. Dwalin lied and said no. Bali, who could see through this lie, giggled some more. “Aww, it’s alright to be nervous, afraid, scared, ‘jumpy’, and all those things on ones first adventure,” he said, pitying him, but still enjoying this a bit. Big brothers were supposed to ‘tease’ the younger ones once in a while. Dwalin didn’t care and ignored Bali, who was only trying to try his humour on somebody.

They exchanged a few words, both rather excited now. Dwalin felt the urge of running out of the Hall and start his adventure at once, but this of course would lead to disaster. Bali looked at Dwalin, reading him as an open book. “We have to wait, dear brother,” he said, comforting.

Dwalin giggled as he heard footsteps…

[piosenniel]

Eruantalon's post

The hills gave way to Erebor under the lonely mountain. Seeing this sight again made Erulon's breath leave him. The mountain's beauty only grew with each day. Now he looked on it with older eyes - yet its roots grew stronger and its people greater. Life was good here in the dwarven kingdom. And his old friend would be meeting him soon for new adventures. As always, with the race of Aule, it was again about finding treasures. Yet this was no dark task. The promise of a good journey with old friends was high.

Now, to make sure his kind friend didn’t get in any harms way while on this journey. The promise of riches so great can often make one stray. But he knew the hearts of these people that they where not as subtle as many in middle earth. A kind and good race lived here under the mountain. They knew the value of what hard work can give one. And yet the grievances that can some times follow them.

Coming to the great gate he hailed the guards. They waved back with smiles and greeted him warmly, remembering the man from a great battle several years earlier. "Erulon you have come! Going off on the journey from what we hear. Make your way in now. You Your friend is with his father in the Great Hall.”

Making his way down into the city he caught many familiar faces. One who was vary familiar, and he crept up behind the dwarf while his back was turned. The man though tall could walk very quietly.

"Durin! You’re here! I see you're not off on this journey yet.”

“Ahh, good friend, what are you doing here? Bali just sent word out a few days ago! Good to see you here, though. We are making our way off tomorrow. Ready yourself, Erulon and prepare for a grand journey!”

“Indeed, my old friend! We’ll have enough time to talk. I see you have many things to take care of for now. We’ll be drinking good ale by a fire side soon!”

Few of the errands made for riches ended well. On the last journey there were many unforeseen dangers that almost killed him and the whole company. Hopefully, this journey with Bali would turn out better. “Always stay on guard,” he muttered to himself. Life in Erebor was fair, but the wilds of a far off land where ominous to say the least.

Bali was shocked that Erulon had arrived so early. They sat long into the night around the fire, discussing the journey that would occur in the morning. The dwarf confided of his worries with the man, explaining that they were leaving more on impulse than knowledge.

"Well, what does it matter, anyway?" replied the man. "We are exploring a new land, not going on a mining expedition. Any information we bring back will be valuable."

Later, Erulon made his way up to his room, aided by Kalin. He found a splendid array of food ready for him. The night was coming on fast and he would need to rest. Laying his arms up to the side of the bed he got comfortable in his room.

Just then a knock at the door came. Kalin’s face was light by a candle. “One more thing Erulon. The master has bid you to take a horse. He’s found one that you could use and thinks it best. You cannot ride on our animals since you’re too large. Would you come pick one early tomorrow?”

“Tell the Lord I appreciate his kindness and thank him. I will make my way down early in the morning and be there ready and saddled.” Nodding his head Kalin shut the door for the night then opened back up swiftly. “Ahh yes, did you need anything else my friend?”

“Just good nights sleep and the assurance of a ready breakfast tomorrow. Bread will be fine with milk if you can?”

“Very good! And good night.”

[piosenniel]

Carlas' post

The Sun was high in the air as Durin walked with his mother down the hot streets of Erebor. The sky was cloudless and the rich blue seemed even brighter than usual. Durin looked around at the buildings and roads around him, thinking about the last few years he had spent in Erebor. He loved it here, it was his home, but he needed to leave and explore the world outside again, like he had done years ago, with his father. Now though, he would not be with his father Dain since he had left to visit friends in Mirkwood a few months back, Durin was going to finally be responsible and be able to watch over himself instead. But, as much as he had always wanted just that, he couldn’t help but wishing that his father could come along to find Ruhn, the Land of Riches with him. It had been a myth for years, and now he and a group of dwarves were going to find Ruhn, and the legendary body of water with the shining lights, but his father would not be there.

Glis, his mother, looked over at him thoughtfully and smiled her warm smile that she kept especially for him. “Do not trouble about your father.” She said as though reading his mind. “He is getting on in years, as am I, and we know that you are ready to take care of yourself.” Durin nodded and stared at the ground in front of him. Glis stopped suddenly and took her son’s bearded face in her hands. “Your father and I are very proud of you. You are a strong and skilled dwarf, and you are going to go find Ruhn! Think of how pleased your father will be when he hears of where you are going, this journey is like no other you or anyone else will ever take. Be proud son.”

Durin looked up into his mother’s eyes and smiled from under his long beard. “But father will be even more proud when I bring him back a great sack of treasure!” Glis laughed and nodded. “Of course, but I better get a sack five times larger than his!”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was nearly noon by the time Durin and his mother finally reached the Great Hall. They had walked around after their talk, and chatted about everything and anything, as Durin looked about the beautiful city one last time before leaving on his journey. He was sad to be leaving, but he was now becoming excited. Who knew what kind of things they would find in Ruhn, and from what he had heard, it sounded like a beauteous land.

He turned to face his aging mother who smiled kindly down at him. They didn’t say anything, and didn’t need to say anything. Durin knew his mother was sad to see him go, they had become very attached over the years, but Glis knew how important it was for Durin to finally be able to leave on his own and learn to be responsible for himself. She walked up to her son and embraced him tightly, not wanting to let go. As they pulled apart, she kissed him gently on the forehead.

Durin and his mother smiled sadly at eachother for a moment before he finally turned towards the Great Hall. Glis watched him walk away and silently whispered “Goodbye Durin, son of Dain, my son.”

[piosenniel]

Nilpaurion Felagund’s post

Narvi had received a letter. It told him of an expedition to Rhûn. Rhûn. A fitting name for a place little-known.

"Father," said he, "read this."

"Rhûn," Gimli said after setting down the missive. "I have heard of it in the writings of Baren Longhelm. A place full of riches, they say. This will be a journey any Dwarf will desire."

"Maybe," answered Narvi.

"I feel doubt in your words. Why is that?"

"This is a journey for miners and craftsmen, not one fit for a warrior."

"Ah, but the war is over. Peace now reign in all the lands. One must find new things to explore. Either you go, or you marry now."

"I am not ready for that." He sighed. "Very well. I shall go."

"If only I were a hundred years younger..." Gimli said.

[piosenniel]

Fordim Hedgethistle’s post

Haenir awoke early that day, like a child on the morning of a party. For weeks he had awaited their departure but now that the time had come for him to leave his room he found himself reluctant to prepare. For forty years this one small room had been all the home he knew, and it had been enough to him. High up the mountain, not fifty feet from the Royal Bed-Chamber, he had served the King Under the Mountain loyally and with love, but his heart now longed to see the world beyond the shadow cast by the Mountain, and to seek his fortune in no-one’s service but his own.

It did not take him long to get ready, as he had been following the same routine for most of his life. He dashed some cold water on his face and quickly plaited his beard before donning his armour. It was heavy

upon him, but he hardly noticed the weight. He put the few possessions he wished to accompany him on the journey into a small pack that he slung on his back. The last thing he did was take down the long, richly engraved axe that hung on two pegs just above the head of his bed. He moved to his door and took one last look back into his room before turning his back on it.

He moved through the long corridors and wide halls of the Mountain without paying heed to his route, for he knew every inch of this place as though it were an extension of his own body. Indeed, in the last few years he had begun to feel as though he were himself made of the stone of the Mountain, so used was he to living within it. It was this, he decided, that had finally prompted him to ask the King to be released from his service to the Royal Family and be allowed to accompany Durin and the others on this mad journey into the unknown. Haenir had heard the wild stories of riches in the East, but he did not fully believe them; he was not undertaking this journey for wealth – with which he was already well-provided – but for the possibility of gaining what had ever eluded him: honour. Of all the long generations in his family that had borne the axe that he now held in his hand, he was the only who had yet to do a thing of renown that would make him worth to engrave his name into the steel of the axe’s head. He saw this journey as his last chance at such honour.

When he reached the Great Hall the others were gathering to bid farewell to their friends and family. He stood by himself off to one side, impatient to get underway.

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent’s post

Some dwarves never hear it the first time. “Yes. Yes. Yes, don’t worry. I’ll have your ax repaired by the end of the month. Engraving of a dove? Yes. Ok.” As the stout dwarf left Káin’s shop, Káin started on the repair of the dwarf’s ax. In several hours, it looked good as new. “Now there is a quality ax! Time to get you off to your master!” said Káin as he trotted off to find the ax’s owner. “Ah! Now that is an ax! Here’s your gold!” said the owner of the ax. Káin always enjoyed delivering the weapons he crafted. The smiles and the compliments were the best in the world.

As Káin entered his forge, he noticed a small letter on his business table. “Now who could this be from?” Káin said, as there was no name except his own. The letter read:

Káin Bronzetooth,

Your service is required in a “quest” of glory! I am inviting dwarves and….possibly others to an expidition that, if all goes well, will make us filthy rich. There are recent tales of the land of Rhún, far off into the east. If all goes well, there should be a paradise awaiting us. Have you ever wanted to be a legend? Even wanted to be counted among the great? Well, this is your chance. If interested, please meet me in the Great Hall my mid-day. However, this isn’t a walk around the street. This is a serious quest. So, you’ll have to pack up belongings you want to bring, and food while your at it. Please remember, we don’t know how long it will be before we can restock, so back for the long haul. Please consider this opportunity!

“Weird” Káin said as he pondered the letter. “Rhún. Haven’t heard of that in years. Why now? Who wrote that letter anyway? What’s this all about?” As Káin reread the letter, he stopped. “Have you ever wanted to be a legend? Of course! Who wouldn’t! But I have to think fast! If I’m not quick, they might give up my part! I better get over there and find out what’s going on!” The blue sky gleamed in the heavens like a ocean of simarils. The conditions were perfect for a journey. “Well, I better get started! Borfin!” In a heartbeat, Borfin, Káin’s apprentice scurried out from behind the forge. He was about 30 and had dirt on his face. “Borfin! This is it! If you pass, you will be as skilled as I. If you’re successful, you are free to open your own forge. Here is your task. I’m going out on a quest with several dwarves to Rhún. You’ve heard of it, haven’t you? Anyways, I will be gone for a couple of months, and I want you to run the store! When I come back, if the place is well kept up, you are free to be your own master.” Borfin was stunned. Giving a smile, Borfin nooded. “Yes, then I’ll pack and see you in a couple of months. Um…please don’t ruin The Mithril Star Borfin! I’ve grown quite fond of my forge!” and with that, Káin started packing. He backed his favorite ax, along with an ax for throwing and a small blunt dagger. After packing food and other essentials, Káin started walking to the Great Hall. “Goodbye Mithril Star, take care of yourself. “ At last, Káin had made it to the Great Hall. He looked upon the assembled dwarves. “I’ll do it! When do we leave?”

[piosenniel]

Esgallhugwen’s post

Nerin Cloudfoot was awake rather early to get underway. He had to find his father, who was always difficult to find at any time of the day or week, as well as some close friends that were not to accompany him on the quest. He busied about his room at first, getting such things as he needed, clothes, blankets, rope, cooking gear, rations; setting out his armour and gloves, taking all necessary procedures to be sure he didn't miss a single thing.

So with all in order upon his bed he pulled on his gold chainmail and buttoned his red tunic over it, fastening it at the waist using a black belt with a golden buckle. Then he finally packed his large leather bag worn with use, pulled on his gloves making his hands into a fist, fitting his hatchets under his belt and picking up his powerful walking axe he stepped out the door and shut it behind him.

To Nerin's shock and amazement his father was walking up the way to his very room! They grabbed hold of one another and patted eachother on the back "Sorry my boy, I heard news earlier on about how you were to go on the search for Rhûn, but I wasn't able to see you any earlier than now" he bowed.

"Well now is as good a time as any Father, I was afraid I wouldn't be able to say farewell before I left. I understand how busy you are in the mines"

"It makes a Father proud to know you plan on taking that journey, I pray and wish that that unknown land has bountiful treasures for you to behold, for I have heard many strange tales indeed, but no time for that we must grab an ale before we go as a proper farewell".

Later on, when all the marrymaking and catching up was done Nerin had to join with the others in the Great Hall. He managed to say goodbye to others as he passed which made his heart light and glad. A very good way to leave one's home.

[piosenniel]

Arestevana’s post

Woken abruptly from a dreamless sleep, Maulká realized she had rolled off her low pallet and onto the cold floor of her chamber. She stood up, grateful for the comforting darkness. It was a cool, deep darkness, soothing in its black totality. Maulká neatly folded the thick, warm furs that covered her bed and pulled on her garments. Then she crossed the room to kneel at a small altar and give homage to the sacred ones. She touched the pale burn scar on her neck. It was a sign of the blessing given her by the divine powers, or so she had been told.

Even in the surreal darkness of the underground chamber, no candle lit the small altar. Though she kept her eyes downcast in respectful reverence, Maulká knew that if she looked up, she would see, unhindered by the darkness, the signs engraved deep in the wood. The altar was carved of black lebethron, like the hilt of her dirk. Unconsciously, the woman reached up to touch the weapon sheathed across her back. The dirk, she knew, had once belonged to an outsider. She suspected the same of the altar wood; perhaps it had once been a cargo destined for trade.

Rising, Maulká cast an awed glance at the symbolic carvings. There were rows of curving waves, intricate runes, and the central figure… Maulká quickly averted her eyes. The divine powers! A thing beyond price. She gave a final bow toward the altar and, turning, strode from the room. The following evening she had heard rumors of a catch. Now she would find if there was truth in them. If not… Maulká caressed a leather-covered hilt protruding from the sheath at her left hip. The blade was shorter than her thumb, but wickedly sharp. If not, then that woman, Chiksi, won’t be telling false tales to anyone for a long while.

[piosenniel]

Eruwen's post

"What do you mean there's been a catch?" Bestialán whispered to the small messenger as he slid the blade of his sword into its sheath.

Bestialán had been out in the murky forests of Rhûn all night hunting for this so-called "beast" that someone had seen in daylight. They said that it was the largest piece of meat their kind had seen in Rhûn, which was not saying much. However, as the sun began to break through the canopy of leaves overhead, he was beginning to doubt that any such animal existed. He grew tires. His legs began to ache in pain, but he did not want to rest at this moment. He stared at the messenger in wonder.

"There's not been a catch in all my time," continued Bestialán. "What news do you have on the matter?"

"Naught but what they told me, sir," the young messenger replied earnestly. "The elders advise that you come immediately. The catch was found with something that might interest you."

Bestialán raised his eyebrow in suspense. He hurried along the thick line of trees that covered the invisible paths in the wood as his garments flapped violently behind him.

His steps were so quick that he felt as if his feet were not touching the ground, but gliding along the air. All was silent. The only sound he could hear was his gasping breath and the wind passing by his ears. The forest began to get blurry, and suddenly he began to feel as if his feet had been nailed to the forest floor. There was a quick jerk, and then a loud, hard thump as he felt his hands crash against the ground.

The sky was black for a brief moment, but the gradual sight of grass soon appeared. Bestialán squinted greatly at the sun's bright rays as he spit clumps of dirt and leaves out of his mouth. He returned the hood of his dark cloak to his head, for it had blown back in the fall, while the young messenger suddenly ran up with quite a humorous expression on his face.

"Sir, are you alright?" the messenger said with a slight laugh in his voice. "There's a tree limb there, you know?"

Bestialán stood slowly, discretely removing a small dagger from his boot as he rose. In one short moment he had turned and pinned the messenger against a nearby tree with his hands. Bestialan's dagger was pressed firmly against the young man's neck.

"The sun is bright. It's hard to see," Bestialán said as he peered cruelly into the messenger's eyes. "No one will know about this. See that you remember that."

The young messenger nodded his head in fear and ran off quickly into the woods. Bestialán re-sheathed his dagger and continued toward his dwelling in a slow, steady pace. His home was not that far. He came upon the location not much time later where two men stood waiting for him. The men motioned for Bestialán to follow them through many rooms and halls until they appeared at the entrance of a room.

"The catch is in there,” one of the men said to Bestialán as he pointed towards the door. “But what you might like to know is the catch was found in the woods with this…”

The two men stepped aside revealing a small boy behind them. The boy looked up at Bestialán as he shook in fear. Anger began to rise inside Bestialán. He grabbed the boy firmly by the arm and began to drag him away from the room. As soon as a stone’s cast difference was between he and the room. Bestialán stopped and moved the boy in front of him.

“Carnen, what do you think you are doing?” Bestialán yelled. Carnen began to explain how he had been found with the catch, but Bestialán stopped him before he could barely utter a sentence.

“You know what, Carnen,” he began,” I don’t even want to hear your excuses. Just get yourself home before you cause even more trouble.”

“But father,” Carnen protested.

“But nothing, now go!” Bestialán yelled.

“But where are you going, father?” asked Carnen.

“I’m going to see about this “catch”. And what’s with all this ‘father’ business? I told you to call me ‘Sir’. Now get home, and tell your mother to punish you twice as much
this time.”

Carnen bit his lip in anger. “Well, it’s not like you’d ever know if I didn’t tell her!” he yelled as his father began to walk away. “You’re never home enough to know anything that happens. You probably don’t even remembered what today is. It’s mother’s birthday! That’s why I was in the woods today. I was coming to find you!!”

Carnen ran off down the long hall before Bestialán could reply. Bestialán walked back towards the room that was holding "the catch" being neither affected, nor moved by his only son's words.

[piosenniel]

Saraphim's’s post

The cool tunnels of Nephil’s home enveloped him as he set out from his dwelling. They were so different from the sweating confines of the outside forest. Just yesterday, he had returned from hunting, disappointed from his lack of spoil, but joined his friends in a rowdy drinking-game anyway.

He had slept in because of his revels, and lamented the loss of a chance to speak with his cousin, Corith, who had mentioned something about a “catch” to a semi -conscious Nephil, and a half-heard order to meet him later wafted through his memory, before giving up and wafting away.

A catch. That was worth missing some sleep over. The last catch had been years ago, and one that was caught by Nephil himself. He swelled with pride at the memory. A weasel-like merchant, lost in the wilds and far from any vestige of his civilization.

But no outsider had been seen since then, and Nephil was hungry for news, and he walked quickly down the corridor, sandals slapping on the stone floor, on the lookout for Corith, and news.

[Himaran]

Bali sat in his comfortable stone chair in Erebor's great hall, attempting to relax. In truth, every nerve in his body was ready to burst. He kept counting the dwarves waiting around him, knowing that all those interested were present. But for some inexplainable reason, the dwarf was wildly searching for a reason to stall. He simply didn't want to initiate the meeting that would catapult his party into the wild. Fool! This is an adventure, and a fun one at that. Just enjoy the treasure hunt! But deep down, the dwarf knew that the whole venture was viewed far too lightly; Rhûn was thought of as a child's playworld. It may not be what it seems.

Knowing that he could not wait any longer, the dwarf stood, pacing in a nervous manner around the group. "You all know the purpose of this journey. We are seeking the land of Rhûn, and any riches it may hold. My brother Dwalin and I are leading the expedition, and have mapped out a route to the new land. But do not be certain that you will return with a sack of riches, or even knowledge of Rhûn itself. It may not even exist."

As he sat down, Bali knew that he had annoyed his brother. Dwalin a treasure-seeker, who often placed his love of riches over common sense. All huff and business, the young dwarf stepped forward, laying a map on the table with a flourish. "Here we have Erebor... and over there, the land of Rhûn. Our route is simple and safe: We shall follow the Great River Running south and east, which shall lead us directly to the great Sea.

As you can see, the northeast corner of the Sea is surrounded by a dense forest. Along the south western side is a group of low mountains. The sea itself is far larger than either feature, and it appears that most of the land is clear; although possibly marshy."

Dwalin returned to his chair, and the brothers waited for a reaction from the travellers.

[bilbo_baggins]

As Aras stoked the now-low fire, he wondered what exactly had brought him here, to the junction of the Celduin and Carnen rivers. He did not have any pressing errands, and the orcs were all but exterminated these days. Nothing was urgent, but this sense would not leave him that he was needed here for some reason. He thought of all he had done to get here, namely disturbing a few orcs in the progress of licking their wounds after the Great war, and slaying a lone cave troll in hiding deep in Mirkwood - but that wasn't what they called it anymore was it, - and risking his life in various and sundry ways so far; and he wished to know why... someone better have some answers.

But he was enjoying himself so far, with the river flowing by and the breeze feeding the fire and refreshing him; it was enjoyable. Almost too much; such pleasure almost affidavited the sinking specter of death on the horizon, which nothing could stop. He had never felt so helpless, and so alone.

As the fire started to build itself up on the wood he fed it, he prepared a haunch of meat for the flame; a large enough piece to last him for several days... he knew he should be expecting some people.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

An odd silence fell into the Great Hall as Dwalin resumed his seat and glanced, it almost seemed a bit worriedly, at his brother. Haenir glanced around him at those gathered and did as he had done for forty years – kept his peace. There was much he could have said, had it occurred to him. Forests and marsh? That’s not the place for Dwarves, he thought. Earth and stone, rock and bone: that’s what we should bother ourselves with Still, where the hand of Aule pointed him, he would follow.

The silence stretched taut like a wire being hammered into airy thinness by the smiths, and still no one spoke. Dwalin and Bali looked at one another nervously and somebody in the crowd cleared his throat but the stillness remained like the Arkenstone itself, inviolate and impenetrable. Haenir shifted his muscles beneath his armour. It was a habit he had picked up from the older Dwarves among the King’s Men, to keep the body supple and loose beneath its second skin of plate and chain-mail. He looked about him at the other people there and wondered at such an odd assortment. Most were armoured but there was a variety of skill and wealth on display in that area: all were armed with axes. He knew most of the Dwarves there by name and face, but had never really spoken with any of them, unless it had been to relay a message from his lord, or to usher them into the Royal Presence.

The silence was becoming uncomfortable even for Haenir, who had spent long hours of his life standing silently before doors or off to the side of chambers, ever ready to answer the call of his King. Finally, driven mad by the indecision of those about him, Haenir spoke. “It would seem,” he began slowly, choosing his words – as he always did – with great care, “that there’s none here as wish to discuss the matter any more than we already have. You have a map; it shows the way. Where there’s a clear road, let’s follow.”

“Aye,” another Dwarf replied, “but a road to what? Danger and death, or riches and reward?”

It was Dwalin who replied first. “Maybe all those things. Maybe none, we will only see by going.”

“Aye,” Haenir muttered, almost under his breath, “and that we won’t do standing about here in idle talk.”

[Will Witfoot]

A lonely figure, broad and short in stature, capered along the banks of the River Celduin, or Running as it was called in the common tongue. Although the loud, inane singing and at times reeling gait would have caused many to judge him to be a harmless lunatic, the more careful observer would have noticed a certain wariness about him, and known that he would be ready to answer any given threat in a heartbeat.
Suddenly the inane rhymes the creature had been chanting took on the distinct quality of a song.

'I travel forth from Erebor,
Pause at the hall's of folk of Dale,
After that, in my stupor,
I pause to look for proper Ale,'

The deep, guttural voice bellowed out the words of the popular bawdy ballad with a heart-felt enthusiasm, though the voice of the singer left room for hope.

Gortek Mad-Eye bellowed the final words of the song and gave a high-pitched, maniacal cackle. He was in a great mood today. His journey to Umbar and back, a long trudge across the Brown Lands, had proven to be quite a success. His ventures with some of the corsair-folk had yielded a hefty prize, which he had mostly lost carousing and gambling in the Corsair City. But he was always ready for another adventure, and as an explorer he had rarely the need to suffer tedium for long.
While these happy thoughts raced through his head, he arrived at the junction of the two rivers, Celduin and Carnen.

Just as he was begining to look for a place to rest,he noticed a line of smoke drifting skywards from the close by copse of trees. Deciding that it would be nice to have some company, he made towards the small wood.

As he approached the strangers campsite, his movements became stealthier and his earlier air of jolliness was replaced by one of immaculate watchfulness. He hadn't heard of orcs making their way this far upriver for years, but you could never be too carful.
He strained his senses to the utmost, sniffing the air in an attempt to identify the creature who had made its resting-place here. His keen nose was disturbed by the delicious scent of cooked meat, but he did catch a faint scent that was not orc by any standards. Rather, it had the smell of a human, albeit quite different from most.

Still, he usually got on famously with humans, and so he dropped his stealthy approach and strode into the small clearing. A man sat there, tall, dark and gaunt, preparing a delicious looking joint of meat over a fire. Gortek saw the stranger look at him, measuring him from head to toe's. Gortek greeted him.

"Greetings, human. Would it be too much asked to share yer fire?".

[Elentarimir]

The river Celduin was one of Raendin's favorite places to come during this time of the year. The sounds it made as it continued its long journey toward the sea of Rhun comforted him; they reminded him of home in the Great Greenwood. Raendin sang a song in Sindarin quietly, his voice flowing with the sounds of the water.

As he sang, Raendin thought about the various things he had been doing lately. His most recent trip had been a visit to the forests of Ithilien, which had been quiet beautiful in his eyes. Raendin loved to be in forests, with the trees and the soft calls of animals in and around them. He was happy that the War was over, and that the forests would not be disturbed again for quite some time.

Raendin finished his song. He raised his head and looked about him, searching for any sign of life. Scanning the horizon line, he noticed a thin trail of smoke rising above what appeared as a copse of trees. He stood slowly, and picked his bow up off the ground. With practiced grace, Raendin picked his way toward the smoke.

Upon reaching the copse, Raendin ducked behind a tree and watched. A tall man -- a ranger by the looks -- was sitting near the fire. Raendin observed him curiously, wondering what was going on here. As he watched, a dwarf stepped out of the trees. Raendin sighed. He slung his bow across his back and slid out into the clearing.

"I don't want to disturb you, but I'd like a little company," he said, smiling.

[bilbo_baggins]

Almost no time passed between when he was accosted by this noble khazad, than when he hapened to be joined also by this fair Eldar. Surely the Vala were taking a hand in arranging this, he thought to himself before answering.

"Certainly, Khazad, you may share this fire with me, and you may also have your portion of meat when it is done, though I have no seasoning or spice for it. It will have to be only slightly scorched, I'm afraid. And to you, person of the Eldar, company is appreciated, although this khazad will almost certainly have something to say to that. Please sit both of you, and talk with me; but if either of you try any arguing, I shall not open my camp to nor share of my hunt, nor shall I stay with you in this journey we obviously were all called to partake in. Is that clear?"

It seemed reasonbly clear to the both of them, so Aras gave in and let them join him in his repast.

"Now that we have eaten, I propose we tell each other why we came here; as it is obvious we did not do so by chance..."

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek studied his new-found company with his one good eye. The man had the look of one of the ancient people of Númenor, and the other one was a tall, blonde elf. Gortek was'nt bothered with the ancient and inbred hatred for the Firstborns which nearly every dwarf shared. His early separation from society had left him without proper foundations for such national animosities, and during his travels he had had both good and bad experiences so he knew not to judge rashly.

He gave them both a small, polite bow, and smilled showing yellowed teeth.
"Nah, I've no qualms if the elf joins us. Allways a pleasure meeting new people, as I allways says. Me I'm called Gortek the 'Mad-Eye'." He gave a maniacal cackle at this, perhaps causing some disscomfort in his companions.
Gratefully he dug in to the meat which the man offered him and the elf. Deciding that it would be impolite to not to return the favour, he produced some black bread and ,more importantly, a small flask of ale from his bag. He took a hefty pull from the bottle of beverage, and offered it to the man.

After the meal, Gortek tamped some 'Green Hill' into his pipe and lit it with a kinder taken from the fire. He had just got it burning properly when the man suggested they tell eachother of their exploits.

"I had a small venture in Umbar, in the City of Corsairs. Got a few friend's there who says they needed some help, so I went. After that I crossed the Brown Lands and followed this 'ere river" he indicated Celduin with a wave of his hand "to the junction. I thought I'd spend a couple o' days 'ere, fishing, hunting, taking it easy."

[Elentarimir]

Raendin smiled. "I have no problems sharing a campsite with a dwarf. Company is company." Raendin sat down on the grass, and listened politely as the ranger told him not to argue. Nodding his agreement, Raendin studied the dwarf. He was unlike any he'd ever seen before. After hearing Gortek's tale, Raendin spoke up:

"I was in Ithilien not long ago, but this is my favorite time to be here." He indicated the rivers flowing around them. "I journeyed long to come here. After that, I simply saw the smoke from this campfire rising above the line of trees." He shrugged. "Like I said before, I wanted company. My name's Raendin."

Raendin turned his eyes to the ranger that was slowly cooking a slab of meat on the fire. "What of you? Why are you here?" he asked.

[bilbo_baggins]

After both the Dwarf and the Elf had told their stories, the Elf asked Arasiniel, "What of you? Why are you here?"

"That is a hard question to answer Raendin. Ah, forgive me. My name is Arasiniel, but you may call me Aras. As to why I am here with the both of you, I do not rightly know. I felt a strange longing for this place, a place I had never been before. My thoughts guided me here, beyond the Misty Mountains and the Forest, south of the Lonely Mountain, and then I followed the Celduin - or, the River Running - to here. I do not know why I was brought here, but I fortell strange matters afoot and certain for some, though I do not know who. That is all I can tell."

The others sat for awhile, taking this in. He had some things to think over too, such as the Dwarf's adventure in Umbar, and the Elf's travels from Ithilien. He had interesting companions.

After they had mused on the new information brought to light for all of them, it began to grow dark. "I propose we hold exploring and any further disscussions til the dawn light," said Aras, "as we all do not know why we are."

The others agreed, and while some slept that night, others did not.

[Arestevana]

Maulká stayed close to the wall as if keeping to the shadows, though no shadow could be darker than the pitch black of the sloping corridor. There was only one topic of conversation throughout the colony. Everyone was speaking of the catch, and wild rumors began to spread. Sighing in exasperation, Maulká reflected that the fact of the catch itself was likely the only rumor with an ounce of truth.

A soft noise sounded from further up the hallway, and Maulká drew her knife. A man appeared through a doorway several yards from her position. He was a messenger, she saw, recently come from the jungle. She grimaced, recognizing the man. He was easily intimidated, a weakness she despised. Sheathing her knife, Maulká hissed at the messenger. He twisted around, startled.

“Where is the catch kept?” Maulká demanded. The messenger winced, but tried to answer with a semblance of calm.
“In the cell at the end of the left hall. Bestialán will be there by now, and Kínadhen is on guard,” he muttered. Maulká nodded and hastened up the corridor, dismissing the messenger from mind. She reflected momentarily on the two names. Kínadhen… foolish, but strong. She tolerated his existence, but spared the man no thought. Bestialán was another matter, one of the few people she respected and treated in a civil manner. The respect was born of fear, though Maulká was loath to admit it. She knew Bestialán could best her without trouble in a fight in the jungle. Cursed sun-eyes…

Reaching the cell the messenger had directed her to, Maulká found Kínadhen standing at the entrance. Bestialán was not there, she noted irritably. It made no difference, but she disliked being mislead.

“Kínadhen! What is to be done with it?” she called. The guard shrugged. Maulká sighed, thinking, He probably has orders to let no one near. It’s not worth killing over, I must be patient. She moved to a small alcove across the hallway and sat down, watching the cell door, wondering who else would come to see the catch.

[Carlas]

“Aye, and that we won’t do standing about here in idle talk.” The dwarf next to Durin answered quietly, almost as if speaking to himself. Durin nodded his agreement as he looked about the room at the gathering of dwarves, who for the most part stood silently immersed in their own thoughts. Durin thought it strange that the group would be so quiet when they were about to take out on such an amazing journey. It was not often that one would get the chance to visit the great land of Ruhn, which had been little more than a legend for many ages.

Durin thought back to his last journey a few years back, to help save their homeland. The entire trip they had all been tormented by the thought that they would not make it on time, and they would return to a ruined city. Tormented by the thought that they would not be able to help the land and people they loved.

This time though, it was different. This was no great race to save their family, no immense battle they had to win, it was a journey to a strange new land filled with riches beyond anyone’s greatest dreams. Durin couldn’t imagine a greater honor than to be one of the few who would be able to prove that the great legend of Ruhn was no legend, but a real place filled with much wealth and beauty.

After the silence had gone on for some time, Durin finally decided that enough was enough. “Than what are we waiting for? If you say the route is simple and safe, then there is not much else worth discussing, we are all here and ready. Let us take our leave and begin the journey south before our beards grow so long we must tie them around our waists!” He said impatiently as he looked up at Balin.

[Saraphim]

The darkness of the lower corridors hid Nephil's wide, mischevious grin. He had caught up with his cousin, who knew everything that had happened. How Corith had known, however, remained a mystery. Nephil had long since stopped attending to the minor gossip his kinsman flaunted, but now he was grateful to the socially-bred, sensitive ears Corith had.

Nephil turned a corner and was faced with a few of his peple outdide a heavily barricaded door. One, upon closer inspection, was a woman, sitting sourly in an alcove. Nephil did not recognize her. The other, a man, he did know, by association only, stood at the door, obviously refusing admittance to anyone.

Hence the sour woman. Nephil nodded politely at her. She stared at him as if he was a particularly putrid piece of feces that had just insulted her and everyone she knew. Nephil turned to Kinadhen.

"Alright, so I'm assuming the rumors are true. Meat doesn't often get a gaurd. It's a catch." He said, "And I don't suppose I can see it, correct?"

Kinadhen was a man of few words. He shook his head.

Nephil sighed, but nodded his head. "As I suspected."

Moving over to lean against the wall next to the sour woman's alcove, Nephil pulled put a peice of dried meat.

I'd better get comfortable,He thought, this could take a while.

[Eruwen]

The short walk back to the room holding "the catch" seemed longer than it actually was, though Bestialán was not quite sure why. He quickly threw any distracting thought out of his mind and continued his slow walk. The door was not far ahead. As he soon arrived at the entrance, he raised his dragging head to find three persons, all of his race, standing at the door. One was a guard, named Kínadhen that had been there earlier. The others were two civilians of his community.

Bestialán gestured a "hello" at one of the by-standers, named Maulká, who happened to be looking his direction. Nephil, the other one standing at the door, stood against the wall with his eyes concentrating on what seemed like either the floor or whatever object he was holding in his hand that Bestialán could not see.

"Don't tell me all of you are here for this 'catch' as well?" Bestialán said as he approached the door. "What, has this news already spread to every Rhûn-ian in the area?"

Kínadhen nodded his head.

"Well, then what are we doing standing out here for? Let us see it," commanded Bestialán.

As Bestialán began to reach for the handle of the door, Kínadhen stepped in the way and pushed him back. Kínadhen stood firmly at the door with a large spear held out in defense. Bestialán looked at he guard in anger.

"My orders were to not let anyone in," Kínadhen said.

"You don't expect me to believe that the only reason I was called here was because of that pint-sizes menace earlier, do you?" replied Bestialán

The guard gestured a "yes" with his eyes. "I would advise you," Kínadhen began, "that you return to your post. Those in your position do not have any business with matters such as this."

Bestialán gave Kínadhen a wry look of discontent. He felt his left hand clench the sword at his waist, but seeing the guard also clench his spear tightly, he quickly lowered his hand...just in case. Bestialán took a deep breath and stared into the guard's eyes.

"I'm not leaving," Bestialán said, and he took his place against the opposite wall from which the others stood.

[Novnarwen]

Dwalin had seated again, shaking with excitement as he watched the other dwarves standing in front of him. Bali seemed to be fairly calm where he sat, next to Dwalin. The room was filled with this intolerable silence, which made Dwalin wonder whether the others expected him to say anything. He looked questioningly at Bali who didn't meet his eyes. Dwalin felt his hands get all sweaty and his forehead went all watery. Was he supposed to be in charge? He swallowed, which he found hard. As a result of his ever growing eagerness and excitement, he tried to speak.

"So what route are we taking?" he asked with determination. As Bali looked with surprise at his younger brother, Dwalin realised that this question had already been asked and answered just moments earlier. There was muttering amongst the others, as if they were hesitant to the adventure itself, when Dwalin obviously wasn’t paying attention, or so it seemed. He had tried to seem professional, but he felt little where he sat in his seat. What were they expecting? Where they expecting to leave this instant? Didn't they want to be prepared, as in even more prepared? The dwarf looked alarmingly at his brother, whispering in his ear. "Well... You are the adveturerer. How do we do this?"

Bali giggled, but didn't give him a straight answer. He only muttered something about going to Rhûn and finding treasure before anyone else got there first. He made it sound simple, with few words and an easy forumlation: We are going to Rhûn. Those were his exact words. Dwalin's brother also hinted that it was time to go, as in really time to go, which made him understand completely. This was simple. The treasure was as good as theirs.

As the other dwarves were starting to lose their patience, (Dwalin reckoned this conversation with his brother was excluding the others,) Dwalin returned his gaze to the other dwarves. "Well then..." he started.

“This will probably sound very… odd.. But.. Let’s go fellows!" Dwalin remembered Durin's words, about their beards growing extremely long if they didn't get moving. He repeated this, and addressed the dwarf. "As Durin, for that is your name,” he said, nodding towards the dwarf in front. “We don’t want our beards to grow that long!” Dwalin gave a short laugh, while thinking; actually, he’d always dreamed of a long beard.

[Arestevana]

Maulká’s gaze did not waver from the door for many minutes, until she was interrupted in her vigil by the arrival of a stranger. She cast a brief, calculating glance in his direction, confirming the fact that she did not know him. She then resumed her watch at the door. Several minutes later Bestialán arrived, eliciting the barest hint of a nod with his wave. Maulká grudged the politeness implied by the motion, but dared not be openly rude.

Bestialán traded several rough words with Kínadhen and there was a moment when Maulká expected weapons to clash. She felt slightly disappointed when Bestialán pulled his hand away from his weapon and took up a stand along the opposite wall. There were several minutes of silence. Maulká breathed deeply, savoring the sharp feeling of discomfort the silence obviously incited in the guard.

Set on edge by his brief conversation with Bestialán, Kínadhen seemed nervous. His gaze shifted repeatedly as he tried to watch them all at once. The guard seemed to expect some kind of riot. Maulká let the silence linger for several more minutes. Then she drew her short knife, tilting the blade slightly as she freed it to cause a faint ringing. Kinadhen swallowed audibly.

Slowly, deliberately, Maulká pulled a small stone from a pouch at her belt and began to sharpen the knife. She drew the blade across the stone with rhythmic, measured movements. She kept her head downward, eyes on her work. Casting several covert glances at the guard, Maulká could see that he was watching the knife as if entranced. After several moments Maulká stopped and tilted her head to look up at the guard. He stared for a moment longer at the knife, seemingly fascinated by its sudden stillness. Then he chanced to look up, and, seeing her staring, jerked his gaze back to a point on the wall somewhere above her head.

Maulká watched the guard’s face impassively for another moment, then returned the stone and knife to their respective places. The ensuing silence seemed even more tense, heightened by the absence of the ringing of metal-on-stone which had filled the previous minutes. Maulká waited expectantly, listening to the silence and wondering who would be the next to break it.

[Himaran]

The route had been discussed and agreed upon. Weapons, provisions and other necessities had been gathered. Final goodbyes had been said. The expedition to Rhûn had finally begun.

Bali watched silently as the gates swung closed behind his party. His last journey had been about getting here... but it was all so different now. And his brother was with him. The dwarf smiled. Dwalin has a thing or two to learn about travelling. But I will get him in shape before he knows it.

The party was travelling on foot, as ponies might not be able to travel in Rhûn. It was best to go light. Each dwarf carried a heavy pack, his weapons, and any other possessions or objects they wished to take. Bali's sack was the smallest; he was able to be quite comfortable in the wilderness with his cloak and axe. He smiled, watching Dwalin stride along at the head of the group. Yes, little brother. It is time that you learned to lead.

[Novnarwen]

Dwalin went in the lead, having huge difficulties managing the heavy pack, he carried, with things he needed for the journey. The poor dwarf felt a certain pressure; he went in front, which was difficult considering the heavy load he had brought with him. He could get a glimpse of Bali, just behind him, as he looked backwards at the others for a possible rescuer. It was rather painful to watch his brother, carrying as little as possible and being quite pleased with it. Dwalin regretted he hadn't left some of his possessions at home. He frowned as the sun rose and he began to feel warm.

The middle-aged dwarf walked, pretending someone was stalking him, or following him, as it helped to keep the speed up. It was a rather silly method to use, but it worked. In the corner of his eye, he noticed Haenir come up on his side. Dwalin walked faster, trying to avoid his 'follower' to catch up. He could feel the dwarf behind him breathe, heavily. "Dwalin?"

The leader of the small company turned around, pretending to be surprised. "Yes?" Haenir assured Dwalin that he just wanted to check everything was okay, "After all, you are walking quite fast," Haenir said. Dwalin looked at him and slowed down. "Am I?" he asked, not wanting to tell his fellow companion that he was already tired of walking, and that it helped pretending an enemy of some kind was behind him; trying to catch up with him, and that he was trying, desperately, to escape. "Just thinking about.... Rhûn," Dwalin said gently. Haenir nodded. "Can't get my thoughts of Rhûn either," he said, ending his statement with a gruff laugh.

The two of them walked together, talked about Rhûn and the hopes of finding something of value. Dwalin was happy he had someone to talk too. It made him stop thinking of how tired he was and how tired he would become. Dwalin sighed, he should have prepared better for this journey. He didn't even feel he was in good shape. He hoped it would change, or rather, that he would be able to walk without getting so tired; he was after all heading for Rhûn.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The day wore on and the Dwarves passed through Dale and out through the plains south of Erebor, toward Lake Town. Haenir looked about him as they went at the rich land that had been wrested from the landscape after the fall of Smaug. The Desolation he had wrought was now little but a memory in song and the greyest of heads. The cultivation had been undertaken by the Men, for the Dwarves had – as always – dedicated themselves to harvesting the riches of the Mountain and depending on trade to bring them the food they required to continue their labours deep in the mines. It was from this trade that Haenir had, over many patient years of careful acquisition, been able to build his wealth. Like all Dwarves, his heart was fired by the thought of wealth, and his King was a rich gift-giver. So with every ring or gem or pouch of gold given him by his lord, Haenir had bought the produce of these fields to resell to the Dwarves of the Moutain. Usually, he would take only a small profit, depending on careful management to build wealth slowly but surely. But sometimes, during a season of scarcity, he would horde goods for a while until the prices had been driven so high that he could accrue huge gains. He regretted doing this, but the gold it earned him always quickly overcame his reservations.

His thoughts turned back to Dwalin. A deep and brooding silence had fallen between them as Haenir had considered the landscape – as well as other matters. “I beg your pardon,” he said, “I am a poor companion I fear. I have spent a quiet life – many would say a narrow one – in the service of my King, and I have never been given to much talk.” Dwalin assured him that he had taken no offence, adding “Rhûn’s too far for us to be talking all the way.”

Haenir considered this for a moment. “Aye, ‘tis a step of a ways indeed. And a dangerous one too, I deem, if half of what I’ve heard be true.”

“Why,” Dwalin looked at him through slightly narrowed eyes, “what have you heard?”

Again, Haenir took a moment to think before speaking. It was a habit he had picked up in his years in the Royal Presence. It did not do for people in positions of power to speak before considering. “Naught but children’s tales and the fanciful imaginings of Men I’m sure,” he replied. Then, to change the subject quickly, he looked back at the other Dwarves in the company and said, “At any rate, we’re an odd lot to be marching out on a venture such as this.” He shifted his axe to his other shoulder and shrugged his shoulders beneath his armour. “And how are you doing Master Dwalin?” he asked. “After that sprint you led us on at the outset I was afraid that we’d be carrying you before nightfall!” Dwalin laughed and assured Haenir that he was feeling quite all right. “Good,” Haenir replied, “I’m as eager as anyone to get to where we’re going, but I’m not too keen on the thought of running there as though the very breath of Smaug was singing my beard!”

[bilbo_baggins]

Aras woke before the others, but truly, the Elf did not sleep. Elves never slept, curious things.

While he was stoking the fire up from where it had died down from the night before, the Dwarf woke and the Elf came out of his reverie.

"Good morn to both of ye, my companions. What shall we do?"

Gortek rplied: "Well, lad. I believe we stay for a few days. My senses are as keen as yourn, and they say we should stay."

"I agree with our companion, the Khazad. I think we should make a more permanent camp here," said Raendin

As they had all reached a consensus, the Travelers set about doing, well nothing much. They had a while to wait.

Aras could see that both of his companions were slightly uneasy. He did not know what it was, though. He did not completely trust this Dwarf. And the Elf did not help matters, either. Both of them were not completely trustworthy.

He decided to try and break the proverbial 'ice', "So Gortek, what House or Mansion of Dwarves are you from?"

[Saraphim]

The silence dragged on and on for nearly a quarter of an hour. Nephril, who could stand for days in complete solitude was growing edgy about having to stand quietly with strangers.

Casting desperatly around for something to talk about, he noticed two maces strapped to the newcomer's back.

"Bestialan, is it?" Nephil said to him, causing the three others to jump in surprise.

Bestialan nodded slowly.

"Your maces," said Nephil, " A man named Corith forged them for you, did he not?"

Bestialan nodded again, confused and growing annoyed.

"He is my kinsman, and lives with me. He told me about your maces when he was forging them. He claimed it was the best work he ever did. What do you think of them? Do they serve the purpose that they were made for?"

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin had already begun to seriously contemplate as to how he could carry his large share of treasure without difficulty, he would find a way. He also hoped there would be a large share of treasure for all of them or his planning would just be a waste.

I pray that will not be so, a wasteful thought is a sad thing , He looked around at his companions and realized he had never spoken since the journey began. It would be wise to make friends now instead of when things become difficult.

"But what to say?" Nerin almost whispered to himself, he wasn't much of a conversationalist, and at times found it akward to begin a conversation with somone else. Perhaps someone would approach the shy Dwarf and spark a little talk.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir turned to Dwalin and gestured back to the other Dwarves with a nod of his head. “They’re a quiet lot, aren’t they?”

Dwalin looked back in surprise and then turned to Hænir once more. “I suppose they are thinking about the journey ahead,” he ventured.

“Or perhaps their families behind,” Hænir replied. Dwalin shrugged and turned his attention back to the road before them. Hænir had marched out along this same road many times with his King and the King’s Companions, and always their journeys had passed quickly to the sound of singing beaten out with the rhythmic stamping of iron shod feet. This silent, almost brooding trek promised to be the longest he had known. Hænir had no family, and all the kin he knew were the Companions, now swiftly receding into the distance with the profile of the Lonely Mountain. His mind turned to the dangers that lay ahead of them. What kind of a Company will we be if we reach Rhûn like this? he thought to himself. If we can think of naught to say one another beneath the sun of our first day, then what shall we say to one another if things should turn dark? He had fought too many battles not to know the importance of friendship and trust in those who fought beside you.

Hænir had never been a leader and did not desire to start now, but he began to fear that if he did not try to meld the group into a true Company then nobody would. He turned to the Dwarf following just behind him and Dwalin. He was as shy lad, and Hænir had to search his memory for a moment before he could recall his name. “Nerin!” he said, as robustly as he could. “Why are you so quiet there? We are Dwarves, marching out to danger and treasure. We should be singing and talking merrily, not plodding along like Men set to work in the fields. Come, tell me, tell us all, what do you wish to do with your share of the treasure?” He raised his voice so that all could hear. “Come, all of you – what desires of your heart have driven you to this venture? Gold glitters and gems shine, but not for their beauty alone do we crave them. What are the things you wish to achieve with this bounty?” Hænir smiled to himself, thinking Treasure and dreams of wealth: if that doesn’t give them something to talk about, I don’t know Dwarves.

[Himaran]

Bali was instantly uncomfortable at the mention of treasure. There may be none at all, and it is all they can think about! He did, however, know that the dwarves needed something to talk about, so they could mingle and become friends. They were all young and shy, most on their first journey. It will be good to get their minds off home.

"I have always been a fan of making fine jewelry. Necklesses, mostly; but I enjoy working on rings as well. Ah... to have the skill of the elves, and craft those magic items. Rings can hold far more power than axe-heads, you know."

Nelin joined in the conversation. "Why rings and amulets instead of axes and knives? Weapons are far more exciting to build than gold cresents!"

Bali slowed his pace to match Nelin's, and patted the young dwarf on the shoulder. "Well, I have traveled a lot, and found that steel blades kill orcs better than gold ones. Besides, I hate to scratch up such good craftmanship, and there is little need to scrape a notch in a ring." He pulled his single-bladed, curved, Ereborian-style axe from the strap on his back, and showed Nelin the many scrapes along the pole. The dwarf's eyes widened: hundreds were visible.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking. "And what about you others? What do you hope to make?"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

He has been quiet for most of the trip, and it bothered him. Usually, Narvi would have been the first to crack jokes, or sing songs, or start conversations. But not this time.

Perhaps it was the thought of Rhûn. I have been through the greatest battle of the Third Age unharmed; now the name of some wild place disturbs me?

He decided to wander around, and listen for any hints of conversation interesting to him.

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy," said Bali, winking.

A talk about great battles! This would prove interesting.

As he slowly walked on to Dwalin, he didn't notice that the Dwarf was heedless of his path, and soon Dwalin bumped into Narvi.

[Novnarwen]

"Once you're in a great battle, laddie, its quite easy."

Narrow-eyed, Dwalin gazed at Bali. Battles were easy? He looked at his double-bladed axe and his cross bow; hanging over his shoulder. When leaving the Hall he had never really imagined he would need his weapons. Rhûn was filled with treasure and fortune, not wild barbarians who would kill everyone who came to seek luck, right? He frowned, taking no heed to poor Narvi who went quietly at Dwalin's left side. Dwalin, unintentionally, bumped into him, as he was in deep thought.

"Oh, sorry!" Dwalin exclaimed, realising he wasn't paying much attention to others than himself. Narvi didn't seem to mind, even though Dwalin had heard of his temper from others. He had a grim face and was, of appearance, taller than Dwalin.

Dwalin excused himself once more, looking up and into his dark brown eyes.

"Narvi, is it?" Dwalin asked, suddenly, feeling the urge to make up for any awkwardness between them. The Dwarf didn't want to offend anyone, or be in the way. After all, this was his first adventure, and he wasn't very familiar with this whole travelling thing. This of course, only he knew and his brother. No one, absolutely no one, knew that the gash on his cheek was not from a battle in a distant ..... He was interrupted as the other Dwarf answered his question.

"Aye, I'm indeed Narvi Silverfist." Dwalin nodded, not knowing what more to say to this grim dwarf. It was a strange feeling. He was known to be kind, social, friendly, (which came under 'kind', Dwalin reminded himself of) humorous, intelligent, (this made Dwalin giggle) generous, good looking; in fact quite handsome . . . Dwalin made a jump. I'm humble! He thought, and with this he settled as he realised humble dwarves didn't think of themselves as good-looking and intelligent and all the other things he had thought of, which had made him seem not humble at all. It was an odd feeling around this though, but he couldn't quite explain it. It was Narvi's fault; that dwarf made him think, Dwalin figured; giving one last glance up at him before taking his leave. Narvi looked down for a moment, before stretching out his hand, taking Dwalin by the arm. The so called humble dwarf felt Narvi's strong hands, around his, or so it seemed, tiny arm. Dwalin didn't have time to think now, he was too afraid? What could possibly Narvi do to him? Nothing.. Oh well... Narvi was so 'big', Dwalin pointed out to himself in a hurry, trying very hard to find something to say. He stood like a stiff mummy, trying not to seem rude or impolite, but the fact that Narvi had grabbed him, not very hard, just firmly, had given Dwalin a fright.

"Woah, I'm glad to be here," Narvi said. "Thank you Dwalin," he finished.

For a little Dwarf, Dwalin, this was indeed nice words to hear. Narvi wasn't that big, just tall. Yes, that was it. Dwalin gave him an encouraging look, before walking on with Narvi at his side.

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek lay on the grass of their common campsite, letting the sun shine down on him with it's pleasant warmth. His pipe was clutched between his teeth, and a stream of perfect smoke ring's rose to the breezeless morning air.

"So Gortek, what House or Mansion of Dwarves are you from?"

Gortek turned his head slightly, fixing his one good eye on the man, Aras. Despite his apparent and undenied madness he was far from stupid, and he caught a faint note of distrust in the rangers voice.

"From the Iron Hills, lad." He could not quite keep some amount of surliness from creeping into his voice. The man's lack of trust angered him. He had met distrust many times on his travel's, at times directed towards his honor and at others at his skill's. There was nothing he hated quite so much as not being trusted.

He tapped the ashes from his pipe and got up, resolving to go for a walk or to fish until his temper cooled.

"I'll see if the fish round 'ere is easy."

[Himaran]

The dwarves had walked for most of the day, and dusk was creeping upon their path. Thankfully, the city of Laketown was spreading out before them, it was not long before they arrived at its sturdy northern gates. Most of the young dwarves had never been far outside of Erebor, and they gaped as the huge doors creaked open. Bali spoke with the guards, and the iron-clad men nodded and waved them forward. Owing to the ease of their entrance was the fact that security had loosened slightly after the fall of Sauron; and travellers were frequent during the fall.

The town was far from glamorous; sturdy, wooden and straw houses were built around the great Lake Esgaroth. The townsfolk were primarily fishermen and farmers, also some were fortunate and had more important professions.

Bali and his companions soon arrived at a comfortable-looking inn, The Silver Stable, and entered. The dwarves situated themselves at a large table while Dwalin and his brother saw to the reservations. "Three rooms for two nights; large, if you can manage." Drinks were soon served, and the party was in far higher spirits than it had been during the day's long march.

[bilbo_baggins]

Aras was sorry to see the Dwarf walk off to see about fishing, and he was also sad to see him angry and slightly hurt at the mistrust he had shown. But could he do anything about it? How far would he in placing his life in the hands of these strangers? Maybe after some well-spent time together, he could trust them more, but not even 12 hours had passed, by Eru! 'How far can I trust?,... How far?' he thought, over and over in his mind.

Today would be a good day, and it was already starting to blossom. Maybe they could go hunting later, or fish, or just talk. Talk would be good. He needed to know something; something, anything that would tie a bond of friendship between him and these two. Their names already had passed around between them, and it was blatantly obvious what their general origins were,... what could be a pact?

He turned to the Elf, and asked, "Will you fish with the Dwarf, or go hunt, or what?"

"I do not know, I may find something in a while. My heart tells me that we are to wait for someone or something that will come to find us, though I don't entirely trust feelings or emotions."

Aras felt the same way. What could they do? They had to wait.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Haenir settled his bones into the hard wood of his chair and indulged himself in a slight sigh of relief. The day’s march had worked its way into his body and the prospect of a couple days’ rest was appealing to him. He shifted his shoulders beneath his armour, reflecting on the days of walking still to come. It had been years since he had marched forth in his gear of war and it would take some time before it felt natural once more. He drank a great quaff of his ale and then banged the tankard to the table for more. A servingman hopped to his side and filled it once more with foaming liquid which soon followed its predecessor down Haenir’s throat.

The other Dwarves in the party had finally found their tongues, it seemed, but Haenir had fallen into something of a brood as he reflected on an incident from earlier in the day. When they had reached the city gates, the guards had asked where they were headed. When they had heard the answer, eyebrows had been raised and knowing looks had been exchanged among the men. Haenir and the other Dwarves had thought little of this reaction, for Men were a superstitious lot. But the echoing chatter had followed them into the Silver Stable. Even now, from where he sat Haenir could hear whispered fragments of conversation from about the room:

“Off to Rhûn you say they are? What madness could drive them there?” he heard in the slow tones of a Lakeman.

“Such is always the desire of Dwarves to seek their fortune far from the safety of home,” came the whispering music of an Elf from the Greenwood.

From the far side of the room he heard, “If half of what I’ve heard is true…” and from nearby, “death by darkness, they say about those lands. Death by darkness.”

This latter claim caught Haenir’s attention and he turned in his seat to find the speaker. At a small table not far from where he sat were two richly clad Men from Gondor – merchants, it seemed. They saw Haenir looking at them and quickly busied themselves with their food, embarrassed at having been caught gossiping about him. The Dwarf rose and bowed to them deeply before speaking formally. “My apologies, sirs, for intruding but I could not help but overhear your conversation about our destination. You seem to know somewhat of it, whereas I know nothing of it. As I am now on a road that will lead me into the heart of a great mystery, I would be grateful for anything that you might know.”

The two Men looked at one another quickly before the taller and fairer of the two responded. He was clothed in rich cloths and bore a large amulet of gold upon his chest. He was obviously one of high and noble birth and his eyes held Haenir’s as he spoke. “I’m afraid, Master Dwarf, that there is little that we know beyond the tales told by old women by the hearthside in our land. What value there may be in their stories I know not, but what I remember of them is yours for the asking. They speak of an empty land, devoid of people, and yet with all the signs of habitation. It is as though a race of spirits inhabits that realm maintaining paths and roads but living nowhere – being seen by no-one.”

Haenir’s countenance grew thoughtful as he took this in. “You are right, sir, that is not, perhaps, as helpful as I would like. But beggars cannot be choosers! You spoke, though, of ‘death by darkness’ – I note that you do not do so now. Do not worry about scaring me with old tales, sir! If there is aught to hear of this land, I desire to hear it.”

The Men looked at one another once more before the slighter one responded. “Like my friend, sir, I know nothing for sure of the land where you are headed. The line you heard is part of an old rhyme that I remember from my youth:

“The night like daggers glistening,
Cry out for the sun,
Fear a death by darkness,
In the land of Rhûn”

“As I say, Master Dwarf,” the Man continued, “it is an old rhyme and meaningless to me. Take it, for what it’s worth, and may it be of some use to you on the road you have chosen to travel.”

Haenir thanked the Men and bowed once more, returning to his seat. Cry out for the sun, Fear a death by darkness… The rhyme was a riddle to him – and he hoped that it would ever remain that way…

[Himaran]

Bali sat at the bar, sipping at his fresh ale. He was satisfied that the dwarves had managed a full days march, but he knew that there would be no inns from Laketown onward. It would be rough country, and it would take them time to adjust. After all, Erebor had been an incredibly safe and comfortable home.

Seeing the Bartender without anyone to wait on, Bali motioned him to come over. The man seemed uncomfortable, knowing that the dwarf wanted information. He came slowly. "Uh... you must be Bali. Many folk know ye in these parts. You saved the Mountain, didn't ye?"

Bali smiled. Ever since he had led a group of warriors from the Shire to Erebor, in an effort to stall the orc army threatening his home until a Gondorian army arrived, he had gained quite exaggerated recognition. But it was not entirely unwanted. "Aye, but I didn't save Erebor. Twas the warriors with me. One of em's with me now, over there. Durin's 'is name. Fine young lad. But that's not why we're here."

The Bartender looked even less comfortable. "Aye.... word is that you're goin' to Rhûn. Rough country out there."

Bali leaned forward, interested. "Rough country? Not from what I've read. Mountains on one corner, forests on another. Straight, flat land surrounding the sea..."

"Well, I can't say I know much about it, but from what I hear, most maps are wrong. Its a rocky jungle, the whole way around." The man lowered his voice to a discreet level. "And some folk say that spirits haunt the land... paths, there are, but never anyone on them. And the paths never get grown over. No, not many travel out to Rhûn."

Bali sat back, disgesting the information he had recieved. The maps, maybe they were wrong. And there might be no treasure at all. But spirits? No, the dwarf knew that such things haunted mountains and caves... the deep places of the ancient dread lord Morgoth. But not Rhûn.... And so the dwarf began to realize what the Bartender's words meant. It couldn't be spirits, but then.....

Rhûn was inhabited.

The thought struck the dwarf like a thunderbolt. There were creatures there, nocturnal, which made paths by night. They were stealthier than wolves or wargs, quieter than eagles, and probably fairly large. But what about people... could they exist? No. Contact would have been made.

Bali suddenly broke away from his thoughts. The younger dwarves were probably drinking in the stories and worries, and would be asking to return to Erebor by the following evening. The dwarf walked over to where Dwalin was sitting, and wispered into his ear: "We leave tomorrow morning. Spread the word, and if asked why... say that we are short on money, and wish to save some for the return journey."

Bali was surprised, and pleased to find that his brother merely nodded. Dwalin had already thought about the same things, and had probably drawn the same conclusion. It is about time that he started to think like a leader.

[Novnarwen]

Dwalin was tired. After today's long march, all he could think of was a good night sleep. He watched the others, impatiently, as they drank their ales and were merry. He couldn't quite understand how and why they found so much pleasure in drinking. What was so special about drinking huge amounts of ale? The Dwarf wanted to go upstairs and sleep. He felt his eyelids getting heavier and heavier, and if it wasn't for the fact that he was sitting he would have fallen asleep that very moment. A voice, whispering, interrupted his thoughts and Dwalin turned his attention to a man who was busy talking to Bali. He watched his brother's eyes, now wide open. What was going on? Dwalin had never seen this kind of face expression before, certainly not in his brother's face.

He tried to concentrate on staying awake, and didn't care to eavesdrop.

Moments had passed, without Dwalin being able to hear anything, as Bali turned to his brother. "We leave tomorrow morning. Spread the word, and if asked why... say that we are short on money, and wish to save some for the return journey." Dwalin felt Bali's breath, as it tickled in his ear. Happy about his brother's suggestion, he nodded merrily. Finally, he thought. Sleeeeeep..As he was about to return to his brother and ask if they really were short on money, he found that Bali had gone. He shrugged, but spread the word. Some seemed to be pleased with this decision, others seemed to be hesitant. But it didn't matter. Dwalin was going to bed, and they were going to Rhûn.

The Little Dwarf hurried up the stairs at the Inn, leaving the others, to find his room. He looked around for a moment, being pleased with the standards. Thereafter, he went to look out the little window. Outside, it was dark and yellow spots on the sky glittered as diamonds. He giggled. It reminded him of the treasure he was seeking.

The Dwarf undressed and went to bed. Shortly after, he fell asleep.

[Arestevana]

“What do you think of them? Do they serve the purpose that they were made for?" Nephil’s question remained unanswered. Bestialán seemed to be pondering the question, but thoughts did not disrupt the silence. Now even Maulká was becoming edgy. Hours had passed in the threatening stillness, and it seemed that more would follow.

In fact, it was only several moments before the brooding quiet was disrupted. A sharp noise sounded from farther up the hallway, the steady, even sound of someone walking. As the figure approached, Maulká could see that it was a man. He glanced curiously at the three observers, but turned to Kínadhen.

The replacement guard. Maulká realized. She watched him duck his head to whisper to Kínadhen. Now the silence was much appreciated, as the words carried clearly across the hall, quiet as they were. "The Council of Elders has spoken,” The man murmured. Maulká leaned forward to hear the rest.

The man continued, his voice softer yet. “They will hold a night of feasting, to honor the Spirits of the Sea.” Kínadhen nodded, then handed his spear to the other man before leaving. Maulká watched for a moment as the guard took up a wary defensive stance. She smiled inwardly. A night of feasting!

There would surely be a hunt; meat would be needed if the entire colony was to be fed. I will attend that hunt. Maulká decided. Her eyes glowed as she thought about the last feast. It had been long ago, but she well remembered it. The cruel glare of the flames, dimmed as they were by the depth of the fire pits, the long tables set in a rough circle on the jungle floor, the deep shadow of the trees that hid the starlight. The firelight had danced on the surface of the lake, mirrored by the Lights within it.

Maulká quivered with anticipation. It would be many days yet, but the waiting would be worth it. There was the hunt to look forward to as well. She clenched her fist compulsively, imagining a javelin in her grasp, blood and poison dripping from the point. Memories merged with her thoughts: the fear in the eyes of the last catch, a weak, pallid creature, as it was hauled, alive, to the fire pit. This feast would doubtlessly be different, as circumstances changed, but it would be unequaled in the memories of the younger persons; entirely worthy of the Spirits in whose honor it was held.

[Himaran]

Nilpaurion Felagund's post

"Lorien calls me, so I must go now. Besides, we'll be leaving early tomorrow."

Narvi has just been talking with old friends, fellow veterans of Dale. Some had gone on to be official explorers for the Reunited Realm, and a few of them had even gone to Rhûn. Rhûn. Still a funny name.

Despite the fact that none were sent anywhere near the Sea of Rhûn, their knowledge of the terrain of the East has been helpful. But not very hopeful. Rough rocky outcrops as far as the eye can see. Except for a few trickling streams, the land is almost a desert. And yet the men who assailed us came from that part of Middle-earth. How could they have lived there?

There was something else that caught his attention during the description of Rhûn. There have been some sightings of strange shadows trailing those that dared to travel through the Eastlands. Rhûn loathes outsiders, he concluded, followed by a warning, What are we doing?

Of course, heat plays tricks on people's minds, he said jokingly. Joke or not, once they reach Rhûn, he'll keep his axe a little closer to himself.


Eruantalon's Post

Seeing the inn made him feel oddly comforted. There was new hope in a place where everyone could relax. Things couldn’t be rushed but they shouldn’t be made slower either. Now Looking around the inn he saw many travelers. They all seemed to be on there own business and need there own space. It seemed that all of them where preoccupied. Not this traveler he thought to himself. This was neither the time nor the place.

Moving through the inn it was hard to talk to his fellow companions. He needed to get through and find time on his own. Where would he go and how would he do this? He found a place outside around the back of the inn where there was still a grassy yard. He felt a fondness for green things and felt comfortable there.

Just as he sat there a familiar face showed up. A fellow traveler that had been on the last journey he went on for the dwarf lord. They sat and talked for some time and enjoyed the cool air of the night. Things began to quit in the town. This was the time he loved most the simple quit that could cover the land. The two laughed and enjoyed the night till the moon had risen farther up and tale telling was over.

He made his way off to his room and slept a sound sleep. Like a quit before the storm he thought to himself. He hoped for the best on his journey. But he could feel something building in this time around.

[Himaran]

Bali was the first of the company to rise. It was early in the morning, an hour before dawn to be exact. The dwarf knew that most of his companions had stayed up late, and would probably sleep late as a result. But, knowing that it was his duty to see to arrangements for the departure, he dressed and hurried downstairs ungrudgingly.

Heading straight for the bar, Bali ordered a light breakfast; with a full days march ahead of them, one could get sick eating more! The exact details of his meal, however, are unnecessary to discuss. After he was finished, and had spoken at length with the bartender, the dwarf exited the inn and purchased a wide variety of supplies which (he had recently noticed) had not been brought from Erebor.

Finally, after having his weapons sharpened by a local smith, Bali returned to the inn. Dwalin was awake, as was Eruantalon; conversing over a hot meal. Smiling, the dwarf left the commons and went back to his room, where he gathered his remaining items. Bali then ambled downstairs, where he sat in a booth beside Erulon and toyed idly with his favorite knife. It was elvish in make, a prized gift from his elven friend, Halonir. The young elf had gone to live in Lothlorien, and the deadly weapon was Bali's only memory of him.

How long it had been since Bali had been in the Shire! On his past journey to Erebor, Bali had left the knife in the keeping of the innkeeper at the Green Dragon, a popular tavern in the region of the littlefolk. The dwarf had made friends with the elvish caretaker, Piosenniel, and it was she with whom he had left the weapon for safekeeping. Pio had gotten married and left, however, and Bali had collected his knife. Perhaps I will visit her again one day... after all this is over.

Swift movement next to the dwarf caused Bali to break out of his daze. Eruantalon was shaking his arm, and Dwali was laughing hysterically. Bali then noticed that the cup of ale in his right hand had slowly tilted, gradually emptying itself onto the man's sleeve. "Aherm! My apoligizes, good friend."

"None needed or asked for, friend. But sleep in a little later the next time we stay somewhere!"

[Himaran]

Novnarwen's post - the Company leaves the Inn

Considering how early Dwalin had gone to bed the night before, he felt terribly tired. His body seemed to have had enough of the marching, even though the company hadn't walked anything yet. The thought of going all the way to Rhûn seemed like a goal, which he had no chance in ever reaching. The thought of his body aching like this, seemed to him unbearable. Dwalin tried reproaching himself for his negative attitude, as he realised he had called for this adventure. He had approached this, not the other way around. He had a responsibility, which could not and would not neglect.

Luckily, he felt better, sooner than expected, as he found himself laughing hysterically by the fact that Bali had spilt ale on his sleeve. "Sorry, I just found that funny," he said, laughing again. Eruantalon grinned as well. "Too much ale, already perhaps?" he suggested, blinking. Dwalin broke into laughter again, but was forced to stop by the look in people's eyes at the Inn.

The two of them settled down with Bali, discussing back and forth about various things. It wasn't until late in the conversation, Dwalin remembered Bali saying, the previous day, that money was short. He thought about asking, but wasn't sure if it would be wise to do so. After all, Eruantalon sat here as well. Dwalin had never thought about this before, but could he really trust everyone and anyone? The company was going to Rhûn, to find treasure. Maybe some would be taken by greed? Would it then be wise to burst out about the company’s status, and whether they were short on money or not? The dwarf thought for a while, eyes narrowing.

"Dwalin?!"

It was the third time Eruantalon had tried getting his attention, and first now Dwalin seemed to catch his eye.

"Sorry, you were saying?"

Eruantalon looked questioningly at him, as if worried. Bali didn't make a grimace, he just sat still. "Are you ready to go?" Eruantalon asked, looking at Bali. Dwalin nodded eagerly, trying to avoid Bali's eyes. The two of them exchanged looks, as Dwalin raised to pack his last belongings, which were still at his room.

"I'll be back soon," he said and was off.

***

The dwarf turned around. He had heard noises just outside his door. The little man narrowed his eyes, wondering who it was. He decided not to let his curiosity take over, and ignored it. The Dwarf packed in a hurry, running desperately around in his dormitory seeking his belongings. His clothing was spread around; on the bed, in the chairs, in the bathroom and in the closet. The strange thing was, that he hadn’t brought that much with him, but still it was scattered all over the place. He sighed, hearing new noises in the hallway. He had had enough.

With firm steps he walked to the door, roughly opening it and halfway yelling: ”Will you stop that noise!" To his surprise he noticed that it was only his dwarven companions. Eruantalon walked merrily in the front. "I just woke them up," Eruantalon explained, giggling. Dwalin grew red. "Riiiight," he muttered a bit ashamed about his outburst. "I'll just finish here," Dwalin said quickly and went inside again, hearing the rest of his companions making their way trough the hallway and down the stairs.

***

As soon as he was done, he ran down stairs and announced their departure. It was a merry and rested (or so Dwalin thought) company, which left the Inn, heading Southwards.

[Himaran]

Bali did not look back as the dwarves left Laketown; heading south down the river. He knew that for the remainder of the day he must endure the complaints of the younger dwarves, who felt cheated out of a day's rest. But Bali also knew that his decision was a wise one; the dwarves could not afford to stay for two entire days in a town which considered their mission a doomed one. And the hardened traveller did not enjoy listening to the hushed chatter either. It had a demoralizing effect, which he would just as soon leave behind the company.

The sun was slowly rising to the east, and luckily their vision remained accurate (as the bright light was to their left, not before them.) They walked mostly in silence, except for the odd yawn. Dwarves are never very talkative in the morning, especially with a days march ahead of them.

__________________________________________________ ____


The following week of marching continued in such a patern. Early marches amd stops under tents at noon were standard procedure. No events of any significance occured, until the dwarves had left the edge of Greenwood and turned east; towards Rhûn. There, along the banks of River Running, they made a comfortable camp and decided to rest for two days; stocking up on supplies like fish, fruit and firewood. There was a small forest nearby, and Bali sent Dwalin and Durin to collect dead wood for the fire.

An hour past, and the pair did not return. Bali was anxious. What could have happened two them? The forest did not appear to be all that large; and they could have yelled if something had happened. He decided to investigate.

"Kain, stay and watch the camp. Erulon, and the rest of you, come with me!"

The party hurried into the forest, but slowed as Bali and Erulon searched for a trail. They soon found one.

The group followed the trail into the forest. At first, everything seemed normal. But then, they found a small pile of firewood. It was in an oddly arranged pile, as if thrown down in a hurry. The ominous signs continued. Durin's small hatchet, stuck in a tree. A patch of broken reeds. And a long, thin spear, snapped in half; lying off to the side of the overgrown path. But what had happened?

[Himaran]

Carlas's Post


The sun was high in the sky as the two dwarves walked through the small forest. The day was cool and clear and a soft breeze glided gently through the air, brushing at the dwarves beards. The forest was calm and quiet, but perhaps a little too quiet…

“It is good that we finally get a bit of a rest.” Durin said as he bent over to pick up some wood. “After being in Erebor for the last couple of years, I seem to have forgotten how much work it is being on a journey like this.” Dwalin laughed. “You are younger than me, yet you talk as if you were twice my age!” Durin laughed loudly at this. “I don’t hear that too often, normally it is quite the opposite! Though I have been quieter these last few days…”

“Why would that be?” Asked Dwalin curiously. “Oh, it is silly really” Durin replied, dropping a stick on the ground. “This is the first time I have travelled anywhere without my father. It is not as if I need him, but it feels different not having him here with me.” Dwalin nodded sympathetically and the two went quiet.

As Durin bent over to pick up the stick he had dropped, he heard Dwalin throw all of the wood he had been carrying on the floor, and before he could figure out what had happened he felt a large weight push him forward into a small clump of reeds. He turned onto his back quickly to see Dwalin on the ground beside him and a large spear sticking up out of the ground right where he had been standing only seconds ago. He pulled himself up onto his feet and looked around the area, but found no footprints. Where had the spear come from?

“In the tree!” Dwalin said as he stood up beside Durin. Durin looked back over to where he had been standing and saw an arm reaching down out of the tree just above the spear. Thinking quickly, Durin pulled out his hatchet and threw it as hard and fast as he could, but the arm was too fast. It shot back up into the tree and once the hatchet hit the trunk it grabbed onto the spear quick as lightening, and pulled it up into the tree. The two dwarves cursed sharply and took out their axes, holding them high above their heads. “A tree orc…” Durin mumbled to himself.

The two stood silently, watching the leaves above them for some kind of movement. Just as Durin was starting to think that they might be safe the spear shot down, just narrowly missing Dwalin’s arm. Dwalin grabbed the spear and snapped it across his knees before throwing it down onto the path while Durin swung his axe high above his head into the branches above, hitting the orc hard in the arm. It squealed and they heard it move through the branches away from them.

“Are you alright?” Asked Dwalin as he walked over to Durin.

“I’m fine, you?” He asked back. Dwalin nodded and looked over to where they had left the wood.

“We better be heading back to…” The two stopped quickly and looked over their shoulders. There was a noise coming from down the path, it sounded like it was coming from the trees…! “More of them, a lot more of them!” Durin whispered in surprise. “But they’re coming from the direction where camp is!” Dwalin looked over at him quickly. “We didn’t camp too close to the trees, so the others should be fine, but us…”

The two did not need to say anything else, they knew they couldn’t fight all of those orcs by themselves. They turned and ran.

[Novnarwen]

There was no time to think, no time at all. "ORCS!" Dwalin yelled desperately. "ORCS!" he continued, helplessly. "I noticed they were Orcs," Durin said alarmingly through gritted teeth. "Now run!"

The two dwarves found themselves running like crazy. Both were stricken by panic, and none dared to look back. They heard the foul Orcs behind, shrieking and laughing evilly. As he heard them snigger and call for them, Dwalin could think of nothing other than running back to the camp and to the others. However, he realised that if the Orcs kept this speed (and they kept their speed), they would probably be dead and buried before they ever saw another dwarf again. Dwalin shuddered, but ran on as he saw he was falling behind. He fluttered his arms, hoping he would catch a good wind which would make him fly away from this horrid place. There was no wind.

For a second, they both stopped behind a huge tree trunk, catching their breath.

"We are so . . dead?" Dwalin said miserably.

"No, we are not. Come on, be positive!"

"Positive!? We have a dozen with Orcs behind us and you tell me to be positive! I'll remind you of that statement when we're dead!" Dwalin said aggressively, suggesting that they should make a run for it, before the Orcs actually grabbed them and killed them.

"What we need is a hiding spot," Durin explained calmly.

"Like ... where? A Tree?"

Durin wasn't able to reject to this suggestion, before Dwalin was pushing him up the tree and afterwards hearing Durin make his way up to the top. Dwalin, unfortunately, smashed his head into one of the branches and fell down onto the ground. He let out a little shriek, but helped himself up again as he saw the Orcs coming closer. Had they spotted him? Of course. He fought desperately to get hold of a new branch, hearing Durin, from above, calling to him about several good branches ahead. "I don't care about those ahead! I care about getting up!" Dwalin called back, shaking. He tried to calm himself down, but he realised that the branch was too high and he was too short. He would never manage to get up there.

Time started to run. Paces away, the Orcs were gathering to get them, but Dwalin saw no other choice than to try. Moving swiftly on to another tree, he grabbed the lowest branch he could get hold of, and pulled himself onto it. The rest was easy. Soon he sat in the top, satisfied by his accomplishment. In the neighbour tree, Durin sat nervously and just below the Orcs grinned evilly.

"Durin?" Dwalin suddenly burst out. What a stupid idea, he thought shuddering. "Who said Orcs can't climb?!" Dwalin asked, not daring to look down anymore, frightened that the Orcs would come up and seize him by the wrist and force him down, or worse; just fell the tree.

"You pushed me into this!" Durin exclaimed.

It was true. Dwalin had in fact pushed him up in the tree, and now they were done. There was no way out. The two of them were separately stuck, as in: very stuck, at the top of two high trees.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir shouldered his axe and followed Bali and Erulon into the thickets. He did not speak aloud what he was thinking, but his unease was growing quickly into alarm. Durin and Dwalin should not have been sent out alone to gather wood in these lands. Since the fall of Mordor the lands were safer but by no means should their party be sent off wandering about in small groups. Now, they were following them into unknown danger, having made no plans and having left but one guard at the camp to watch over all of their provisions. Hænir found it hard to admit this to himself, but he chafed against the overbearing manner of Bali, who seemed to feel that it was his place to order folk about at will. For a week, Hæenir had done as he was told, but he was beginning to reach a point at which such unquestioning obedience could be dangerous – there was no order to their approach, and no discussion amongst the Dwarves of their strategy in the search. He looked back at Nerin and Narvi who followed him. He had grown quite fond of Nerin in the week since they’d left Laketown. Although conversation between them had been little – for neither of them were over talkative – they had found that they had much in common on this journey insofar as both of them felt a bit like outsiders in the group, and made a little uneasy by their status.

Erulon and Bali found a trail and they plunged further into the woods. More than ever Hænir missed the King’s Companions and the easy authority that he enjoyed within their ranks. He had never thought of himself as a leader, and he had no illusions that he had ever enjoyed rank or prestige among the captains of the realm, but among the Companions he had been considered one of the most steady and trustworthy foot soldiers of the King, and over the years he had grown accustomed to having his opinion both asked for and respected.

The discovery of Durin’s and Dwalin’s sudden flight brought him out of his reverie and concentrated all of his attention on their plight. Bali and Erulon were attempting to read the signs, but all Hænir could sense was the presence of an overwhelming danger. He sniffed the air, and picked up on the wings of the breeze the hint of a familiar and dangerous scent. Before he could form the word, somebody cried out “Orcs!” and in a moment they all saw the unmistakable signs of their foul passage through the trees. Without waiting to speak of it, the Dwarves rushed headlong into the forest to find their friends. Even Hænir, who would normally have railed against the lack of due order, flew with the rest of them, fearing what might befall the likeable Durin and Dwalin.

It was not hard to find them, for a sound broke out from the woods before them, and somewhat to the left, that sounded like the cry of a pack of wild and bloodsoaked dogs. But the cries were not those of mindless animals, for there was sense in them – but the words were in the rough and ugly sound of the Black Speech. Hænir had heard that speech before, and as he heard it his face became grim and his axe came to the ready. The five of them rushed toward the cries, speaking no word and trying to run as silently as they could. But there were heavily armed Dwarves, and not fleet-footed Elves, and even over the din of their hatred, the Orcs could not long miss the sound of their iron-shod approach.

The monsters were soon in view, flitting and dancing between the trees. There were just over a dozen of the creatures, and they had circled two trees. Some were casting spears up into the branches while four or five of the smaller Orcs were shimmying up the trunks. The Dwarves rushed forward, and at the very last moment that Hænir judged that they could go unnoticed by the Orcs, he roared his battlecry to strike terror into their foes, and hearten his friends. “Erebor!” he cried, “Erebor!” and with one swift flight of his axe he sent an Orc’s head tumbling through the air, blinking in surprise at the sight of its own decapitated body. The Orcs turned and cried out in hatred and rage and drove at the Dwarves. The first to come in reach of Hænir’s axe fell beneath it, but two more came at Hænir from the sides. He spun about to the one on the right and cleaved its sword arm from its shoulder, trusting in his armour to protect his back from the other beast. His trust was well placed. The blow staggered him and nearly forced him to his knees, but there would be nothing more than a bad bruise between his shoulders. He spun about once more and swept that Orc’s head from off its shoulders. He paused for a moment and looked to see how the others were doing, and if Dwalin and Durin had managed to come down from out of their trees and join the fray.

[Himaran]

"Defend yourselves," Bali screamed over the cries of tree orcs catapulting from nearby branches. They were acrobatic, agile and flexible, wielding primary long, thin spears. The dwarves were forced to move constantly, swinging their short axes in a defensive patern. But Bali knew they wouldn't last for long under the incoming onslaught. As he skillfully beheading an approaching orc, and snapped the spear of another before he disposed of it, the dwarf realized that much of his force had only fenced with targets and each other. They were not great warriors. And so his decison was a quick one.

"Run, follow Eruantalon! Back, out of the forest, quickly! I will pick up the rear." The dwarfs who were unengaged rushed to Eruantalon, who led them up the path towards the river. Nerin was still fighting, being pushed up against a nearby tree. The young dwarf ducked one blow, only to rise and find not an orc but Bali standing before him; his opponent was dead. The two raced after the others, scattering the orcs before them. And then it suddenly occured to Bali that Dwalin and Durin were still unaccounted for...

[Arvedui III]

There were times when the physical sensation of it almost stopped.

But for the most part, the pain was constant, soreness rubbing coarsely with newfound hunger pangs. Sometimes, rain would seep in through the crack in the cave that was his only window into the outside world, but for the rest of the time there was no respite, no relief from knowing endless pain and hunger and thirst. In the brief periods when he was able enough to walk, he found, much to his dismay, that he was completely sealed into his rocky prison. It was all he could do to stay lucid, let alone fend off the panic that keep washing over him every time he woke. The blessed times during the beginning of his confinement when he could lie in absolute, mindless lethargy were over. Now he had many hours to mull over his fate.

Most of the time he found himself wondering about his captors. Who were they? What were they? There was no chance in all Arda that they were the dwarves. An exploratory probe of his back proved that only a man or an elf could strike the blows he barely remembered. Blurred images, like something out of a nightmare, flashed before him in moments of terror, but were gone as soon as they had come, leaving him with nothing but a fresh sense of dread. He had learned to live with it, shrug it off, because all the screaming and crying he had done during the beginning had availed him nothing. He could only console himself in that, so far, nothing had happened to him. Perhaps nothing ever would. Maybe, just maybe, he would just be left here to linger and die.

He knew he must be in a bad way when he was comforting himself with thoughts of starvation.

However, he awoke one day, if indeed he could still judge time by days, to a most peculiar smell. The dank, musky sent of the cave and his own waste had become familiar, but somehow this waking period was different. He peered around, sniffing something quite intangible, yet he knew it was there. He turned over from the corner that had become his sleeping place, blinked, and blinked again. He wasn’t quite sure if he could trust his eyes, if he hadn’t finally gone mad. Because, before him lay the most beautiful platter crammed with steaming broths, frothing mugs and colorful, shining fruit. He crouched low, instinctively mistrustful of the bounty which had appeared innocently out of nowhere.

Perhaps it is a last, glorious fantasy. One final happy thought that manifests itself before dying men.

He moved toward the plate, sniffing the wonderful smells that were now filling the cave, and suddenly, painfully aware his stomach had never felt emptier, convulsing in protest. It was probably poisoned, probably would cause acute agony ere the life left him. He touched a large orange fruit, withdrawing his hand quickly. The thing was cool to the touch and certainly seemed real enough. He grasped it, feeling the wonderful weight of it in his hand. Resolve falling away, he brought it within inches of his mouth, but did not bite. The fear of what this food might contain pervaded through him, and he began to shake. Better to die sooner than later. He closed his eyes tightly as if facing a row of archers, and took a bite.

It was, perhaps, the most magnificent moment in his entire life. The juice was sweet and shiver ran down his spine at the wonderful taste. Before he knew it, he was crunching into anything he could get his hands on, sparing no crumb for the cave floor. For the first time in, well, a long time he felt genuinely happy and at peace. If he was going to die, he decided, he was going to die well fed.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir was dismayed to see that the battle was not going well. More orcs had appeared and were swarming about like vermin. He saw young Nerin being held at bay and tried to help him, but three foul orcs dropped from the trees above him and attacked with their spears. Quickly lopping off the head of the first spear, he then did the same to its owner. The other two drove at him, howling and spitting with hate, but Hænir was the veteran of innumerable battles and was not to be dismayed by them. He brought his axe down on the head of the foremost orc and clove his head to the chin. Letting go of his axe where it had stuck, he caught the spear of the hindmost orc in his hands and wrenched it loose. A mighty punch sent the orc reeling into a tree, its face now a contorted mass of pain.

He wrenched his axe free from the bloody mess it had made and turned to look for more prey. But a cry came to him above the sounds of battle, sounding the retreat. Hænir glared at Bali with open dismay – the orcs were many, but so far none of the Dwarves had taken any harm and with stout hearts and steady hands could still hold sway. For a moment he considered ignoring the command, for Dwalin and Durin were still trapped behind a wall of orcs, but as he saw the others move off, a lifetime spent in military service took over and he went after them.

As they got back to the camp Kain came forward, demanding to know what had happened, and looking more than a little relieved to see his companions. They quickly told him about the orcs and about Dwalin and Durin’s dilemma. There was a prolonged silence after that, as the Dwarves shuffled their feet nervously – and, perhaps, a bit sheepishly. It grated upon Hænir’s conscience to have left two companions in danger. He looked at his axe, and at the engravings upon it that had been laid down by his ancestors to commemorate their honourable deeds. There was no cause this day for him to add to them.

Snarling at himself, Hænir faced the forest. Nearby, Bali and Nerin were standing bent over with their hands on their kness, catching their breath after their efforts in guarding their retreat. Before he had time to think, Hænir spoke to the leader of their expedition. “It doesn’t sit well, leaving those two to their deaths at the hands of those orcs. I’ve never before fled when a companion was in danger, and I can’t believe that I’ve gone and done it this time.” He paused for a moment, weighing his next words carefully. When he spoke next he did so with his feet planted apart and his hands clasped upon his axehead, which he held propped before him so that he looked like a statue of old. “We must go back and get them. Heedless were we in our first attack, and the orcs made use of that against us. If we take counsel now and proceed carefully, we might be able to gain the advantage over them!”

[Novnarwen]

Suddenly, when Dwalin could feel his pulse rising to another level, something happened down on the ground. He tried to get a proper look, but realised that a person like him, who was scared of heights, would only fall down if he attemtped to look downwards. "What's happening?" Dwalin hissed at Durin apologetically. All of this was quite embarrassing. Here they were, stuck in two trees, Dwalin was scared of heights, there were Orcs on the ground, and who knew what was happening now. On top of all of this was Dwalin, who had claimed to be a true adventurer, but the truth however, was that he was scared to death of all of this and especially of the situation he found himself in now.

A roar could be heard from down below. Well actually, several roars and screams and the sound of steel against steel. It made a severe sound, which pierced through Dwalin's ears and caused pain in the left part of his brain. "Ouch," he muttered, still waiting for Durin to reply.

"I don't know. I can't see properly. But from what I hear, it must be some kind of a battle.." Durin answered at last, being uncertain by the tune in his voice. Dwalin sighed. This too, was bad news. Who were fighting the Orcs? Was it Bali and the rest of the group, or was it someone else who was after them? Dwalin shivered when thinking of more of these foul creatures. However, as long as they sat in the trees, no one would even give thought to them as there was a battle to attend to on the ground. Dwalin sniggered, leaning his back to the tree. "I don't think we need to be afraid. I mean, those Orcs are probably busy with that battle," Dwalin said, comforting himself as he heard more of those horrible noises from the steel. The left part of his brain was again in pain.

Durin seemed to be pleased by this argument, and said nothing more.

***

"Defend yourselves!"

Dwalin froze. He bumped his head in a branch, forcing himself to look downwards. It had sounded like something Bali would have said, or at least it sounded like his voice. A fire lit up in the Dwarf's eyes, as he gathered his thoughts. If it was Bali and his other companions who were down there, everything would be okay for certain. Dwalin and Durin could, by now, probably just slide down the tree trunks and join the battle and Bali would see them and be immensely happy and then they all together could just bring down those Orcs. It sounded like a good plan, but was probably more difficult to put into action. Dwalin shurgged. They could at least try.

"Did you hear that?" Dwalin started quite eager now and relieved that his brother had come to his rescue. Yes, it was Bali. Dwalin was sure of it. "Hear what?" Durin said sarcastically. "Do you mean the battle in itself, the screams of those who are being killed or the Orcs sniggering? Yes, of course, I can hear it!" Dwalin chose to ignore his annoyed tune, and leaned over and pulled himself to another branch, being a bit more visible to those on the ground. But this didn't matter, they were saved anyway. "No, I mean Bali. Did you hear it? Bali and the rest of our companions have come to get us! We're being saved!" With much enthusiasm he waved his hands in the air, letting go of the branch. He grinned ecstatically, catching Durin's eye in the other tree.

"Watch it!" Durin said alarmingly.

Nonetheless Durin's warning, Dwalin was already halfway down the tree. With a shriek he had lost his balance. By pure luck he had managed to cling himself to another branch on his way down, but the medium sized dwarf was too heavy for the thin branch. With a crack, it broke and again Dwalin was falling.

He landed on his back. Writhing in agony, his eyes were searching for light to hold on to, as he wandered into darkness.

[Carlas]

Durin watched as the branch that Dwalin had grabbed, snapped and sent Dwalin plummeting towards the ground. As he hit the ground, the branch struck him across the head, and he fell into unconsciousness. Durin sat stunned, not sure what to do. Their situation seemed to be getting worse by the minute, where were all these orcs coming from?

Durin suddenly noticed an orc that was now advancing towards Dwalin with his spear tight in his hand. Without even thinking, Durin jumped from the tree, narrowly missing a few branches, and ran towards the orc as fast as his short legs would allow. Just as the orc made it to Dwalin, Durin swung his axe, hitting the orc hard in the stomach and sending him sprawling onto the ground. Once the orc was dead, Durin went over to Dwalin and checked his head. There was a large bump, but that seemed to be the extent of his injuries, he had been lucky that all the other orcs were now too busy fighting to notice them, but Durin doubted that would last long.

Just then Durin heard what sounded like Bali yelling for the others to retreat, and felt himself freeze. This was bad, the orcs were blocking the way to camp and Durin would never be able to fight off all the orcs by himself, he had to get Dwalin to wake up quickly or they would both be dead. He looked down at Dwalin; they first needed somewhere to hide for a short time at least, but where? He looked around, but all he could see was a large patch of bushes nearby. They would do for now, at least until Dwalin woke up.

He lifted the unconscious dwarf onto his shoulder and quickly carried him into the thick bushes, hoping he would not be seen. Once he had found the safest spot he could, he lowered Dwalin back onto the ground and sat down beside him, as he did, Dwalin opened his eyes and gave a small yelp as he touched the bump upon his head.

“You have got to be quiet.” Durin whispered quietly to Dwalin. “ Bali and the others retreated, how is your head?”

“Sore, but I should be fine.” He answered quietly looking around at the bushes surrounding them. Suddenly he looked back up at Durin. “They retreated? Why would they just leave us?”

“There were too many orcs it seems, but right now we should start to think about how we’re are going to get back to the camp…” He said, and Dwalin nodded in agreement.

The two sat quietly for a moment thinking. “Going up into a tree didn’t work last time, so let us do the opposite!” Dwalin said, breaking the silence. “We cannot fight all of those orcs ourselves, so why not crawl through the bushes and shrubs where they cannot see us?”

“It seems to be the only thing we can do, so let us crawl then! But make sure to keep quiet as we go.”

The two dwarves nodded and set off through the brush. It was a slow journey, and having to stop whenever they heard orcs passing by did not help the pace or their nerves, but they knew that they had to keep going if they were ever going to get out of this forest. After what felt like hours Durin stopped suddenly causing Dwalin to bump into him.

“What is it now?” Dwalin asked quietly.

“I hear something, but it doesn’t sound like orcs.” Durin answered

“Could it be…?”

“…the others!” Durin finished for Dwalin happily.

The two stood up cautiously and stumbled out of the forest, happy to finally be able to stretch their legs. They saw the camp immediately and started to walk over, glad to see that their companions seemed to be uninjured. The other dwarves who had been packing up their things turned to see them as they walked up to the camp and Bali came running up to them, looking very relieved.

“You’re alive!” Bali said happily, not sure what else to say.

“You didn’t think we would let you leave without us did you?” Durin asked grinning.

[bilbo_baggins]

Mulling around, Arasiniel decided to go find Gortek at the riverbank.

Seeing him tying some line together, Aras stepped over to him and sat down.

"You know, Gortek, I shouldn't have treated you like that. I am sorry for the way I acted. It was uncalled for, as you have as little right to trust me as I have. Will you forgive me?"

"Aye, lad. But don't expect me to be your best friend too soon. It will take time to smooth out this incident." Then, after a pause, he turned to Aras and said, "This fishing line is giving me some trouble. Would you help me to untangle it?"

"Of course!" he said, overjoyed to have some time growing closer to Gortek, "Maybe we can catch some fish and have them for dinner."

"Aye, that would be good."


After some time spent fishing, Aras turned to the Dwarf and said, "You know, I have the funniest feeling that I should pack quickly and be ready to move very soon."

"Really? That just came to me, too. Fishing is not that good, here, anyway. Let's get ready to leave."

Returning to the camp in the small knoll, they found the Elf, Raendin, waxing his bow, and packing his things. With a nod, they agreed they all had the same premonition of something great happening. Hurriedly wrapping the warm meat, Aras stuffed it into his pack, and readied his few belongings.

Something tingled in his mind, something warning, an eerie specter of gloom. Doom approached.

[Himaran]

Bali grabbed Haenir by the arm, pulling him away from the other dwarves. In a stern voice, he wispered: "I realize that I have two young dwarves lost in the woods. But there were far too many orcs, and there are many in our company not as skilled as you in warfare, Haenir. And I am not one of them. I saw the odds back there, and those young lads would not have lasted another five minutes against those orcs. Durin has been on a campaign before, he will lead them out."

__________________________________________________ ______


And he did. Within three hours, Dwalin and Durin stumbled out of the forest. Bali was too overjoyed to ask how they escaped, and so the question was effectively dropped.

The next day, a forced march resumed. The dwarves had wasted precious time around the forest, and they had to complete their time in Ruhn before the summer ended. They needed the months of fall to return to Erebor safely, before winter drifts began to hinder their progress.

Days passed, fairly uneventfully. Erulon had seen traces of wargs, but there was no other sign of life; friendly or the opposite. The plains were wide and vast, but there were always trees along the river.

After weeks of travelling, however, the dwarves finally arrived at the cross the twin rivers. A forest now swallowed their path, but they continued through it without fear. There was no sign of man, orc or beast.

__________________________________________________ _____

"We shall camp here for the night," Bali stated. "As soon as we find a clearing, we can start a fire and get something to eat."

But it had been done for them. In a small clearing, the dwarves found a campsite and a small ring of stone, with smoke wisping from the wood. No one could be seen.

Durin knelt and inspected the ground. "Man, elf and dwarf tracks. Been here for some time."

Bali moved to his side. "Aye, a month or two at least. But why? The weather is fine, but what about shelter? They have none!"

Erulon gingerly touched the dead wood lying in the campfire. "Warm. This wood was burning an hour ago."

Then the arrow barried itself in the ground, an inch from his outstreched hand.

[Himaran]

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

Hænir’s axe was in his hands before the arrow that had embedded itself in the ground by Erulon’s hand had stopped shivering. His eyes narrowed as he gazed at the surrounding trees and his nose twitched for the scent of danger.

The long days of their forced march had begun to dull his spirits and place upon him the heavy burden of his cowardice during the attack upon their companions. Bali’s words had been wise that day, they had been no match for the numbers of enemies they had stumbled upon, but still Hænir had had difficulty in accepting that hard truth. Never before had he fled before an enemy…and never again would he. ‘Tis better to die in the defence of friends and pursuit of honour than to flee to protect one’s hide he told himself for the thousandth time.

Beside him stood Nerin, nervously clutching his weapons and glaring at the woods. Hænir had taken a liking to quiet fellow in their journey and in their conversations he had found that they had much in common. It was obvious that the younger Dwarf looked to Hænir for guidance in this quest, and it was only with the greatest reluctance that Hænir had accepted the silent charge of duty that this placed upon him. To the other side stood Bali, who had snapped to alert as quickly as Hænir. For a moment, the party stood quietly awaiting whatever else was to follow the arrow, but the woods remained silent. “What think you of that, Master Bali?” Hænir asked under his breath. “More orcs?”

“I think not,” was the reply. “That arrow is not of orcish make.”

“Well,” Hænir said, “whoever shot it is not being overly friendly. Ahoy there!” he bellowed, “If you wish to pick a fight with us then come out in the open where we can see you and we’ll be happy to oblige you. But if you’d rather play hide-a-seek like young ones then be off with you, for we have no time for such amusements!” At first it seemed that the silence would be their only response, but the three figures stepped from the trees and advanced toward them…

[Himaran]

Will Witfoot's post - Gortek

Gortek and Arasiniel made their way back to the campsite. Gortek's wrath had already been cooled by the appology of the man, but dwarfs by nature were a stubborn lot. Forgiving the ranger so soon seemed impossible somehow.
As they entered the clearing in which their common camp with the elf, Raendin, was situated, they found the elf already packing his things as if expecting to leave at any moment. Gortek himself felt a strange predicament nagging in the back of his head, and he had found these kind of impulses to be right on many an occasion, so he made ready his own things.

He had just got all of his few belongings packed and was just fumbling for his pipe, when he thought he caught the sound of something approaching. His senses, honed by years of living in the wild, instantly alerted him to any possible danger connected with the noise. He glanced at his companions and could tell that they had sensed it also, and three such persons so accustomed to the outdoors were highly unlikely to be mistaken on such a matter.
Now they all could definitely hear something approaching. Reaching a wordless agreement they dived into the cover of the trees like wraiths, even Gortek moving with a stealth that his short, stocky body seemed to dennie. Readying their weapons, the trio made ready for whatever was approaching.

They had only waited for a few minutes at the most when a group of creatures entered the small glade. Gortek squinted with his one good eye and mentally cursed his poor sight. The arivals were talking amidst themselves.

"Man, elf and dwarf tracks. Been here for some time."

The gruff voice and guttural accent drained some of the tension out of Gortek. At least they were dwarfs.

"Aye, a month or two at least. But why? The weather is fine, but what about shelter? They have none!"

Gortek was now completely relaxed, lulled into calm by the familiar sound of the strangers voices. He kept his sword ready though, just in case. You could not even be sure of your own kin at these times.
He saw one of the newcomers move over to their still warm fire pit and reach out with his hand, probing the ash.

"Warm. This wood was burning an hour ago."

Thwang! It seemed that the elf did not quite share Gortek's calm. The arrow he had loosed embedded itself into the ground scant inches away from the stranger's hand. It was met with a challenge from one of the newcomers.
Glancing at each other, the three travellers stepped into the clearing.

Gortek surveyed the newly arrived party from head to toe. Most of them were quite young by dwarfish standards.
He knuckled the eye patch that covered his left eye and grinned, atlast speaking into the silence.

"These ain't orcs by the looks of things, eh?" The statement was followed by a bout of jolly, if somewhat insane bout of laughter.

"Gortek, called sometimes 'the Mad-eye' at your service. Now who are you beardlings?".

[Saraphim]

Naphril stood impatiently at the entrance of his cousin's forge, looking in at the blacksmith himself, who was pounding a a blinding-hot spearhead with a heavy mallet. The noise was too loud for them to communicate, and the heat of the furnace too uncomfortable for Nephil to close enough to hear anyway.

Corith finally stood up straight and set his mallet down leaning on the wall. Taking off his protective mask, he pulled two rough wooden stools over to the doorframe where Nephil was standing.

"If you don't tell me something, Corith, I'll weld you to the wall," said Nephil impatiantly.

Corith smiled, "That's an unfounded threat. We both know that you wouldn't get near enough to the forge to melt a candle."

Nephil stared at him silently.

"Fine, I'll tell you," said Corith, "but first you have to tell me what happened with the catch today."

Nephril gave in, "Well, first of all, I didn't even see it. Some huge warrior named Kínadhen was blocking the entire door. But two others did show up."

"I know of Kinadhen. No one gets past him. But go on, please."

"You try my patience Corith. But the others were some exceedingly serious woman and Bestialán, the one you made the maces for." finished Nephil, "Now tell me, please! I know about the council meeting to decide what to do with the catch, but what else?"

"Well," began Corith, "I hear from Tarrela, whos brother's mother-in-law is actually on the council, that they're having a feast and an open discussion about the catch."

Nephil looked at him. "That's all?"

Corith nodded.

Nephil slumped. "I already knew that, you fool" He stood up and left, walking down the hallway to his room.

"Well then what are you going to do?" called Corith, leaning out of the open doorway.

"I'm going out!" yelled Nephil, who emerged from his room strapping on his weapons.

"Bring back something nice!" called Corith after Nephil's retreating back.

Nephil pounded along the corridors impatiently, looking for Bestialán. He emerged into a public room and spotted him, leaning against a wall and speaking softly to the woman from earlier.

"Bestialán!" called Nephril.

Bestialán turned to look at Nephil.

"I'm going out. Catches don't usually travel alone. If we hurry, there might be more, but not if we sit here and wait for the council to decide."

"Why do you want me to go with you?" asked Bestialán suspiciusly.

"Because if we went out alone, and against each other, you would probably kill me and take whatever I find for yourself. Of course, there is also the possibility that you might betray me no matter what the circumstances, but I'm willing to take that chance."

Bestialán looked at Nephil scrupulously. The woman watched this exchange blankly.

"My invitation is extended to you as well," added Nephil to her. He waited for thier answers with an unreadable look on his face.

[Arestevana]

Maulká watched impassively as Nephil talked to Bestialán about taking another catch. She had to admit, he did have a point about the creatures traveling in groups. It came as an unexpected but pleasant surprise when Nephil invited her as well. She pondered it for a moment.

What had the man said? Oh yes, ‘You would probably kill me and take whatever I find for yourself.’ Well, the idea was tempting, but she knew she stood no chance against Bestialán, and from the small amount she had learned of Nephil, he could likely best her on the jungle as well. It was the price she paid for the infrequency of her surface trips. And though it might differ with a catch as the prize, for Maulká the joy was in the hunt rather than in the glory of a victorious return.

She turned to Nephil. “A kind offer. I thank you for the invitation—I would be pleased to accompany you,” said she, though the courtesy pained her. Loath as she was to admit it, she was looking forward to a cooperative hunt. Even if the catch had companions which waited nearby, a single hunter could not hope to capture (or even avoid being slain by) a group. With more than one hunter though, such a quarry was not out of reach.

There is a rack of javelins in the second lower corridor. Maulká thought, remembering the feel of the fire-hardened wood in her hand. Having accepted the invitation, she was sorely tempted to ask ‘When do you go?’ Trying to maintain an expression of patient attentiveness over her excitement, she stared eagerly at Bestialán, awaiting his response to Nephil’s invitation.

[Himaran]

Himaran's post

Bali and the dwarves sat around the campfire with the other travelers. He could tell that many of his followers were suspicious of their new aquantinces, but Bali had travelled too long to be suprised or alarmed by meeting three wayfarers in a clearing. They were not enemies; that much was clear.

"And where is this party of dwarves going, Master Bali," the Ranger asked.

"To Rhûn." There was nothing else to be said.

The Ranger sat back, blowing smoke rings from his pipe. "Rhûn, land of riches and witches. Or so the rangers have said. But this journey of yours intrigues me; I have always wanted to travel that way..."

He sat back, deep in thought. Silence reigned for ten seconds before he spoke again. "And I shall. Arasinel, at your service."

______________________

Bali was overjoyed when the other travelers agreed to go with his party into Rhûn. They needed numbers, and now they had them; to a small extent at least. The dwarf gave the order to camp there for the night and head for Rhûn the next day, with their new companions. At last, the journey was quickening in pace.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Esgallhugwen's post - Nerin Cloudfoot

Nerin was rather surprised he had not yet earned the nickname The mute dwarf or Master Tongueless . After all, his lack of conversation wasn't exactly helping him become aquinted with his fellow companions.

On the other hand he did share a few brief quiet conversations with Haenir, who seemed to take a liking to young Nerin. They shared many things in common despite their age difference.

That didn't help when the orcs came, Nerin's lack of experience in battle made him nervous and anxious. But despite his fear he tried to steady himself and cleave his way through to the others.

His heart nearly went up into his throat when he was cornered up against a large tree, he tried to cry out but he bit his tongue instead. Luckily for Nerin's sake, Bali came and disposed of the vile creatures that would have nearly turned him into a Dwarven pin cushion.

They frantically ran to catch up with the others cleaving off orc heads and limbs as they went. The distance to the camp seemed farther away now that they had orcs to deal with, but the two Dwarves made it safely enough, eventually clasping their hands to their knees to steady themselves as they huffed and panted trying to regain their lost breath.

Dwalin and Durin were still back there and Nerin could not help but feel a pang of guilt that he could not do more to help them. He sighed and straightened his back, it was then that Haenir spoke about going back now that they knew what they were up against.

Bali gave him a stern look and directed him over to a corner of their camp, he proceeded to tell something that Nerin could not overhear. It was decided that they would wait, Durin would lead them out to join the main group.

For three very tense hours, they waited fearing the worst but hoping for the best. Their hope prevailed and all exclaimed to see that Dwalin and Durin were unharmed, except for the rather nasty goose egg on Dwalin's head.

________________________

After weeks of traveling; the Erebor company found themselves sitting around a fire with an Elf, a man and another Dwarf. Apparently all friendly so Nerin allowed himself the leisure to let down his guard, if only slightly.

The young Dwarf sat close to Haenir whom he had come to trust and look to for advice on the long road to Rhûn. Nerin couldn't help but look across the fire at the Elf, he had never met one of the Fair Folk before let alone sit down with one, so it was no surprise the situation was a more than a little odd.

Nerin cleared his throat speaking to all for the first time, "forgive my rudeness, but the three of you seem strange companions, what brings you out here?".

[Novnarwen]

It was a rather cold night, or so Dwalin thought. His back ached, but he didn't complain. He refused to look weak in front of these strangers or travellers as they were called. Dwalin didn't really approve of the new part of the company. Going to Rhûn, and meeting someone on the way, just seemed odd. What did they want?

They knew the Dwarven company was going to Rhûn, since Bali had so nicely explained this to them. Suddenly, Dwalin grew annoyed with his brother. Was it wise of him to burst out to anyone they met, that they were going to Rhûn? What if they were untrustworthy? Had his dear brother given thought to that?

Dwalin realised however, that the travellers probably could be good company, since they all were used to these sort of things, but what if Bali was wrong about them? The confused dwarf decided not to judge too soon. He would keep an eye on them though, watching every step they took. Even if it meant being awake all night, he would keep his big eyes on them. With that, he decided to join the rest in the conversation. Nevertheless, he found himself uncomfortably sitting next to Haenir. It was not the other dwarf ho made him feel this way, but he couldn't help himself thinking of these travellers. Grim faced, he glanced over at one of them. A ranger, or so he; Arasiniel had said. The Ranger's eyes were lit up by the crackling fire, and they were looking curiously around and about. Dwalin, who happened to sit just opposite of the Ranger, turned away when Arasiniel was about to lay his eyes upon the dwarf. Dwalin avoided his piercing look, and pretended to be busy with something else. Eventually, when a few minutes had passed, Dwalin returned to his previous doings; staring at his new companions. Suddenly, he discovered that Arasiniel was not sitting opposite of him any longer. Desperately looking into all directions, the Dwarf shuddered. Where was he? Was he already committing treachery?

He restrained himself for panicking, squinting over at Haenir; who was eagerly talking to Nerin. He felt his hands getting sweaty and sticky. Trying to catch Bali's eye, wanting to tell his brother that all of this just felt wrong, he stood up. It was no use. Bali wouldn't turn his way, and he would never let Dwalin's gut feeling take command over how this company should continue on their journey. His stupidity struck him as he felt the heavy air choking him. It was useless to go around worrying whether these new companions would betray them or not. What possibly could they do, when the dwarves outnumbered them? That's when another horrible thought struck him. What if some of the other dwarves were in the lead with the travellers? Things were getting really bad for Dwalin now, as he felt his stomach turning upside down. He walked fast away from the others, not even excusing himself.

A few paces away he bent down, ready for anything, but nothing came. His stomach made a sound, which Dwalin tried to suppress as he head footsteps just behind. He turned slowly around, putting up a grimace.

"Is something wrong, master dwarf?" It was quite a friendly voice, Haenir; if it was up to Dwalin. He was about to reply, not even turned to face the person who had so kindly asked the question. "Everything is quite alright!" Dwalin exclaimed, now turning, looking into those big brown eyes which he had just half an hour found himself staring into. It seemed to him that his eyes were very much the same, although there was no fire lightening them up. The surprise made Dwalin's stomach turn once more, but he, once again, restrained himself. "I'm quite . . . alright," he muttered again, not very reassuring.

The Ranger looked at him. Dwalin thought the man frightening, as he was much bigger and himself, and there was something about the eyes. Insecure about what was appropriate to do in this kind of situation, Dwalin was silent. Usually, the Dwarf was very friendly and liked to talk, but now he couldn't really find anything to say. As a matter of fact, he found himself drained for words. He didn't know whether it was the surprise, or it was the feeling he had about this ranger not being trustworthy. Normally, he would bite his lip and just do something, but Dwalin just kept on staring in his eyes.

"Let's go back to the others," Arasiniel suddenly suggested. This was fairly shocking to Dwalin, who had not expected this behaviour. Slowly walking in the front towards the others and the fire, Arasiniel followed slowly behind.

[Himaran]

Bali could sense the distrust; it was as thick as the pollen floating throughout the breeze in the warm summer night. The dwarves were plainly scared of strangers, at least those in the wild. This cannot go on. We will not survive if we cannot pull together. The words struck the dwarf as strange. What did they have to fear? There was nothing out there, waiting to grab them in the dark of night and tear them to bloody shreads. But he continued to feel an unusual sense of urgency, the need to unite the group. With the new travelers, the job would be difficult.

With his natural leadership skills snapping into play, Bali turned to the members of the company. "Dwalin, Kain, empty the packs. We can use a good meal around here. Haenir, Nerin, gather some dry wood. The rest of you, gather some provisions. Then rest up. Erulon and I shall prepare a meal." The dwarf's keen ears picked up a dispariging comment from Haenir. [/I]Perhaps the travelers are the least of my problems.[/I]

Bali watched as Haenir stomped off into the woods with Nerin, axe resting on one shoulder, a haughty and rebelious air about him. Ever since the incident with the orcs, he had been tough to handle. Not in a disrespectful sense, but a competitive one. It was obvious that Haenir did not see his slightly older companion as the group's leader. Bali knew that he would have to deal with the rift soon enough, but decided to ignore the issue for the night; and instead duel Eruantalon in a cooking match.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir had noted Dwalin’s distrust of the travellers, and while he managed to hide his feelings somewhat more effectively than the younger Dwarf, he shared them. He still had not forgiven them the little ‘prank’ they had pulled when they arrived – no matter who the marksman, an Elf of the greenwood or not, it was no laughing matter to Hænir to have someone shoot an arrow at him or one of his companions! As a consequence, he made sure that when he sat down by the fire, he did so with his face to the travellers, and with Nerin and Dwalin on either side of him.

The travellers had seemed to settle right into the group and make themselves at home, and Bali had certainly taken to them. Hænir had spent several weeks now in the close company of Bali and had come to the conclusion that while he was a Dwarf of mettle and spirit, he was still quite young in spirit: brash, confident and quick to decide for others. Hænir was used to taking orders, but from his King, to whom he had sworn eternal obedience and loyalty. Bali, as true as he undeniably was, had yet – Hænir felt – to earn the right to assume that he was the unquestioned leader of the group. And yet, no sooner had they finished their evening meal, then Bali was ordering – ordering – himself and Nerin to collect more wood. Hænir paused for a moment, considering whether the time was ripe to openly question the imperious manner that had come to rankle him, but decided that it had not. He did allow himself, however, one muttered phrase as he stomped past Bali: “I did not bring my axe on this journey to cut wood!”

Nerin and he had little trouble finding dry wood aplenty in the forest and they each soon had an armful of fuel for their fire. As they were about to return to the clearing, they saw off to their side, well out of the light of the fire, Dwalin and the Ranger Arasiniel, apparently in conversation. Hænir beckoned Nerin to stop. The younger Dwarf followed Hænir’s gaze and then looked at him in alarm. “What’s the matter?” he hissed quietly. “Is that Ranger threatening Dwalin?”

Hænir shook his head slowly, “I do not know,” he said, “but there is something amiss. Dwalin has been uncomfortable all night – I do not think that he cares for these travellers overmuch.” He saw the Ranger move closer to Dwalin, and it was all he could do to prevent himself from crying out a warning. He still felt the guilt of having abandoned Dwalin and Durin to the orcs, and as a result had become more than a little protective of them since their miraculous escape. He saw Dwalin and Arasiniel move back toward the fire and he could not help but sigh somewhat with relief. He turned to Nerin once more, “Come my friend, let us get this wood back to Bali so he can build up the fire.”

“What was going on?”

“‘Twas nothing, my lad. Dwalin was, I think, seeking some time alone and the Ranger merely surprised him in the dark.” He was not sure that Nerin believed this. He was not sure that he did, either.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Normally, he would have been the first to greet newcomers, but they were in a strange land, and they were a strange company. Why are they here, anyway?

So far, nothing untoward has happened to the company since reaching Rhûn, but that only made Narvi feel more paranoid. Rhûn might have kept its surprises, of the worst kind, towards the end.

He looked at the Dwarven newcomer, and his hands tightened around the axe, but relaxed moments later. He reproached himself for allowing paranoia control his usually gregarious personality. Dropping the axe among his things, he decided to approach the Dwarf, and strike a conversation. Then you'll see he's a true Dwarf, and not an illusion of the land.

"Gortek, right?" The Dwarf nodded.

He sat down beside Gortek, and said, "I am Narvi Silverfist. Tell me, what brings you here, with this," he lowered his voice, "queer company?"

[Novnarwen]

As Dwalin paced back towards the others, having Arasiniel close behind, he couldn't help feeling a bit silly. He had definitely been stupid, or paranoid was more the word. But at these times, one could never be too careful, right? He shrugged, as he settled himself again, away from Arasiniel. He didn't quite trust him still, would he ever?

The petty dwarf saw Hænir and Nerin coming back from the woods, after having collected wood for the fire. Dwalin wanted to tell them everything; maybe they shared his doubts. Eventually, he decided not to tell them. A Dwarf like him, with this position in the company, couldn't show any sign of fear. But all the same, doubt and fear were two different things. He could in fact tell them that he found the travellers untrustworthy, without revealing his fear. Though, Dwalin had been frightened by Arasiniel's way of approaching him, coming up from behind, he didn't necessarily have to tell Hænir and Nerin that. Yes, that was a good idea. But again, the dwarf grew uncertain. By the look in Bali's face, smiling and talking to these new arrived companions, he just couldn't do it. He knew that Bali trusted them, and Bali knew best. Throughout their childhood and adults lives, he had always known what was best. He had always been Dwalin's rescuer in this way, as he always knew what to do.

Dwalin bit his lip. Here they came; Hænir and Nerin. He wanted to rise and leave the others again, but Hænir had already caught Dwalin's eye. The two of them settled down, close to Dwalin.

"You okay, Dwalin?" Nerin asked curiously after a while.

Dwalin was busy thinking again, now biting inside his mouth. He felt the taste of blood, but turned at last his attention to Nerin.

"Yeah, sure," Dwalin answered dryly, looking into the fire.

Nerin continued by saying that Dwalin looked worried or concerned. This, Dwalin pretended to come as a shock. He waved his hands, speaking louder than usual and told him that this indeed was not correct. "Just a bit tired," he added in the end. Nerin seemed satisfied by this answer, though troubled, but asked no further. The three of them sat quietly, listening to the others. Dwalin caught a word or two, but didn't pay much attention to what was going on. The Dwarf soon determined that Arasiniel probably could be trusted, but the other two would still be under his close watch.

I'm watching you two," Dwalin muttered under his breath, glancing over at the travellers.

[Carlas]

Durin sat beside Bali as the two chatted merrily with the elf, whose name they had learned was Raedin. Durin had traveled most of his life and had met many strange folk over the years, but he had always enjoyed the company of elves foremost. Though most found this strange, he had grown up with his father who had befriended many elves over the years, and who had loved to tell Durin of the great deeds they had done. He smiled softly, thinking back on the tales he had been told and looked around the small fire where he and his companions sat.

They all sat speaking quietly with eachother, at first seemingly all right with the arrival of the elf, dwarf and man, but then Durin noticed that they all kept glancing at the three; as if they were scared that they would jump up at any moment and start attacking them. He sighed, he knew you shouldn’t trust anyone immediately, but he also knew that most strangers he had come across when he had traveled, had ended up becoming some of his closest friends. Almost everyone on this journey had been strangers at first, but they had bonded rather quickly, and he hoped it would be the same with Raedin, Gortek, and Arasiniel.

He turned back to Bali and Raedin who were now laughing merrily at something Bali had just said, and smiled. He knew some were questioning Bali’s leadership, he could see it, but he trusted Bali and would follow him anywhere. He hoped the others would too, if they were really going to find the treasures they had always heard resided in Ruhn, what the company needed most was trust.

[bilbo_baggins]

Aaah! the distrust was sown far and wide. Aras could see plainly that all the dwarves, Bali included held a small granule of distrust back to keep and nurture. Of course, that could only be expected after the sudden way in which they had marked their entrance into this strange drama. He could feel that a turning point had been reached and his trio had reached the end of their wait. Happily, he had no doubts about this group, yet obviously the group had their own dowbts. Strange, that one side should feel a portent of great import, and the other should have narry a specter or premonition.

Yet not that strange, it seemed, as the group of dwarves and ranger had a purpose in their journeying. Aras' trio had been sitting bye the two rivers waiting, for what they could not tell.

Turning to Durin, he asked, "So I have learned that you travel to Rhûn, but not for what purpose. Perhaps you can tell me?"

"Certainly, we travel to see the riches it has to offer, and to take of them."

"I see. Rather obvious, I suppose, that dwarves would seek riches there. They do so almost everywhere," Arasiniel said with a smirk touching the corners of his mouth. "I do believe that it will be some adventure we have in Rhûn, no doubt about it."

Watching the campfire thoughtfully, Aras did not notice the steady fall of dark. Dark was comforting, falling on everyone alike. Finding equalizers helped in strange situations. He thought of his favorite equalizer, death. Now why should he want to think of death at such a meeting? Aras was troubled by what had occurred, and what was nearly promised to occur. He had to win the trust of these dwarves, if they were to be his friends in a journey to the land of Rhûn.

[Himaran]

At the Camp

Bali was greatly relieved when the company began to pack the following morning. The campsite had been a evil nest, brooding distrust, anger and rebelliousness. Once on the road, the dwarves would move their thoughts onto the more important issue of Rhûn.

The dwarf gathered up his few belongings, cleaned his weapons, and rolled up his bedding. The others were doing the same, although clearly waiting for someone to direct them. They want an order, but they don't want someone to give it to them. Much like myself naught twenty years back.

"We leave in an hour," Bali voiced. "Be ready, long days of marching are ahead of us for the seeable future."

__________________________________________________ _________

Onward to Rhûn


Several weeks passed, and the dwarves had made excellent travel time. They had grown closer to the travelers, and had made better friends with one another. Grumbles remained, but on the whole the group was pulling together. For this, Bali was infinitely grateful.

Following the river, the dwarves had made a straight line for their destination. Then the day came. "Over the next hill, we may be able to see the sea!" Bali shouted happily. "We made it, laddies, we're here!"

The Dawning Moment

Then they saw it. The channel.

As the dwarves reached the hilltop, gasps of surprise erupted from the entire group; Bali included. The river suddenly became choppy, and a rapid flow of water shot into a channel. A rock channel, with walls towering over one hundred feet. It was impassible. Looking southwards, Bali could see the range of mountains extending beyone his keen vision's reach.

"Look at the map," Dwalin suddenly stated. "The mountains are on the southwest side. We are on the northwest!"

Bali just stared, stunned. The maps were all wrong. Rhûn was surrounded by rocky hills and small mountains. But how far did they extend inward? Was there no sea afterall? Maybe the whole thing had been a huge joke. No, that can't be. There must be an entrance somewhere. Without even thinking, the dwarf snapped out an order.

"We can't pass through the channel. We have no boats, and there could be a waterfall at the far end. Let us travel south, there must be an entrance into Rhûn at some point."

"And what if there isn't," snapped Haenir."

Bali looked southward, finding no comfort in the undending range of hills. "Then we have made a journey for nothing." And there was nothing else to be said.


Fordim Hedgethistle's Post

From the beginning Gortek had been joyed by the arrival of some fresh company, and the last couple of weeks had certainly not dulled that feeling. Even the apparent distrust that some of the party's numbers seemed to hold against the three companions couldn't bring him down.

During his journeys he had, of course, heard rumors and stories about the land of Rhûn. Everyone with the slightest inkling of the subject claimed that Rhûn was filled with a myriad of natural treasure, but that in it's jungles, death stalked those foolhardy enough to cross it's borders.
He wasn't worried about the potential dangers of the journey. If he had wanted a safe and secure life he wouldn't have made travelling his chosen way of life.
As for the promise of possible riches, Gortek had a hard time containing his excitement. Where ever there was wealth to be gained, he couldn't be kept out.

The simple thought of all the upcoming excitement made him want to burst out in mirth. Even now he couldn't entirely suppress a jolly cackle from escaping now and then. Completely caught up in his daydreaming, he failed to notice that the rest of the company were giving him some berth, seemingly unnerved by his mad laughter.

That was when he heard Bali call: "Over the next hill, we may be able to see the sea! We made it, laddies, were here!"

Gortek almost leapt next to the expedition's leader, eager to catch a glimpse of the fabled land of untold riches and death.
Judging by the gasps of surprise, cries of disappointment and the confused look on Bali's face Rhûn wasn't what they had expected it to be.
Gortek's own expectations concerning the place had always been vague, as news of Rhûn were for the most part very scarce. From what little he had heard though, he knew that entering the land wasn't going to be easy.

He glanced at the company.
"Well, what did ye expect? 'Course it's got to be difficult ta get in, otherwise all the riches would have been taken by now."

He joined the others as they began to trudge southward, looking for a way that would grant them passage into the land of Rhûn.
They had been travelling for several hours when they found what they had been looking for. Overhead, high in the mountains, one could see a high pass that cut it’s way between two ancient and mighty peaks. To get there, though, they would have to scale up the sheer face of the rocky cliff that arose from the earth like a natural wall. It seemed like Rhûn itself wanted to be left alone into its brooding solitude.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The mountains reared above their heads like an unbroken fence as far as the eye could see. With nothing else to do, the party journeyed south, but their eyes were ever looking to the left as they went, scouring the high walls of this mysterious fence that seemed to have sprung from the earth specifically to bar them access to the riches that they were all now sure lay beyond. Hænir trudged along at the rear of the group where he could keep a ready eye on the newcomers. The Elf and the Man had been quiet and well disciplined during the march south, but still they were strangers to Hænir and not Dwarves – two very distrustful things in his book. The third stranger, Gortek, while a Dwarf was clearly not entirely right in the head. He seemed, in fact, to be on good terms with the Elf and the Man, which was proof enough, to Hænir at least, that his wits had turned at least partly.

The first sight of the mountains had plunged Hænir’s heart, normally so sturdy, right through the bottom of his gut and into his boots. He had glared openly at Bali as though the mountains had been his fault, and he continued to stare at their leader balefully throughout that day. Nerin had noticed this and tentatively asked what was wrong, but Hænir’s sharp reply, so uncharacteristic for him, had effectively concluded that conversation. Hænir, more than usually quiet on the subject, kept his thoughts to himself and did not know what the others thought of this turn of events. Some, he could tell, were disappointed, but he did not know if any shared his now very low opinion of the leader who had led them so far to find only an impassable road.

They had been marching south for several hours when the Dwarves spotted a high waterfall roaring from the top of a cliff. The spur of rock from which the water fell was apparently a far-flung shoulder of the mountains, and it swept out from them in a long, gently sloping plain that ended abruptly in an almost sheer cliff on all sides. It looked for the world like the prow of a huge low-lying boat settled into the earth that lay about the mountains. Hænir could see clearly that the plain at the top of the cliffs extended high into the mountains, where it narrowed into what appeared to be a high pass between two mighty peaks. It was possible that through that pass lay the way into the hidden realm of Rhûn – but only if they could find a way up the cliff…

[Himaran]

Bali walked in silence. The dwarves were restless, and there would be trouble if a path was not soon discovered. That waterfall there - maybe.... Just then, Haenir approached him. He was still smug, but seemed to have something important to relate. "Bali, if we could scale that rock face, we might be able to make it in. There seems to be a path into Rhûn behind the waterfall."

Bali pondered the thought for a moment, briefly disturbed by the fact that if the plan worked, it would be Haenir's idea; even though he had thought of the same thing moments before. Bah, what did it matter. If Haenir had had control of the group during the orc attack, they would all be dead. But perhaps he would prove instrumental to their survival later on...

"Its a far shot, but it might just work. Do you think the other lads are able to make the climb?" Bali lowered his voice as he spoke.

"Aye. They will have to; it is the only way."

_____________

And so climb they did. Up the rocky cliff, over the edge of the peaks, and onto a flat plateau. The dwarves were ecstatic. The ridge followed a group of mountains east, directly into the heart of Rhûn. Further along, a beautiful waterfall sent tons of water cascading down into the valley. Bali and the company were able to travel underneath of the verticle stream, and found a virtual stairwell down the other side.

Several hours later, after slow, treacherous scaling down the slope, the dwarves found themselves in a land much like Emyn Muil. The beauty of the falls was gone. Rocky hills and dense jungle forest spread out in all directions. It was impossible to tell if the land was flat of if it suddenly dropped hundreds of feet. The dwarves became restless. What if they got lost? They might never make it back to the mountains. And what strange beasts lived in the jungle?

Dwalin was suddenly angry. To have come all this way, and have them mumble that it was not safe? "Enough!" He yelled. "We either go in - or go back!"

The dwarves were silent for a moment, and one by one agreed that they could not go back. Forward was the only way now, and most did not savior making the long journey home. Exploring a new world would be far more exciting. "Then let us get on with it," shouted Haenir.

And so the party entered Rhûn, completely naive of what awaited them.

[Novnarwen]

The dwarf was pleased that everyone had agreed upon not going back. How could they even give this a thought, when they were so close to Rhûn? It didn't make sense. He found himself frowning, and wondering what in Middle-earth they were thinking. All this way, and for nothing? How could they be satisfied by that, Dwalin wondered. Although he had difficulties understanding what was going on in the other dwarves' minds (and the travellers), he refused to let it delay him anymore. The treasures of Rhûn waited for them, but it had waited long enough. It was time to go and find it.

The clear day made Dwalin feel optimistic. All their delays; the orcs in the woods, the new travellers and the difficulties they had approached when finding a way into Rhûn, would not make him go back or be afraid. Now they would finally get rewarded for their patience, and no one could stop him. These thoughts were encouraging for Dwalin, and he hurried over to Bali's side, who walked in the front. The jungle didn't bother him too much in the start. The map would lead them to the treasure. This just couldn't go wrong. Besides, Dwalin was an excellent map reader and could probably guide himself and this group safely to the treasure. "Not a chance!" he answered promptly as Durin expressed his doubts about going in circles. They had already wandered around for several hours at that time, but Dwalin was absolutely confident on the group being on the right track.

"I've studied this map," Dwalin said smartly, winking at him. Durin shrugged and continued his conversation with Hænir, further back in the group.

*******

Later that day, when the dark started creeping up on them, Dwalin noticed the many flies buzzing around. They were constantly in his eyes, up his nose or in the corners of his mouth. Trying to avoid hysteria amongst the others, Dwalin tried to restrain himself for screaming and waving his hands. He wanted to smack them with his hands, make 'em drop dead to the sandy ground, but he didn't want to make the others feel uncomfortable as well. However, due to Dwalin problem, he suggested taking a short break, before continuing. When asking the others, he interrupted himself by letting out a short shriek. Just paces away from Nerin's foot, a slimy oblong thing was crawling. The other's looked questioningly at Dwalin, who held his hands to his mouth, being disgusted by the look of it.

"What is it?" one of the others asked curiously, not even noticing how close it was crawling towards Nerin's foot. Dwalin pointed desperately downwards, trying to make his comrade understand. The oblong creature seemed to notice Dwalin's fear and started at him instead. Towards the petty dwarf it came; and the closer it came, the more Dwalin screamed. Suddenly, he felt the urge to run, and he turned on his heal and ran, having the snake after him. To Dwalin's surprise it was much faster than expected, and the dwarf was, and had always been, out of condition. Sooner or later, the snake would catch up with him.

Dwalin ran on, round in circles. He didn't even notice the others, or rather; he couldn't care less about what they were doing. All what mattered was getting away, but how he would do that, he had no idea. He screamed for help, but it was impossible to catch or kill the snake. It was moving too fast, and the others, no matter what they tried, weren't able to catch it or kill it. Soon, Dwalin collapsed. His pains in his back, (which was a result of his tree-climbing,) and the fact that he was totally exhausted, made him fall to the ground. Before the rest of the company were able to pick him up and give him some water, the snake had already taken a nice bite of Dwalin's thick skin. It crawled hurriedly away, showing it's white fangs.

The Dwarf felt the others surround him, when lying on the ground. The flies were swirling around him, but they were not his biggest concern now...

[Carlas]

It was getting dark now, and the forest seemed oddly quiet, even with the flies that swarmed around them. It felt as if Durin’s ears were covered and making the noises around him distant and muffled, even the crickets seemed to being chirping quieter than usual. He frowned, this was not how he had imagined Ruhn, he had thought it would be bright and lush, with animals everywhere and the lake, sparkling and shimmering as the legends from his childhood had said. Had they come here for nothing?

Durin looked around at the thick forest all around them. There were many strange plants everywhere and they were now walking towards a large tree, covered in mosses. Durin stopped suddenly, but was pushed forward again as Nerin bumped into him from behind.

“Sorry about that.” Durin said as he straightened up again, and ran up to the front to talk to Dwalin. Nerin shrugged his shoulders and kept walking.

Dwalin looked up as Durin ran up beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Do you use maps often?” Durin asked before Dwalin could say anything. The dwarf looked at him, not quite sure what Durin was going on about. “Well of course! I have done so many times, and am quite a good at it too if I do say so myself.” He answered finally.

Durin smiled. “Well then I’d say it’s the map’s fault.”

“What?” Dwalin asked, surprised at Durin’s response.

“I think we’re going in circles…I’ve seen that tree already!” He answered, pointing over at the tree he had seen earlier.

Dwalin shook his head. “That can’t be, I’m positive we’re going in the right direction, I’ve studied this map.” He smiled and turned back to the path. Durin turned to Hænir and sighed. “I know I’ve seen that tree….”

~*~

It was not long after when Dwalin let them have a short break and the dwarves sat down on the cold earth, happy to be stopping. Durin sat thinking for awhile, tired and still convinced they were going in circles when he heard a quick shriek. All the dwarves turned to see Dwalin pointing at a snake inches from Nerin’s foot. It stopped and turned to Dwalin who now looked completely terrified, and started to work his way over towards the dwarf. Before anyone could do anything, Dwalin started running as fast as he could away from the snake, which quickened its pace, chasing after the poor dwarf.

The Dwarves yelled and jumped up onto their feet to try and pursue the snake. Durin stood up quickly, hoping to help the others, but then noticed the map that Dwalin must have dropped was starting to fly away in the wind. He ran towards the map, but the wind now had it and it was blown away before Durin could grab it. He growled, they might have being going in circles but at least they had had some idea of where they were going with the map…things just couldn’t get worse for the small group of travelers…

“Durin!” someone called from behind. He turned and gasped as he saw Dwalin lying on the ground pale and unconscious. It seemed things were getting worse…

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek used his short sword to hack through the weeds and plants obscuring their path. The vicious, fat-bodied flies buzzed all around him, occasionally landing on his head. Shaking his head to keep the insects away Gortek went on hacking.
It seemed Rhûn was not the land of beauty and peril that most tales would have you believe, he thought. The glorious mountains with their waterfalls were simply a pretty casing, which held inside a country covered by the green and humid hell that was the jungle. He was beginning to suspect that the whole 'death by darkness' part mentioned in the stories was just an account of those who died of the heat or got lost in the jungle. He seriously doubted that anything could live here and still have the necessary energy left to deal out death, let alone by darkness when this place was likely to be at it's most dangerous.

His theory was shattered, however, when during a short break they were taking Dwalin was attacked by a snake. None of the party were quick enough to catch the creature, so they all hurried to it's victim.
While most of the others were busy inspecting their leader's wound, Gortek turned back to one of the lads, Durin, that had been left behind by the sudden rush of Dwalin. He turned just in time to see the young dwarf fail to grab the map that was being borne away by wind.

Gortek couldn't stop a curse in Khuzdul from escaping through his lips. The map could well be their line of life in this hostile land. As fast as his short legs would carry him he raced after it.

Caught up in the furry of the chase, he failed to notice the end of the tree line and the looming edge of the plateau in front of him. Before he knew it, he was tumbling through nothingness with the thought that it hadn't been the brightest of ideas to go running blindly like that in unexplored territory racing through his head. Desperately he struck out with his hands, and his heart skipped a beat out of sheer joy when the fingers of one of his huge paws closed around a small ledge jutting out from the cliff side.
It wasn't enough, however. With his heavy bag filled with provisions adding to his weight, even his strength wasn't enough to get himself up. There was only one option, though a bitter one at that.

Gortek sighed and let his bag fall. He could hear it thump against the rocky cliff side as the wind threw it around like a vicious child. Then, straining all his strength, he began to pull himself up.

[Himaran]

Bali saw Durin run towards him, and noticed the map blow off into the foliage. He grabbed the younger dwarf by the arm. "Stay! We can't have anyone getting lost again." Then he turned his attention to his brother.

Dwalin lay on the ground, writing in pain. The others gathered around him, not sure what action to take. Bali pushed through them. "Give me room, laddies!" He quickly inspected the bite on the twitching dwarf's leg, and grimaced.

"Poisoned. Erulon, prop up his shoulders so it doesn't spread. Nerin, dig some athelas out of the bags, quickly now!" The dwarf knelt again and squeezed the skin around the bite tightly, preventing the deadly venom from spreading. Pulling out his favorite knife, the gift of Halonir the elf, Bali cut into the skin and sqeezed harder. Thankfully, Dwalin was already unconcious, and did not feel the searing pain of the sharp blade. Slowly, the poison began to run out, mixing with blood and spilling out into the sandy ground. Nerin brought the athelas, and Bali administered it to the wound; wrapping the leg with a strip of cloth.

"Keep him propped up and let him rest. Tomorrow, he will feel terrible, but should be good as new in a day or two." It was just then that Bali realized that Gortek was missing.
_______________________

Erulon stayed with Dwalin while the other dwarves hurried after Gortek's path through the forest. Kain was at the front, with Bali just behind. Suddenly, Kain stopped, apparently leaning forward and rapidly losing his balance. Bali slowed and caught him, pulling the young dwarf back. Looking down, Bali could see Gortek pullin himself up. "Rope, rope!" He yelled. But the rope was in Gortek's pack... and the pack was gone. On an instant reaction, Bali eased over the edge, slowly climbing down towards Gortek. The dwarf was barely holding on, having fallen on a steep area. Bali reached out - "The axe! Hand me your axe! Gortex, holding onto a jut with one hand, pulled out his axe and reached out to Bali.

Grabbing the axe, Bali heaved it up onto the plateau. Pulling himself back up, he called the man and elf over. "Hold my legs!" He leaned over the edge headfirst, and grasped Gortek's hand with his own. "Pull!" And pull they did.

______________________


The entire company seemed to have a newfound respect for Bali following the two incidents. Thanks to his treatment, Dwalin was completely recovered by the following day; although he would walk with a slight limp for few weeks. Any sense of distrust was gone, and Bali was now close friends with Gortek. But the company's position had not completely improved. The flies still swarmed around them, and their map was gone.

"We must press on, or these insects will be our deaths," Bali remarked. And so they pressed on, following the edge of the ravine Gortek had nearly died in eastward.

[Arestevana]

Moments had passed, and Maulká grew increasingly edgy. Bestialán appeared to be weighing Nephil’s invitation, testing its merits. Maulká waited for a few tense moments, as eager as a child. It had been many months since she had hunted anything but squirrel, black or no. She shifted her weight impatiently, and Bestialán seemed to notice. The corner of his mouth moved slightly, in what might have been a smile. Then he turned to Nephil to reply.

Maulká bolted. It took some effort not to run, but she managed a quick walk out of the hall. Then she turned and hurried down a corridor, her eyes gleaming. A rack of javelins stood to one side of the hall, opposite a small table. Maulká pulled several of the weapons from their stand and examined them meticulously. If she found imperfections in the wood or disliked the weight of one of the weapons, she placed it back on the rack.

Finally selecting a javelin that was to her liking, the woman crossed to the table on the other side of the hall. From the tabletop she removed a large, square jar and a rag. She dipped the rag into the jar, she withdrew it, dripping liquid, and then ran it up and down the wood of her javelin. Some of the liquid dripped onto her fingers, tingling, but its slight acidic quality could not penetrate her leathery skin. When the liquid had saturated the wood, she leaned the javelin against the wall and brought out a small pouch from about her waist. Inside the pouch were half a dozen hollow darts. Maulká soaked these with liquid as well before returning the rag and the jar to their places on the table. The darts she returned to their pouch, except for one which she put in her mouth.

Returning to a main corridor, Maulka hurried toward the exit onto the jungle. I should be able to catch up to Nephil before he reaches the exit, and Bestialán, if he decided to come, she thought, quickening her step. She rolled the dart in her mouth across her tongue, relishing the bitter, oily taste of the poison. It could not harm her, but the acidic poison caused agony to many other creatures.

Maulká allowed herself a rare smile. It was a rather frightening expression; a bizarre, predatory leer with an uncanny intensity. Rolling the dart in her mouth again, Maulká produced a hissing whistle by blowing across the hollow end. The hallway became brighter as she approached the exit onto the jungle, and Maulká squinted. She halted at the bend where the main corridors met, keeping a corner between her and the blinding twilight of the jungle. Here she could adjust to the light and keep an eye on the tunnels to wait for Nephil and, maybe, Bestialán.

[Himaran]

The dwarves had walked for several hours when they were forced to stop their march along the plateau. Fallen trees and boulders blocked the entrance into a thin canyon. "Well, what do we do now," muttered Bali. But he kept the thought to himself.

"I suppose we must head into the jungle again. We cannot break out way through this with so few people." And so they did. The dwarves, grumbling and already shouting about flies, headed north into the jungle, as they could not climb down over the plateau without rope. They went around the bottom of the plateau, hoping to find a passage south to the sea.

________________________

Bali hacked his way through the weeds, thoroughly tired. When would the grass end? Some of Rhûn was a barren wasteland, and the rest was a dense jungle. To show some encouragement to those behind, Bali called back, "The grass is thicker. The sea must be near!" Then the tree fell, narrowly missing his head. The dwarf jumped back with a shout.

The others gathered to investigate. "Looks like it just fell naturely," remarked Durin. "No smooth cuts in the wood."

Haenir stared at it a bit longer. "But this is a young tree. It could not have fallen on its own. Here, look at its leaves. Green, full of life. This tree was cut!"

The company stood for a while in silence and shock. Then Rhûn must have inhabitants, and they were not friendly. But Bali broke the phase quickly. "Don't jump to conclusions, Haenir. It could have fallen over. After all, there are not tracks. Come! We must move on."

Later, as the dwarves walked, Haenir came up beside Bali. He wispered across to him, "You know as well as I do that that tree was cut! There are people living in Rhûn, and they wish to kill us!"

Bali wispered back, "There probably are, but why scare the younger dwarves without any proof? This jungle is doing things to their minds, and we don't need an assumption to send them into a terrified frenzy. We must keep the peace, Haenir."

The dwarf nodded, but still mumbled loudly, "Why do you always keep the peace by making me look stupid?"

[Carlas]

Durin sighed. They had been walking for hours and the weeds seemed to be getting thicker and thicker which made it nearly impossible to walk and even harder to run. Though Bali had mentioned it could mean they were getting closer to the lake, it did not really help lift Durin’s spirits. Nothing seemed to be going right, the trees and boulders that had forced them into the forest had been a big setback, no one had liked the idea going back into the forest.

It was now getting dark, and the dwarves decided to stop for the night, not wishing to get lost in the deep tangles of the forest. The company was mostly silent, except for the occasional grumble or complaint as they put their bags down and found a place they could sleep. The dwarves settled in quickly and soon fell asleep, tired from the day’s march.

~*~

The morning came quickly, and the dwarves woke up to the loud buzzing of flies in their ears. The air felt warmer than it had the last few days, and the dwarves were not terribly excited to be starting off through the forest again. Durin yawned and pulled himself up onto his feet but turned when he heard Narvi call out in surprise. “The food, it’s gone!” The dwarves stopped what they had been doing and turned to see their packs open and strewn across the ground.

The company stood around their empty packs in disbelief. All their food and gear was gone, and there were no signs of tracks. It was almost as if it had all vanished into thin air.

“We have not seen many animals in this forest, what would have done this?” Durin asked, looking over at Bali.

“Or who?” Haenir added walking up beside Durin

Bali looked at Haenir but ignored the comment. “There’s nothing we can do about it now. We have to keep going.” He said sadly. The others looked at eachother not sure if they agreed or not. Without any food they would starve, and they doubted they would find much to eat in this forest.

“He’s right.” Erulon said looking around at his companions. “We didn’t come this far to turn around now!” The small company nodded together, knowing that they could not go back empty handed. Bali gave a small smile, glad that they all agreed.

“Alright then, search to see if anything is left and let’s get going.” He called out to the group.

[Esgallhugwen]

Esgallhugwen's post

The situation was only getting worse, there was no sea, only jagged rocks and thick jungle. Nerin was terribly afraid of heights but managed to scale the cliff face without looking down.

And after all the hours of struggling through the jungle's dense vines and trees, they finally had a rest. Nerin was about to sit down when a startled gasp came from Dwalin.

The young Dwarf couldn't understand what Dwalin was carrying on about, until he looked down at his foot. His brown eyes widened at the dark slippery creature inches away from his feet, but as he was about to step on its head it made a sharp turn and headed for Dwalin instead.

Frantically the whole company began rushing around as the snake chased after Dwalin with incredible speed. Try as they might they couldn't stop the snake before the poor lad fell over and was bitten.

Bali ordered Nerin to fetch the athelas, the wound was poisoned and needed to be tended to fast. When things had settled down they noticed Gortek was missing.

Luckily for his sake they managed to pull him up quickly before he fell to the craggy bottom. With these unfortunate happenings the group seemed to become tighter, better knit.
__________________________________________________ ___

The map was lost, and when they awoke in the morning the rest of their provisions and gear had gone missing. Nerin nearly fell to his knees with tears,

All thats happened, what's it worth, we havn't seen anything promising, no sea, no treasure, nothing

With a sigh he moved around the camp to see if anything was left. Nerin had felt a chill go up his spine as soon as they had entered Rhûn, he knew something was out their watching them; someone had stolen what they had in their bags.

"Theres nothing left" Nerin said sadly looking across at Bali "whatever, whoever took all that we had, what are we to do now?"

"We must press on, we will not have come all this way for nothing" Bali said determined to find and claim what they came for.

"Yes we must press on even if we starve to death" Nerin muttered to himself.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Novnarwen's post

They awoke the next morning discovering that their food was gone. To Dwalin's great sorrow their provision couldn't be found. They searched the place, but nothing was left of their food. The Dwarf shook with rage. So much had gone wrong; the snake bite, the long way, which had turned to be unexpectedly hard to find, and now their food was gone. They barely had anything to eat at all! How were they going to survive in this jungle? Furious by their latest loss, Dwalin sulked all morning. Nothing could cheer him up, not even his longing for the treasures; if there were any in this horrible place. It struck him that this might be the end to their adventure, which made him even more unhappy about the fact that they had travelled so far for noting. If there indeed was a treasure, they would have to find it quickly however.

As Bali announced their departure from their current campsite, Dwalin rose from the stone he had settled on and went over to Bali.

"What's going on?" he asked frowning and eyes shifting. What was frightened him the most was Bali's look, which gave Dwalin the impression that he was uncertain. Suddenly, a feeling of anger arose in Dwalin and his eyes reflected this.

"It'll be okay," Bali assured him, patting him on the back. "Now, let's get going," he continued, muttering it into Dwalin's ear. He only wished Bali hadn't said this to comfort him. He hoped he had meant it, and that his was fully aware of what he was doing. Pressing forwards now, would mean so without much food and without a map. Both things had been important during their long journey, and now they had neither. Could they possibly survive here in the jungle, without the necessary provisions they had been depending on earlier? Where would the find their food, and what if the sea was too far away from them to reach it, as they didn't have much water left either? These thoughts scared him, but he remained silent, but sulky, as they set out for another days' journey still hearing Bali's words buzzing around in his mouth:

"We must press on, we will not have come all this way for nothing"

Dwalin avoided the other's looks. He felt sure they were talking behind his back, whispering foul words about him and their misfortune. However, he didn't really pay attention; he was trudging in his own pace, left in his own thoughts. Maybe he just didn't care anymore. Obviously something, or someone, was trying to prevent them for getting what the dwarven company was after. Dwalin just didn't understand why.

[bilbo_baggins]

Upon awakening one morning, Arasiniel and the others noticed rather quickly that their supplies and gear were gone, vanished. They were stuck rather frighteningly in the entrails of a dilemna.

Hiking onward, they fought trough feelings of despair. Wave after wave of doubt crept in. They hadn't reached the sea yet, they didn't know if this was really the jungle of Rhûn they had been searching for, and the local fauna didn't help much either.

Stepping on a snake, Aras barely saved himself from getting a bite on his leg. Cursing inwardly for letting himself be so careless, he glanced up at the others. They weren't faring that well either. It seemed obvious that no one particularly cared for the jungle.

Struggling on, they all stumbled for several miles. Dissension was beginning to grow rampant. Mutiny seemed imminent. Several dwarves, and even Aras, had some choice words for their seeming misadventure.

"It doesn't seem to be quite the picnic, nut-gathering outing you had planned, eh, Bali? Nothing ever turns out quite like we want," said Aras slowly, trying to stem the frustration and annoyance that was flooding his mind by bringing up the subject.

"I didn't think it would be easy. No one did," was Bali's curt, slightly spiteful reply. Aras didn't mind, he was expecting some reply like it, and looked forward to many more anger-filled comments on everyone's part.

Turning to Erulon, he asked, "So, we have traveled far now. I never got to ask you though, where do you come from? Arnor? Gondor, maybe?"

Glancing around while Erulon gathered some breath to use for words instead of the steady plodding that continued even in their dreams. He noted several angry faces, and many of the company were practically outright enraged and furious. He hoped that they would not act without reason or sense until the discovery of the sea perhaps, or some treasure. Yes, perhaps they could check their sweeping emotions 'til then.

[Himaran]

Eruantalon's Post: (from past days)


"I am from Gondor, good friend. I have no real home, and have always wandered far; however, after I met Bali and his father at Erebor, I have stayed under the mountain far more than in the south. But my heart still stays in Gondor. Alas! It is true... There is a story for this. I only tell it to my truest friends, but I consider every member of this company to be one. And so here is my tale, though I warn you, it is both strange and sad.

Many years ago when there was still a heir to the throne in Gondor. There was a guard by the name of Karis. One day he met a fair lady by the name of Niril. She was no common woman. She was quick witted and cunning. Her fother was a ranger as where all of her brothers and famly. They fell in love and where married. they had three sons. The eldest they named Korilen.

Many years passed untill Korilen was soon to become a man. He was a joyus boy who loved Arda deeply. Often he would be found on the roof top of his house staring at the stars. Often he would dream queer things and tell his fother and mother about what he had seen. One night he woke crying when his mother came to him.

She asked him what had troubeled him in his sleep. He told her of the white city and its waters that sang. The trees that whent up like mountains. The beauty of an endless spring. The halls of a great and beautifull place. Covered with pearls. The most beautifull ships that where burned on shores. How ugly things hated all the beauty. How they destroyed it and it made him cry. He only saw them before in beauty not ruin. But now they where gone. He hoped that one day he would go to see them. Now he knew that he never could. So when he awoke it made him weep.

His mother comforted him and made him honey and warm milk to get back to bed. But she knew he had seen things before his time.

So ever since that day he was weighted by the burden. Of the memory of thing that where long gone in days of old.

He grew older now. His time to become a guard of Gondor was at hand. His fother over saw his training. He was swift of foot. Keen of aim. As strong as his fother hoped he would be. So he grew to his full hight. He was a high guard of Gondor. He saw the day come when the stewarts of Gondor took to governing his home. He was still vary young though. He was not yet an old man,but he was into his man hood for ten years then.

One day he beheld a sight that took him back. Windamere fairest of all he had seen. Her fother was a ships captian for Gondor.

Windamere was fair skined tall and strong. Her hair was as gold as weat on the harvest. Her eyes deepest blue. Her face was striking and fair. She stired with the beauty of all of Arda. So that in her face was light to be seen.

When she first met Korilen she was struck by his mannors and friendship. He was as gentle and kind as any man she had ever known. But she noticed the pain of some unknown weight on him. So that time he met her he sang for her. He had been taught by his mother all the songs that where in Gondor apon his lute. He had enchaned her with his beautifull songs that night. Ever afer she would rember that night. For that was the moment that she had fallen under his spell.

A few seasons had gone by. The summer came now. He and Windamer where to be married. One day she was off to sea with her brothers. The moring was fair and calm. But as noon time came a storm was at hand. The seas tossed and rumbled under the planks of the boat. They where trying to make it to shore before it was too late. As they came towards shore the wind and water raised up apon them. Then there ship was thrased onto the shore. All of the people on that boat had fallen. None where lift all whrere gone.


Then the storm lifted shortly after. The seas calmed and the wind came to a gentle wisper. Then after hours of search her fother found her. They where not supposed to go so far out. There journy had taken too long. The storm came in when he saw them making there way to shore.

He weeped deeply there where the reckage lay. So he never sailed agian. For he looked with anger apon the sea ever after.

News came to Korilen of his love and her voyage. She was gone forever. Never agian would he see his fairest love. All was lost there was nothing left for him now. He took to traveling and wandering. Seasons came and gone, winter, spring, fall, and summer. But all was as coldest winter to him. Grey and warmthless life was for him.

He sat by the great river Anduin one day. Playing apon his lute and singing of his pains. The beauty he had seen and lost. The love that he had seen and lost. For days out of his count he sang. There was no day or night. Only his songs where left. He grew weary and hungered for the loss of his life. But he was not dying. He was left singing with out realease. He would fall into sleep then awake. Night had turned to day or day had turned to night. He was in shear torture.

Finaly he cried out to the river."Why do I keep living when all I seek is death? Why do I have the memory of things that are gone? What would I do if I cannot find death? Would I be left here till all time has gone? Is it not enough that I am mortal and doomed to die? Must also my burden be made higher?"


Then a great voice of them deep arose. "You have sung second born and I have listened. Now you will hear me."

The voice boomed so loud his ears ached. It was all around but had no source. It was like water but thrashed like a storm.

"You have been burdened by many thing Korilen. But I have not gone blind to what pains you. So I will give you a gift to ease your burden. Your life is shorter than the Oak or the river running. But know me for I am greater than all of these."

He knew now it was he who is master of the sea. He humbled himself and kneeled down now.

"I have not let you die! You will live on. You have many deed that need your work in. For that alone you should live. You will do the will of Eru. Now I give you your new name that all will know you by. Eruantalon do the good that is needed. You are spared for this reason. Now seek out those who would lose what you hold dear. Do not let darkness mar what you love."

Now new strength was in him as one who has seen the Valar.

"There are gifts you should be given. Osse would help you if you go to the great sea. Now look apon me and know all of the great works are not gone. Know no fear or pain for I have shown you all is never lost."


With that Ulmo was gone. He had given Eruanalon great strength. There was tasks for him to do. He would also meet the servent of Ulmo. He would give him what he needed.


So now he journed to the sea. His body had never known such strength. He was now ready for all to come in this life. He was to help all that had needed him. He would not be alone in life. All was saved but his tasked where to be many.

There apon the shores he sang again. the song had reached Osse. There he stood on the shores. With him was another of his kind. So they said to him.

"I am the servent of Ulmo. This is the servent of Lorien. We where bid to give you your gift. Your suffering was heard by Manwe. He was moved by your songs as was Ulmo and orthers. We where given this gift that was to ease your burden. It will give you what is needed. For no man has made song of such pain as yours. Take now and help who need you."

Then he gave to me the instrument that I have now. My life is ever with it. One day I shall sing apon the shores. Then they will come for my instrument. Then I will find a place to lay ever after. No songs will I sing or battels will I see. I will have the rest only the mortal know.

For with this instrument I have known the friendship of all of the living things of Arda. In me there is memory of long forgotten things. I am old but do not seem it. I am young but weary. Still I find happyness in those I have helped and will help. All of the fair things left in Arda I have seen. But now is the fading time. So my time here grows shorter.


That is the story of my beginning, my friend. The end is only known when it comes. The gifts I was given to help in battle must go back to the people that gave them. My instrument will go back where it came from. Then I will know rest."

[Himaran]

Bali pushed on through the jungle at the head of the party, tired and weak. They had lost their provisons, their map, and their equipment. All they had left were weapons and jungle; the latter of which each would have traded for a slice of warm bread. The dwarf knew that they would soon grow hungry. He had to find food; meat, preferably. After hunger set in, muntiny would be at hand. And Bali did not want to argue with Haenir again.

The elf happened to walk up beside Bali at that time, and the dwarf talked to him in a low tone. "You are an elf, with senses keener then most. I will stop the party up ahead. Can you slip away and scout ahead a little?"

"Certainly, master dwarf." The elf seemed surprised that a dwarf even wished to talk to him, let alone ask him to perform a favor. And so he moved off into the jungle.

Walking swiftly, the dwarf did not see the sharp rock approaching. Suddenly he gasped in pain and sat heavily on the hard, dusty ground. Blood was pouring from his foot, and searing pain shot through his entire leg. Bali quickly pulled the single napkin from his pocket and rapped it around his foot. He tied it off, and it held the blood. But the pain remained.

"We must halt for a while," he announced, much to the relief of the rest of the company. And then it attacked.

A warg of some sort leap out of the underbrush. It knocked Bali over and, ignoring him, charged the rest. It had an incredibly long and sinewy tail, which it used as a weapon, cracking Kain over the head and rendering him unconcious. It bullied through everyone, not stopping untill all had tripped or fallen. Then it turned for the kill, picking Durin as its target.

Bali, being hit first, already had his wind back; and stumbled to his feet. Seeing the creature plod towards the lying form of Durin, he pulled a hatchet out of his belt and hurled it. The flying weapon hit the warg in the side, and the creature turned in anger and pain. Pulling up his axe, Bali growled. "Alright, come and finish it laddie! The warg charged him. Bali ducked to the side and hit a glancing blow on its flank, but it whirled around and charged again. Bali stepped back and tripped over a rock. As he tumbled to the ground, the elf burst into the clearing and released a taunt shaft at the warg. The arrow hit the beast in the neck; it gurgled, struggled, and died.

Standing gingerly and favoring his right foot, Bali turned to the members of his company slowly moving around. "I guess meat's back on the menu, lads!"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir had eaten some gamey things in his day, but the taste of Warg was one he was not likely to forget. He had thought that days of walking through a dangerous, insect infested jungle on short rations would have rendered him ready to eat just about anything, but the vile taste of the beast that Bali had brought down was almost more than he could bear. Still, in the end his hunger overcame his repugnance and he found himself gobbling down slice after slice of the beast.

The food went some way to repairing his mood, but still the anger and anxiety that seethed within him raged. He was not sure what or who, precisely, he was angry at. For days he had directed his rage at Bali, assuming that the discontent he felt was the result of poor leadership. But recent events had forced him to confront the very difficult fact that Bali was, indeed, a capable and competent Dwarf, fully in charge of himself and the situation. He had not panicked as had the others when the snake bit Dwalin; he had kept his head level when Gortek went over the cliff, and that had been a fine piece of fighting with the warg. Even Bali’s obstinate refusal to confront openly the truth of the fact that they were being stalked by the mysterious denizens of this land had some sense in it. Hænir did not agree with the decision to keep quiet about their danger, but he respected Bali’s right to decide that.

Hænir tore off another tough hunk of meat and chewed it contemplatively as he pursued his elusive thoughts. His unease had been growing ever since they had come out of the mountains. It was not the thought of their danger – which was real – for he had spent a lifetime preparing for adventures such as these, and he had been through worse (well, just as bad). He heard Nerin grumble about the insects, and his eye fell upon the sullen aspects of the other Dwarves. Like the flash of gold suddenly chipped free by the pick he understood that his temper had been roused not by Bali’s lack of leadership – for there had been no lack of leading, on the contrary, sometimes there had been more than enough leading for Hænir’s tastes – but by the company’s inability to cohere into the type of tightly-knit group that he had spent his life amongst. A sudden, overwhelming longing for the King’s Companions came over him, but he was hundreds of leagues from them now.

A shift in the wind brought an odd scent to Hænir and he froze, the better to catch it. It was an odd scent, one he had never encountered before, and it quickly vanished, as though the animal had sensed that the wind had come round. Only predators kept downwind of what they were following. Making as casual a show of it as possible, Hænir got up and, taking his axe in hand, said that he was going for more firewood. He leaned down to speak with Bali, quickly whispering that he should come. Bali was surprised, and was about to protest that he could not come as his foot was still paining him terribly, but seeing the glint in Hænir’s eye, he dropped his meat and joined him.

As they disappeared into the woods, Hænir quietly explained the scent he had picked up and indicated the direction it had come from. They pressed ahead into the woods, Bali wincing with each step but determined not to let Hænir see his discomfort, their axes at the ready. They passed through a screen of brush and into a small clearing. They both instantly saw the tracks of several people about, as well as signs that someone had lain on the ground as though in hiding. The signs were so fresh that some of the grass was still unbending from the sudden release of a person’s weight. Immediately, the Dwarves’ axes were up and prepared. Bali was the first to speak. “It is as I feared, we are being followed.”

“Aye,” growled Hænir, “and we have been for some days now.” He did not mention the falling tree, nor did he need to, for Bali understood him. “Where do you think they’ve gone?”

Bali shrugged and looked about. “I don’t know. The tracks are confusing.”

“Well, whoever they are, I just wish that they would attack and be done with it!”

Bali looked squarely at Hænir. “You would not wish so if it were to happen. We are in no shape to hold off a sustained attack of any kind, much less so now than ever we were when the orcs came upon us.” He saw Hænir flinch at the memory, and recalled the shame Hænir still felt at having left Durin and Dwalin behind. “I know that the memory galls you – I am afraid, Hænir, that you have become far too incautious because of it. Just because you were unable single-handedly to defeat the orcs, don’t look now to throw away your life in a hopeless battle simply to prove to yourself that you are not a coward.”

Hænir’s eyes shifted away from Bali’s as his face flushed red beneath his beard. Until this moment, he had not realized this about himself – and his respect for their leader went up once more. “Well,” he said roughly, to cover his emotion, “I do not think there will be any fight this day; whoever is stalking us has apparently decided to keep in hiding for now. Let us rejoin the others.” They turned and headed back to the camp. As they were nearing the others, a branch fell from above them and they only were just able to leap aside as is crashed through the brush. A quick examination revealed only that the branch was healthy and had no reason to fall, but there was no indication that it had been acted upon by anyone. Still, Hænir and Bali exchanged knowing looks before hurrying back to join their companions.

[Saraphim]

From his hiding place in the canopy, Nephil could see two of the small, thick creatures inspect where they had been only moments before.

Leaning in closer for a better view of the dwarves, the like of which he had never seen before, he heard snatches of their whispered conversation as they walked away.

They know we're here, thought Nephil. Interesting. No catch has ever known of thier peril. Before its too late, of course.

Nephil did not know where the other two had gone, only that there had been an uneasy truce as all three had seperatly picked up the tracks and scent of the dwarves.

After he had realized that Maulka and Bestialan were on the trail as well, Nephil had taken the intiative and stolen the traveler's provisions and map. He had feasted well on thier strange food, and laughed quietly at thier map, which was incredibly wrong.

The dwarves were now so weak that a simple wild-dog attack (which Nephil sespected had something to do with Bestialan or Maulka) had brought them down.

The dog's flesh will bring them sustainance. If you are to strike, then do it soon. Nephil thought, eyes narrowing.

[Himaran]

As soon as Bali and Haenir came out of the woods, they saw that the others were looking healthier. The warg meat, while foul, was of hearty sustenance; and left a reviving fire in the stomach of one consuming it. But they also knew that natives were at hand, and were not at all friendly. The party had to leave, at once. "Pack the remaining meat in dry leaves, and gather your weapons," Bali said. "We leave immediately!"

He motioned toward the thicket where the remains over the warg had been buried. "There may be other... things... waiting to harm us. The creatures of this jungle have proven to be deadly." But he did not elaborate further. The dwarves followed his instructions and, within a half-hour, were ready to leave.

Bali's foot was still throbing, as he had refused to use their remaining athelas for 'just a cut.' He reminded them that there might be more serious injuries to deal with at a later time. The dwarf did not, of course, mention that he suspected those injuries might come from poisoned weapons.

The group left the campsite, moving into the jungle once more. Bali continued to lead them east, following the plateau. Suddenly, the trees gave way to a sort of canyon. Bali was overjoyed when Erulon announced that it led through the entire plateau; heading south. The sea! It had to lead to the sea! "We follow the canyon," Bali yelled in glee. "The sea must not be far."

[Arestevana]

"Spirits protect this Spirit." Maulká said softly, standing over the small earthen mound that marked where the remains of the wolf had been buried. She had been fond of the creature, probably due to its vicious nature, and felt some regret at its death. Still, it had served her well enough, though its failure to kill one of the queer catch-creatures had been disappointing. Leaving the mound, Maulká slipped into the jungle.

As she walked along, Maulká kept to the deepest shadows, cursing the sun. For a while she had thought of trying to find Nephil or Bestialán, who presumably had left ahead of her. Now, though, she was enjoying hunting on her own. It irked that Nephil had beat her to the supplies first, but the wolf had been amusing. The fallen trees and branches were a nice piece of work, but she could not tell who had set them, even when one fell as she watched.

Ahead, the creatures had reached a narrow canyon. They slowed, and Maulká took the opportunity to examine them more closely. They were stout, beast-like creatures, but they spoke like men, and several men traveled with them. She did not recognize the elf, never having seen one before. Creeping closer to the group, Maulká saw that one of the creatures had momentarily set down the pack it carried next to a rotten log. And in one hollow portion of the decayed wood... Maulká slipped forward silently and caught the snake behind its head. She undid the top of the pack and dropped the animal inside before closing it up again. Then she vanished back into the trees.

The band of catch-creatures continued through the canyon, and Maulká became nervous. If they continued, the creatures would pass right by the entrance to the caves. She didn't want them to find that entrance, though she knew know reason why it was upsetting. They would never survive in the tunnels. Perhaps it was that there had never been any fighting in the caves. Knifings, yes, but never outright battle.

The lessening of the foliage inside the canyon would make it difficult to follow the creatures, Maulká realized. After a moment's thought, she walked a short ways into the canyon and began climbing the rocky wall. The walls of the canyon grew closer as they rose, and at the top they were only a few feet apart, leaving the canyon in shadow. Climbing through the narrow opening, Maulká discovered that if she lay flat on the ground beside the rift she could drop stones into the canyon while remaining unseen by those below. Selecting a stone about the size of her fist, she moved along the rift, seeking her quarry.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The party moved quickly along the canyon floor, fearful of another attack…and of the nameless dread that stalked them with such expert skill. Twice more that day Hænir was certain that he caught wind of that same elusive scent, and once he thought, for a moment, that he caught sight of something or someone darting through the branches of the trees more than the height of two Dwarves’ above their heads. He called Bali’s attention to it, but even his quick eyes could see nothing and they pressed ahead all the more quickly.

Hænir did not know how aware the other Dwarves were of their danger, for they had fallen into an even deeper silence than usual. Their hardships had come upon them so suddenly and so unremittingly that they had all been plunged into despair. Even the mad Gortek looked uncharacteristically subdued as he trudged along at the side of the straggling line, only occasionally jerking his head or squinting his eye. The Ranger and the Elf seemed a little better off than the Dwarves, but not much so. The Man in particular seemed to be suffering from the insects. For Hænir, the worst part of the trip was rapidly becoming the heat; encased as he was in his suit of armour and bearing his heavy axe, the sticky warmth of the jungle rose around him like a thick and uncomfortable blanket, stifling his breath.

At one point they reached a small path that headed off to the East. They peered down its length, and some among the party were eager to follow it, for it appeared to be well trodden and would be a much easier route than the one they were attempting to hack out through the dense growth. To Hænir, however, the path only sent a shiver of apprehension down his spine – it if were well used, he did not relish the thought of meeting the people whose feet had beaten it down so well. The snatch of rhyme that he had heard all those long weeks ago in Laketown, all but forgotten, came to him:

The night like daggers glistening,
Cry out for the sun,
Fear a death by darkness,
In the land of Rhûn

He turned to the others in the party saying, “This path may be easier, boys, but it does not lead the way we want it to go! I believe that Bali is right; if we are to find the Sea, we must keep ahead along the floor of the Canyon and follow it down.” He caught Bali’s eye as he spoke and saw that their leader both understood what Hænir was doing, and appreciated how he was trying to do it.

It was Nerin who replied to Hænir’s suggestion. “Perhaps this path will lead us to a village or even a city where we can obtain new food and gear,” he suggested. “At the very least, it might give us a way to get out from under this infernal jungle and away from,” he swatted the back of his neck, “away from these infernal stinging insects!”

Hænir could see Bali starting to reply but all conversation was interrupted by a blood curdling howl from up the very path they were debating about. All eyes stared down its length, fearful of what might appear, but there was nothing more. Still, it was enough to decide the issue – they headed down the Canyon. They had not walked for very long when a scent that was familiar to some in the party, but wholly alien to Hænir, came to them through the thick reek of the jungle. Bali quickened their pace despite his pronounced limp and they all pushed ahead to follow. Through the great trunks of the trees they caught sight of a distant glimmer, and there came to them a fresher breeze than any they had felt since coming to this land. The party practically broke into a run as they made for the edge of the Sea…

[Saraphim]

Nephil watched from the treetops as the strange travelers raced for the banks of the sea.

Never a very pious man, Nephil believed few of the religious tales surounding the lake. But no outsider had ever found thier way to the lake, and, pious or not, Nephil felt a strong desire to protect what his people held sacred.

He watched as the stubby men and thier more human-like companions rejoiced at the fresh water, drinking and even bathing in the precious water.

Nephil dropped down from the tree into the thick foliage and peered out from the underbrush. He heard Maulká come up behind him, but did not turn.

"This," she said, seething,"Is an insult too great to ignore!"

Nephil narrowed his eyes at the beach and its occupants. "They know not what they do, but by everything I have ever seen on this earth, they will live to regret it."

Nephil seemed to feel Maulká agree with him.

"We must find Bestialan," she said,"These ingratiating fools will pay dearly, and I do not want Bestialan to miss out on our revenge."

Nephil nodded. "We attack at night, the first darkness after we find Bestialan."

[Himaran]

Will Witfoot's post

Gortek marched on moodily beside the straggling line formed by his ragged and weary comrades, taking his sword to any bush or clump of weeds blocking his path. He swatted at a huge beetle possessed of a metallic sheen crawling on the back of his neck and spat out a curse. The accursed jungle was slowly wearing the party down, and even the mad dwarf's endurance was stretched to the limit.

He glanced at the young dwarves shuffling along like corpses with a gait crippled by the heat and eyes dimmed by fatigue and hardship. He knew that it was undeniably worse for the beardlings, who were not used to such hardship and danger. He wondered if they would be the breaking point for this party, the part from whence would begin the destruction of this expedition.
While Bali was a natural and able leader, the group lacked the bonding and camaraderie so desperately vital to any adventurers. You could never know when your life was going to be in the hands of your companions, after all, and the group was only as strong as it's weakest member.

The party continued to progress with a pace crippled by the harshness of the surrounding environment. After trudging on for what seemed like eternity they reached a well trodden path which seemed to head to the east. They stopped for a moment to debate about their next course and Gortek slumped down onto a boulder lying by the side of the path. It was important to harbor one's strength and rest whenever possible when facing such a cruel aspect of nature.
He felt more weary than he could ever remember feeling, in body as well as in spirit. Normally his indomitable happiness prevented him from loosing heart and gave him the strength to go on, but here, in this green, rotting hell that was the jungle he couldn't help feeling his age.

Hearing a bestial screech sounding from farther along the debated path, the group quickly changed their decision to take up along it. Instead, Bali and Haenir led them along the floor of the Canyon yawning in front of them and the march continued.

Gortek was jerked from his reverie by cries of "The Sea!" and "We found it at last!". Almost not daring to believe his ears he glanced up and spotted the silvery gleam visible from between the great trees, a gleam that could only point out to one thing.

With a new found vigor, Gortek joined the rest of the party in a wild dash for the Sea. Soon the trees parted to make way for the expanse of fine, white sand that was the shore. Gortek gained back his cheerfulness in an eye blink, giving a wild whoop of joy. Even the devil-spawned insects had been left behind into the jungle.

The moment Bali exclaimed that the water was drinkable, Gortek plunged his entire head into it, gulping and swallowing greedily. He resurfaced and hastily pulled off his leather gauntlets and plunged in again, this time sinking his arms into the sweet water up to the elbows. The coolness felt unbelievably good after weeks spent in the humid jungle.

After drinking enough and bathing in the Sea Gortek sat on the golden sand of it's shores, smoking the last of his tobacco. Behind him a few of the young dwarves were setting up the tent and getting a fire going. It looked like they might yet conquer this land.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Himaran's post

The sea was beautiful.... so beautiful. Bali and the others halted their print on its sandy shores, admiring its sunlit waves from a distance. "It's really more of a lake, with two inlets," the dwarf explained. Walking out into the water, he bent down and scooped up a handful. When he tasted it, a smile spread out over his kind features. "Freshwater, as I had expected. We can drink it!"

The dwarves literally dove into the water, lapping up the cool liquid in heavy gulps. They had been without drink for over a day, and without a bath for weeks. Now the party could enjoy both! The young dwarves started to play, and soon a waterfight was in full swing. The water had a soothing effect, not only to the throat but to the mind as well.

Bali suggested that they dry off and break camp, and the group did so. There was nothing much to camp with, as only Durin still had a pack. Luckily, it contained the tent, and so they would have a little shelter for the night. "Dwalin, get the tent out," Bali shouted over the din of the other dwarves (who were arguing about the best way to light a fire). The young dwarve pulled up the strap only to leap backwards. A snake reared its head and hissed balefully, slithering down to the ground. Dwalin, who immediately remembered his past experience with a similar creature, did not turn his back but readied his axe instead. Leaping to the side, the dwarf swung downwards, severing the reptile in two. "I wonder how it got in there," he remarked, before continuing his work.

That night, the entire party stood at the sea, marvelling the shining lights which glowed brilliantly in its depths. "It must be treasure," Durin said. "Something of great value." The group began discussing the best way to investigate, but decided that it was best to wait until the morning. Bali was preocupied, however, watching Kain. The dwarf was staring intently at the lights, and had not taken part in the conversation. Bali hurried up to him, and took the lad by the arm, walking back towards the camp. "Come. You are on second watch tonight, so get some sleep.

In the middle of the night, the camp was woken up by a bloodcurdling scream. Bali rushed out of the tent, half-dressed and clutching his axe, and saw what he had feared. Kain was floundering about, a good twenty yards into the sea. He was trashing, as if ants were crawling all over his body. As his companions hurried to his side, Bali threw caution to the wind and dashed towards the shore. Diving into the cool water, (as he was an excellent swimmer), the dwarf struck out toward Kain.

Just then, Bali felt his entire body come alive in pain. Bright lights surrounded him. Then he realized it - they were glowing fishes! Flesh eaters! The fact that the treasure they had all come for was nothing more than a hive of devilish fish caused his heart to sink; and his body did so as well. Then an arm reached out, and he found himself being pulled up on dry land.

Coughing up heaves of saltwater, Bali looked out towards the sea. Kain was gone! The dwarf broke down into sobs, knowing that his companion had been pulled under and drowned. The entire company stood in silence, except for the sound of shedding tears. Many of the younger dwarves had never lost a friend in battle or by accident before; it was a completely new feeling of emptiness and loss.

"It was my fault," Dwalin remarked later. "He told me he was going to go out and find the treasure, to prove that he was strong and old enough to look after himself."

"No it wasn't, lad," said Bali. "If anyone is to blame, it it me. I saw the look in his eye, and put him on watch anyway."

"Tain't anyone's fault!" Shouted Haenir suddenly. "It is truely a terrible thing, but he was foolish. It was not a matter of leadership."

But at that moment, another howling screech was heard. Eruantalon jumped to his feet, only to be knocked to the ground. A dark figure leaped over his fallen form, and headed for the rest of the company, blade in hand...

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Novnarwen's post

Reaching the sea appeared to be the best thing on this journey yet. Finally, Dwalin too, cheered up. It was such a beautiful place. The water gave a trickling noise, which comforted Dwalin. The blue-green surface was bathed in the fading sun, and the dwarf smiled once more. He couldn't believe it at first however. The whole scenery, which he found himself in, seemed so surreal. It was like a dream-world which you only enter when you're asleep. It was idyllic. Yes, even Dwalin could put his hatred towards the jungle to rest now.

Ordered to get the tent out, he strode off and unpacked it. To his horror he discovered a long slimy oblong thing, having a great time inside the tent. Trying to relax and be calm, he grabbed his axe. Halfway running after it, he tried to make an end to its pitiful life, but missed by an inch. He dried his brow with the back of his hand, sweating like mad. He realised soon enough though, that he had been able to be perfectly civilised while handling the little creature. Proud of his accomplishment, he carried on; putting up the tent properly.

Nevertheless of Dwalin's accomplishment, the night ended terribly. To Dwalin's surprise, Kain had gone over to Dwalin's side just after putting up the tent, telling him (amongst other things) that he longed to prove himself useful. Dwalin who hadn't considered this to be at all very suspicious, saw to his surprise later that very evening, Kain braking the glassy surface of the water. Struggling to get up for air, Dwalin turned his head towards him, blinked, and saw him no more. He didn't realise that Bali had gone after him, but was already on his way back as the shore as the devilish fishes had indeed been Kain's downfall.

Unable to react as he would usually have done, he stood stiff watching the water stream over his companion. "No!" he found himself screaming, but there was nothing he could do. Reproaching himself, being shocked, he claimed his feeling of guilt. "It was my fault. He told me he was going to go out and find the treasure, to prove that he was strong and old enough to look after himself." He didn't hear Bali's reply, but he could see by the look in his eye that he wasn't blaming Dwalin for this accident However, nothing could help Dwalin now. Too shocked for his own good, he didn't notice a man coming out of nowhere attacking the dwarves.

[Himaran]

Fordim Hedgethistle's Post:

The strange Man from the forest whirled and darted amongst the company like a demon from the stories of old, his knives flashing in the moonlight like the movements of an animals talons. He drove at Bali first, who had been amongst the first of the Dwarves to recover from the shock of his attack, and had it not been for the quick reactions of Durin and Hænir, who were soon at their leader’s side, it would surely have gone badly for Bali. At first, Hænir was confident that the battle would soon be over, for they were many against a lone warrior – but the speed with which the Man moved, and his almost magical ability to see through the darkness that cloaked the beach were amazing.

Having been countered in his initial attack on Bali, the Man swung on Hænir. The Dwarf was able to counter the lightning-like blow with the shaft of his axe, and with a speed that almost matched that of his enemy, Hænir swung for the Man’s legs. So practiced was Hænir in this move that it did not occur to him it would fail, but the Man leapt into the air as the axe whirred through the space where his legs should be. Simultaneously, he lunged at Hænir with his knife, and only by lowering his head just in time was the Dwarf able to catch the point of the weapon upon the dauntless steel of his helm, rather than have the blade sink deep into the eye socket for which it had been aimed. Like a cat, the Man twisted in the air and came down on Hænir’s back, driving him into the earth, he then spun and threw himself upon the other members of the party.


Himaran's Post:

Bali watched the man drive Hænir into the earth, only to leap up again and attack the company. He struck at Nerin first, but the young dwarf held his ground, and slashed the attacker's arm before diving to the side. Bali charged towards him, and swung his axe in a long swipe aimed at his opponent's back. But the native must have sensed him there, as he dropped to the ground underneath the dwarf and then lurched upwards, sending Bali flying over him and onto his back.

The attacker charged again, but the dwarf jerked his knife out of it's case and slashed his enemy's leg. "Charge him at once, overpower him," Bali yelled. As he pulled himself up, knife in hand, the man disappeared. Suddenly, the dwarf whirled, sensing the wistling of the blade behind him...


Fordim Hedgethistle's Post:

As he struggled to his feet, Hænir heard the hue and crash of a hotly contested battle. He turned to rejoin the fray and realised that their opponent had cunningly managed to lead them all closer to the edge of the forest and under the darkness of the overhanging canopy where his apparent ability to see through the darkness was giving him the advantage. Hænir watched as two Dwarves fell with wounds, but the inky shadows beneath the trees made it impossible for him to tell who had been injured. He heard the unmistakeable sound of Bali’s voice crying out orders, but the clamour drowned out his words. Hænir stood beyond the edge of the shadows, looking in with the greatest intent. As luck would have it, a sudden breeze tossed the branches of the tree that shrouded the battle, allowing a single shaft of wan moonlight to pierce the scene. In that moment, Hænir saw the form of the Man swing his blade at Bali, who was turning towards him.

Without having to think of what he was doing, Hænir hefted his axe above his head with both arms, and with a well-practiced move he sent it whirling through the air. There was the sound of tempered steel rending bone and flesh, and a slow strangled cry. The wind died and the shadows once more fell over the scene. Hænir rushed forward, unsure if he had hit the Man or his leader. He called out, “Bali! Bali! Are you all right, lad?”

“Aye,” came the slow reply. “Better at any rate than this fellow.” Hænir came to Bali’s side and looked down at their enemy where he lay with Hænir’s axe buried in his spine.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Novnarwen's post

As surprising as a lightening from clear sky, the attacker had come forwards and gone straight towards Bali. No one where really prepared for this battle, but the dwarves and the three travellers, where cast, unwillingly, into it. Dwalin looked nervously around, rising his axe aggressively. He turned to see Bali being cast into the air, landing several feet away from the attacker. The unknown man turned his attention to Hænir, who amongst others was backed up by Durin.

Dwalin wanted to rush over at Hænir’s side too, as his companion was forced to the ground by the barbarian. However, in his eagerness as he was about to run over to help, he tripped and fell to the ground. His face buried in the sand, he felt his nose crack. Blood streamed out of it, and made the sandy ground red. All the same he could feel his back ache and in his leg, where he had been bitten by the snake, pain arose and made him shiver. Unable to rise, by fear or pain he didn't know, he lay watching the wild man attacking his companions.

After a few seconds, which felt like minutes, the pain in his back and leg stopped and Dwalin made himself able to stand up. Axe raised, anger in his eyes, he darted over to the wild man. But just as he came over, ready to give his utter most in the battle, which had come like a surprise, he heard the sound of Hænir's heavy breath going over to a sigh. He had flung his blade into the man's flesh. Writhing in agony, the attacker fell to the ground.

Being witness to this he could think of no one other than Bali. Being assured he was okay, Dwalin breathed heavily; happy that everyone was alive.

[Himaran]

Arestevana's post

“Bestialán!” Maulká breathed, watching the man charge the loathsome creatures who had desecrated the sacred waters. Maulká watched, thinking, He is a fool, but only if he is killed. If he is victorious, he will be called hero. Aloud she said, “It seems we have found Bestialán.”
“He is outnumbered,” said Nephil. “He will be killed.”
“Yes, and he doesn’t need our help to do that,” Maulká replied. “I have no wish to die fighting beside a fool.”

They watched as the dwarves recovered from Bestialán’s wild attack. Once the element of surprise had faded, numbers quickly turned the battle. Even the native warrior’s superior reach and skill brought down only a few of his opponents, whether dead or merely injured Maulká could not tell.

She and Nephil watched the battle impassively. Bestialán fought well, but he was soon overwhelmed. The faint moon was sinking when Nephil murmured, “Spirits protect his spirit,” and the sounds of battle were silenced. Maulká observed the creatures return warily to their camp. “They fight with more skill than I had expected, and their numbers are too great for us to overcome.” She noted. “We should return to the caves. Others will join the fight when they hear of the sullying of the sacred water, and Bestialán’s family should know of his death.”

Nephil agreed, and they crept past the creature that stood guard nearby, moving more quickly as they reached the canyon entrance. They hurried toward the eastern tunnel, merging with shadows in the hour before dawn.

[Himaran]

Bali and his companions stood around the native's body in silence. Erulon was helping the few injured or unconcious, but most were too shocked to even move. They had been attacked by a person - a person from a strange land. A deadly warrior had nearly overpowered an entire company of fighters; if the dwarves had ever felt despair and fear, it was now. Bali decided that the trance needed to end. "Bury the body, and collect your weapons. There is no treasure here; just a cursed jungle and a treacherous ocean. It is beautiful, yes, but evil. It has already claimed one of our live's, and that is too many for me!"

It took two hours for the wounded to recover enough to travel, and Bali was already nervous. His and Haenir's suspicions had been fulfilled: Rhûnian's did exist, and were hostile to outsiders. They had to get out of the land as soon as possible, despite the fact that no treasure had been found. Rhûn was a place of deception; it was a place where nightmares, not dreams, came true.

"We head north up the canyon," Bali announced. "Than west along its edge, until we can scale it and find a way back over the mountains. We will make it, but not without cost." He was quiet for a moment, and suddenly walked away from the others and down towards the sea. Finding a piece of driftwood, he etched a sentence in it with his knife, before placing it in a nitch in a group of rocks. A single arrow shot from the elf's bow, soaring into the sun before dipping and falling down towards the sea. It vanished into the waters, sinking down through the depths until resting on the rocky bottom. "Goodbye, Kain," Bali said loudly. "May your new journey be blessed." Then he turned, and the entire company followed him away from the sea.

______________________


The final blow to the company's already strained morale was when the weather turned for the worse. There had been no rain for the weeks that they had travelled in Rhûn, and now a turrential downpour drenched them as the weary band heading north through the canyon. The wind began to blow, and it seemed as if the entire rock passage would give way. "We must get out of this," Arasinel yelled over the storm. Then they saw the crack in the eastern side of the plateau. The group had not ventured there previously, but the prospect of getting to a dry overhang dispersed past fears. "Perhaps we will find a dry place to stay until this quits," shouted Gortek. "Common, lads!"

Everyone waited to hear Bali's opinon. He seemed nervous, looking behind them and scanning the ground. Then he shrugged. "What could it hurt? Perhaps you are right." And so they entered the passage.

(in progress - will finish post later)

[Saraphim]

"Elders, we have found something beyond anything that has been seen in our lands before"

Nephil stood before the Council of Elders. Maulka stood to his side, arms crossed.

Nephil had rarely spoken to the Elders, and it was a rather new experience to speak in a room that was filled, not only with the leaders of his community, but with many watchers who stood behind him as well. Nephil took a deep breath and continued:

"There is at this moment a group of travelers in the forest, whose very visage is unkown to us. All but two are small and rather stubby, and the others, while in shape like us, are different in many ways. One seems... "

But Nephil could find no words to describe the human-like creature that was not human, and, after a hesitation, went on:

"The entire group seems to have been looking for something, but what it is is impossible to tell. They found...they found the Lake, and disgraced it with thier foul, outsider flesh. One was destroyed by the holy fish, and it was then the Bestialan attacked. He fought well, but the sheer numbers of the enemy were overpowering. Maulka and I had no wish to ourselves join him in death, so we watched from the shadows as he was killed. After the battle, we came directly here, to seek your..."

A rustling and voices from the back of the room interrupted Nephil, who turned, along with everyone else to see a gaurd rush panting in.

"We have intruders, in the caves!" the gaurd said, "Strange folk, outsiders!"

"It is them," said Nephil, turning back to the Council, "With your permission..."

The Head of the Council spoke, his old voice creaking, but full of strength, "Go, you two, and take many hardy warriors along. Prove to them what it means to trespass in the land of Rhun!"

Nephil nodded and ran from the room, followed by Maulka and the gaurd, and many others who were armed and ready to fight.

[Will Witfoot]

Gortek rubbed the scar the strange jungle man had inflicted upon his brow, just above his right eye. The rain was making the wound itch, but it was better than loosing sight from the other eye as well. That would be inconvenient to say the least.

The others trudged on beside him, grey panthoms behind the fleeting curtain of rain, silent as the dead. All their hopes about the fabulous riches of Rhûn had been dashed, and they would indeed be lucky if they managed to get out at all. The whole place had turned out to be one big death-trap.

The rain lashed at them like a thousand tiny deamon whips, and the wind tore at the members of the group like some savage beast clawing at it's prey.

"We must get out of this!" Yelled Arasiniel, his words barely audible over the storm. Gortek couldn't agree more. The stone floor of the Canyon was slippery from the rain and at some parts flowing water made it nigh impossible to move on.
The question was; where could they go? There was no shelter nearby, and camping on the spot was out of question. That was when Gortek's gaze fell upon a crack in the eastern side of the plateau. The others noticed it too, and all misgivings that each of them harbored for this land were laid aside by the prospect of shelter.

"Perhaps we will find a dry place to stay until this quits," shouted Gortek. "Common, lads!" Balin agreed to this, and they entered the cave.

Gortek was glad to get out of the rain. In all his journeys he had never witnessed such a storm. It seemed Rhûn was hell-bent on hounding them to their deaths rather than letting them escape, unpunished for their sacrilege.
To distract himself from these dark thoughts he began to explore the cave. It turned out to be many caves rather than one, linked together by tunnels uncounted. Whether originally hand-crafted or formed by nature it was difficult to say for certain, but Gortek only hoped that the caves held no unpleasant surprises. There had been enough of those recently, and even the mad dwarf's spirit was at it's lowest ebb to date.

[Esgallhugwen]

Everything was attacking his senses and perception, the heat was fatigueing and the vile insects were trying to get into Nerin's moist eyes. Sweat dripped off his nose, the meat they had all eaten earlier gave him strength but it left a foul thick taste in his mouth.

Maybe it might not have been so bad if they had a better chance of getting to know one another, it all seemed a shame really, to go on this quest without finding comradery. Of course some were friendly enough and that was all Nerin needed to keep going.

The company was nearly at the end of its strength when the young dwarf heard shouting, at first it was muffled because he was caught up in his own thoughts but then he heard it clearly.

The Sea!

Nerin's head shot up and he looked ahead of him catching the silver glimmer of water. His jaw dropped and he began to pick up his pace following the others with glee.

They sped through the trees hoping for what they've all been waiting for, the treasure. As they reached the beach Nerin couldn't help but stand in awe, the disgustingly dense, humid jungle did hide something beautiful after all.

Nerin followed suit after Bali declared the water was fresh and drinkable, he laid down his axe and took off his armour. The others couldn't help but stifle a giggle as they watched him jumping up and down trying to take off his boots as fast as he could.

The water was unbelievably cool and refreshing, he splashed about when a mischievious idea occured to him. He took a deep breath and being unable to swim he simply made sure his feet could touch the bottom.

Slowly, he crept up on the other dwarves and jumped as high as his height allowed, splashing them all profusely and soon a water fight began.

After the company had refreshed themselves they made camp by the shore. For once on this journey Nerin slept rather soundly dreaming of treasure and jewels in the depts of the sea, but all too soon his dreams were shattered.

A blood chilling scream woke up the camp and all came rushing outside with weapons in hand. Kain was floundering in the Sea and the beautiful lights seemed to be going in a whirlwind like motion around him.

No they weren't lights, they were fish! Nerin had never seen such a thing and didn't know what to do, after all he wasn't a very good swimmer and couldn't possibly get out that far without drowning himself.

Bali dove into the water without a second thought but was soon attacked by fish. The Ranger, Nerin couldn't remember his name at this moment in time, reached out his long arm and pulled Bali to shore, Kain was lost to the Sea.

They had no time to recover from the loss, or to wipe the warm tears from their eyes before they were attacked.

A large thin man came swooping down swinging his sword with a frightening fury, screaming at the Dwarves in a tongue Nerin could not understand. They tried to fight him off but he was incredible swift on his feet.

He lured them into the jungle and there they fought not knowing if they were indeed hitting the enemy or each other. But when the fray had ended they found that they had won over the crazed native.

Just then the weather turned for the worse and rain poured down in torrents, soaking the company to the bone before you could Khazad. They hurried along trying to find shelter, they headed for the caves.

[Himaran]

The caves were dark. Very dark. Bali and the company lighted their way with a single torch, ducking and often stumbling through the tight rock passages. "Perhaps these were made by water," Gortek voiced. "A flood, channeled through the canyon, pushed through into this cave, making tunnels. Maybe we will find an underground stream."

"It is certainly possible," Bali said, (simply for the sake of conversation). He did not wish to mention his growing suspicion that the network was purposely carved by the same race as that of the man that had attacked them by the sea. Could this be their lair? It is certainly possible...

The dwarves continued for over half an hour in like fashion. Their torch was burning low, but they still had a little wood left in Durin's pack. The tunnel curved and turned, staying the same width and occasionally branching off in other directions. They saw no sign of life, animal or man. "Its too quiet," said Haenir, and no one was inclined to disagree.

Then suddenly, the passage ended. A rough, stone wall stood before them. "Well, do we turn around," asked an exasperated Dwalin. Bali did not answer, but instead examined the wall. He knocked on it softly with his axe butt.

"Hollow. This, my friends, is not a wall. 'Tis a door!" An excited chatter ran through the group. They seemed to forget the attack and the loss of Kain in an instant. Perhaps there was treasure in Rhûn; just not where they had expected it!

"Well, what are we waiting for! Let's bust it down!" The dwarves began to shove and hit the presumed door at different angles, each hoping that a shining chest of gold awaited them.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The Dwarves attacked the door with more energy than effect at first, driven nearly mad at the thought that finally, they might have found the treasure that they had endured so much to claim. The weeks of privation and trial, the agony of their journey, the terror of Kain’s death and the surreal horrors of their battle with the Man of the jungle – all of it seemed to spill over into this wild excess of activity as they tried in vain to open the stone door. It was Nerin who first fell back, gasping and breathless from their efforts. “This will never do!” he cried. “We cannot get through that door with our bare hands – and I’m not going to dull my axe on that rock!”

“The lad is right,” Hænir said. “We must come to some order in this!” The other Dwarves fell away and all of them joined the Man and the Elf, who had stood aloof during their bizarre attack on the stone. Hænir stepped forward and tapped on the door with the head of his axe. He had fought many a war in the deep places of the earth, against orcs, goblins and other nameless beings, but in all those encounters he had never seen such a door as this. He stepped away once more and looked up above his head and then down either side. “Look!” he cried, pointing to one side. They all hustled in close and saw a slight crack, straight as an arrow, lancing up from the floor. “We must have opened the door a bit right here,” Hænir said. “Come on lads! If we all push together right here, we might be able to open this door! It looks like it’s hinged on the other side of the hall!” Much as he tried to deny it, the thought of treasure had gone to his Dwarvish heart, and Hænir’s eyes burned for the sight of gold.

The party worked together and strained at the door. At first, it appeared they would never move it, but a sudden metallic clang followed by the sound of rending stone told them that they had shattered some locking mechanism, and the door slid open easily. They light from the hall fell into the room and onto the most pitiable sight Hænir had ever seen. A young Gondorian man cowered in the corner opposite them, his clothes in tatters and his skin laced with the red welts of a whip both cruelly and expertly wielded. One whiff of the air in the cell told them of weeks of imprisonment without the benefit of any fresh water or cleaning. Hænir had to breathe through his mouth as he stepped toward the Man, who averted his eyes and tried to crawl even further into his corner as the Dwarf approached. “There there, lad,” Hænir said as gently as he could, “we’re not the ones who’ve done this to you. Come” he said, holding out his hand, “we’re leaving this place. Give me your hand and come with us.”

“Hænir!” Bali called quietly. “Hurry up! I think that somebody is coming!” Hænir’s attention was suddenly diverted from the wan and terrified countenance of the Man, and like all the members of his party he heard coming toward them the sound of many people, rushing through the tunnels with the clang and clash of steel. They were trapped.

Gortek chuckled most unpleasantly. “Well,” he said, “at least we won’t be tempted to run away!”

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

"I think that somebody is coming!" shouted Bali

"Well," Gortek said, "at least we won’t be tempted to run away!"

"Even if we had a way, we still can't," Narvi responded. "They know this place well. And they're quicker than us," he added, remembering their native attacker.

The combination of terror, hunger, and fatigue has affected the Dwarven warrior in such a way a battalion of Orcs could not. And I'm still wet, to make matters worse. He hated the rain. He was less alert in the rain, and it made him feel resigned. Emotion he wouldn't need now.

"What now, Bali?" he asked. Well, he thought, at least my quiver's still full.

Not for long, though.

[Himaran]

"Erulon, give me a hand with this door! Quickly now!" The man hurried over, and the pair heaved the stone block back up into its place. Durin picked up a large rock and shoved it into the crack. The others helped, handing them blocks lying around the room. After Bali shoved the last into place, he stepped back.

"Back up! Weapons at ready! Battle positions. Steel yourselves! No matter comes through that door, you will stand your ground. We will live to fight another day." It was then that he got a good look at their new companion. He was young, but was built like a warrior, and appeared well-trained. The man was squinting, adapting his eyes to the light. Bali presumed that he had not seen daylight for weeks.

Slowly, the man stood. He glanced around at his rescuers, as if gathering himself before speaking. "I need a weapon."

Bali could not help chuckling. What was his name? Who cared! He was a fighter, and swords would do more than words in this situation. "Here you are, sir," said Eruantalon, who handed him a longsword. Erulon then pulled out his axe, a shining and beautiful instrument of death. He had not fought with it for some time.

Just then, a scratching sound was heard near the far side of the room. The dwarves began to turn, but Bali stayed them. "It may be a trick. Keep your eyes on the door; Durin, see where that noise is coming from." Durin investigated, and reported that nothing was there.

Then the door shook violently under a sudden impact.

[Arestevana]

Maulká hurried along the dark halls with Nephil and the others. They headed for the cave exit, hoping to intercept the intruders. If the outsiders made tgheir way to the deep reaches of the caves, it would be many days before they were found. Not even the elders knew all the secrets of the lower tunnels.

As they drew near the exit, Maulká heard a faint noise echoing from one of the nearby corridors. She slowed, and at that moment a guard came running from the hallway. "They have broken into the hushed room!" He gasped. "We can no longer wait."

The company quickly overcame their surprise and dashed down the hallway. The noise, now identifiable as voices grew louder. Reaching the door, they found it blocked, the door enforced by some means from the other side. After some confusion, several of the warriors found a supply trunk in a nearby room and began to use it as a battering ram against the obstruction. For several moments the barricade held, until it was splintered by a well-placed blow. The trunk was thrown aside and warriors charged into the room, weapons drawn.

[Novnarwen]

Dwalin stood, trembling, behind Bali. Preparing himself; firmly holding his axe, he waited for the door to crack open. From behind, he could hear the others breathe. Other than that, it was silent. He felt awkward, but didn’t know whether it was the feeling of being scared or the excitement which rose inside of him. His hands were wet and slippery and he felt insecure about the whole situation. The company had certainly managed to get themselves into trouble now. It was not very fortunate how it had all happened, so quickly, so unexpected.

What if this was the last thing he did? He looked seriously at the others. If it hadn't been for Kain's death, the loss of their food and the stupid door, they would never have been here! Angry by his own lack of judgment, he frowned. He should have known that something was wrong long before Kain's death. He had heard rumours of people lingering here, but he never really considered that the rumours were true. He reproached himself for not thinking through this enough. Going on this quest had been a huge mistake, and for this he blamed himself. Then suddenly, he remembered when Bali and Hænir had come out of the woods the night when Kain died. What had the two of them been talking about? Dwalin remembered clearly that they looked worried, but even so they hadn't said anything to the others of what they had been talking about. Why not? Why hadn’t they shared their thoughts if it was something that worried them? Surely, if their worries involved the quest, and therefore the group, they couldn’t keep this to themselves. And why did they have that conversation in the woods? Yes, for Dawlin believed they had talked in the woods. About what, he didn't know. Did his brother know anything he didn't?

Hearing the voices outside, speaking in a tongue Dwalin didn't recognise, he started to shiver. He knew that the door would break up any second now, and he might even die before he could give Bali and Hænir another thought. It frightened him, but he hid his fear.

* * * BOOM * * *

With a big “boom”, which made Dwalin's ears explode, the door was forced open. He was only able to get a quick glimpse of the attackers before Bali made at least one of them fall into shadow. Surprised by the battle's sudden start, Dwalin found himself hesitating about what to do. Looking as the others as they strode forwards to fight the attackers; Dwalin held his axe low and waited. Eyes filled with wonder, he came to Nerin's side who was eagerly trying to kill his opponent. The attacker's skill with weapons was outstanding. He carried a long sword and a knife. He made several attempts to thrust the deadly weapons into Nerin, but the Dwarf escaped by an inch every time. As Dwalin raised his axe, he was cut off by another man, who had appeared from what seemed like thin air. The confused dwarf had to turn around, leaving Nerin, and darted towards the grim-faced attacker.

[Himaran]

As the door gave way, Bali dropped his hand and threw his weapon. Four shafts and five hatchets peppered the attackers, one of whom was felled instantly. The others stumbled over his body, (cursing in their native tongue), before reaching close range with their targets. "Defend yourselves!" was all the dwarf could shout before the enemy reached his company.

Bali dodged an attacker's blade, ducked a spear thrust and rolled over to the side, severing the rod in half. The Rhûnian slipped a knife out of his belt, swinging remaining section of his spear as a club. The dwarf leaped back, ducked again, then slashed with his single-headed Ereborian axe in a deadly upward swipe. The fight should have ended there. But it didn't.

The man had flipped overtop of the dwarf, and swung his club in mid-air. The short pole connected with the back of Bali's skull, and he stumbled forward; an explosion of light filling his vision. On his stomach, the dwarf rolled over instinctively, hearing the crack of his oppenent's knife hitting the floor. The warrior kicked his legs around, a move which the Rhûnian did not expect; as he was toppled to the ground.

Bali was the first to his feet, twirling to the side as the thrown knife whistled past his head before bouncing off the ceiling. The dwarf turned swiftly and swung his weapon down, finding a rest in the Rhûnian's chest. Just then, another attacker fell into him, and they both landed heavily on the rough stone. Bali immediately had his knife in his hand, but his oppenent had a larger weapon. The dwarf countered several blows, moving backwards. Then he shouted, "Erulon!" The ranger had a shaft in his bow and released it with perfect precision as his friend ducked. The arrow zipped into the Rhûnian's neck, and he fell to the ground with a quiet gurgle.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Narvi was quiet. With bowstring drawn to his ear, his mind raced back to the end of the Third Age, during their battle in Dale. He smiled, knowing his advantage. He had done very well then, and this situation exactly matched that one before the gates of Erebor. Except...

Except this time they were the intruders. If the laws apply here, their death would only be right.

Snap out of it, soldier! That kind of thinking would get you killed.

Just then, the door burst open, and he fired. His arrow hit someone on the arm, forcing that man to drop his weapon. The attackers were too quick. Using a bow at this close range would surely bring the risk of friendly fire. He dropped the bow and drew his axe. All thought dropped out of his mind, save survival. He stood his ground, waiting for someone to approach him.

He was too fast. The man he wounded suddenly appeared in front of him, clutching a spear in his left hand. Narvi eluded the thrust, but not the punch. The man's blood stained his corslet as his hand connected with the Dwarf's stomach. Narvi dropped his axe, and fell to his knees. The man cried in his native tongue. A harsh tongue, a strange tongue, but the thought conveyed was not so strange. He felt the thought himself once. Die, stranger!

He rolled to left, the spearhead barely missing his neck, but hitting his right thigh. With his axe out of reach, his only weapon now was the arrows. He grabbed one and stabbed the man in the heart.

He had no time to pity the fallen. He staggered to his knees, and limped towards his axe.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The savages came at them like beasts of the forest, limber and agile as snakes with the reflexes to match. A large man thrust a long dagger at Hænir’s belly, but the Dwarf was able to deflect the blow easily with one hand. He brought his axe to bear, but he was not fast enough with his heavy weapon and the man was able so skipper away into the shadows. Hænir heard the sound of steel cutting air behind him, and he whirled in time to see another savage coming at him with a look of feral hatred contorting his features. The long dagger swooped at his head like an attacking raptor, but Hænir was becoming used to these tactics and he easily blocked the attack with the shaft of his axe. He then thrust the axe head forward like a battering ram, shattering his attacker’s chin and sending him into the corner a howling bloody mess.

Once more he turned just in time as his original attacker came at him once more. This time Hænir swung first, being sure to keep his blade high for he had seen the agility with which these demons were able to leap. To his astonishment, the man fell onto the floor and then sprang to his feet the instant the danger had passed. Hænir was in an impossible position: he had swung his blade with all his might and there was no time to bring it back to bear upon his assailant before the man renewed his attack. The Dwarf attempted to move backward, but the press of bodies was so tight in the room that there was nowhere for him to go. Desperate, Hænir tried to duck the blow, but the Rhunian was far too swift for him – the blade practically sang in the man`s hand as it plunged toward Hænir’s unprotected neck.

He had given up all hope of living to see the end of this battle when he saw Bali fly in front of his face, knocking the Rhunian’s arm to one side and deflecting the blade he wielded just enough that it clanged harmlessly off Hænir’s armour. Without a moment to think, Hænir dove at the savage’s legs and brought him to the floor of the room with a crash. Like lightning, the man was on his feet again, but this time, Hænir was the faster, and the man soon fell again, this time, never to rise.

Hænir turned to Bali and nodded to him quickly. “Thank you,” he said. But then their enemy was upon them once more, and there was no more time for talk.

[Will Witfoot]

The door burst open, rubble and pieces of the stone from which it had been made falling clattering to the floor. Through the oppening a group of shadowy creatures charged in, moving with unnatural swiftness and agility. In a blur of motion they were upon the party.

From a belt crossing his torso Gortek produced a cruel-looking throwing knife. It's edges were barbed, making it very difficult to withdraw from where it had wounded. He hurled it at the closest of the beasts, grinning nastily when the man howled in agony and began to paw at the hilt producing from his thigh. He wouldn't be up to causing any trouble very soon.

He met the savage's comrade in arms blade to blade. Sparks flew as their weapons clashed, and the man withdrew his sword and resumed his attack, raining a series of swift and powerful blows at Gortek which the dwarf was hard pressed to parry. The savage sidestepped and lashed out, his blade biting into Gortek's flesh and staining his shirt red. Gortek gritted his teeth and ducked under a swipe which would have split his skull had it connected, and thrust out with his sword, aiming for the belly. Curiously, his target was no longer where it should have been and his blow met only air as his opponent dodged aside gracefully and aimed a kick at Gortek's outstretched arm. It connected with the wrist and sent the dwarf's sword clattering to the floor.

Before the man could administer the killing blow Gortek shoulder charged him, sending his assailant sprawling to the floor. Before he could rise, Gortek reached down and withdrew a dagger from his boot. In a heartbeat it was through the man's eye and lodged in his brain. The Rhûnian went limp instantly.

Sweeping the floor with his gaze Gortek's eye happened upon his fallen sword. Scooping it up, he made ready to face the fray once more.

[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".

[Novnarwen]

"Tell you about myself, eh?" Dwalin asked humorously. Nerin nodded, and to Dwalin's own surprise he found himself thinking about what to say. He realised that there was nothing much to tell. There was nothing remarkably funny, exciting or interesting about his past. He hadn't gotten that far in his life yet. He had in fact, never had the opportunity to do something special. However, as he thought about the recent events; the snake bite, the loss of their food, Kain dying and the fight, he figured he needed a friend.

"Well, I was born in Erebor as you probably know. I was raised there and spent my childhood there. Together with Bali, you know.." Dwalin nodded towards his brother who was still talking to Hænir. "Yeah, we were really close when we were children. Always dreaming of getting away, you know, on quests like this one." Dwalin gave a laugh before continuing dreamily. "But as you also probably know, Bali was much more of an adventurer in practice. He was always a few steps ahead." Nerin nodded, but smiled.

"So, this is your first adventure?" Nerin asked excitedly.

"Well, yeah," Dwalin approvingly. "That's basically why Bali is with me. Due to the fact that we are very good friends and probably would have brought him with me anyway, he is good to have as he has done similar things before. I do admire him in a way, for all he's done," Dwalin concluded silently. "It's ironic isn't it?" the dwarf said at once. "We've come all this way, and for nothing. We've almost got ourselves killed several times, and we're not even home yet. Yes, it's ironic how we as children, and adults, keep dreaming that we're far away from home. But once we truly are away from home and in grave danger, all we wish for is to be ... home.."

He fell silent, as if saddened by his own thoughts. He shrugged, thinking over and over again about the day when he had been in the Hall waiting for the other Dwarves to arrive. Everyone had been so enthusiastic then. No one hesitated. It was as if nothing else mattered. It was all about Rhûn and the treasures in that distant country. Now they were there, and the only treasures here, were their own lives.

"So, what about you?" Dwalin forced on a smile, waiting to hear Nerin's reply.

[Arestevana]

"How many?" Maulká repeated. The warrior standing nearest to her turned. "Too many," he said. "The intruders fought well. Regilen is dead, as are Soreth and Kinadhen. Two others were killed as well, I don't know their names. Metheled was minorly wounded. Something bit Astalon. . ."
"I bit Astalon," interrupted Maulká. "And I can end his suffering if it's too severe to be considered 'minor'. Go on."
The guard looked startled, but he continued. "Ustaghar took a blow to the face, shattered his chin. Corith is missing, Nephil was shot. . ."
"What?" said Maulká. she ignored the guard, who had begun to repeat his list of casualties and turned to look around the large chamber. Nephil was speaking to the 'missing' Corith a short distance away.

By the time Maulká reached the pair, Corith had already wandered off. "Does he know he's been labeled 'missing'?" she asked Nephil, gesturing to where his kinsman was speaking animatedly to an injured warrior. Nephil shrugged, seeming deep in thought. Maulká frowned at the arrow he held loosely in one hand. "I didn't think you were that slow."
"I'm not." said Nephil tersely. He told her what Corith had said about the Quendi.
"They can't be killed, you say?" Maulká repeated, her eyes gleaming. "Sounds like a challenge to me."

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin listened to Dwalin's story about himself, scratching his black beard and nodding all the while trying to make fragments of a story about himself, for there was nothing much to tell for him either.

Nerin was glad to hold a conversation with Dwalin who was on his first adventure as well, he thought perhaps that way they could relate to things more.

"It's ironic isn't it?" Dwalin said at once. "We've come all this way, and for nothing. We've almost got ourselves killed several times, and we're not even home yet. Yes, it's ironic how we as children, and adults, keep dreaming that we're far away from home. But once we truly are away from home and in grave danger, all we wish for is to be ... home.."

There was silence for a moment as each Dwarf went into his own thoughts.

"So, what about you?" Dwalin asked with a smile

He nodded sympathetically at Dwalin's earlier statement, for it was all too true. Nerin looked up at Dwalin "yes, when young you seek to be like the characters of legend or fairy tales ready to stop if it became dangerous, but in real life, in real peril you can't just wake up knowing that your safe in your bed. You have to try and get by as best you can or die in the attempt".

Nerin smiled, "but as for me my story is no better than yours, this is my first adventure as well and it isn't exactly turning out how I would have liked it", he rubbed his sore jaw and continued "I wasn't born in Erebor, but moved from the Iron Hills with my Father and Grandfather when word reached that the King under the Mountain had returned and the Dragon was defeated, of course we moved there a few years after the news when things had become more settled"

He shrugged and tossed a few twigs into the fire "not terribly exciting but I hope its a start to our friendship".

[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]

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.

[Himaran]

The battle seemed to be going ill for the dwarves. Bali had not seen any go down, but the Rhunians were pressing in on all sides. How could they all survive? It was but wishful thinking, and a leader does not wish. Snap out of it and fight! It could be you that goes down! The dwarf barely saw the knife flash towards him, and ducked to the side just in time before rendering its wielder lifeless.

Just then, two other Rhunians detached from the main group and charged him. Perhaps they had seen him as an authority figure, which was indeed correct. The dwarf whipped a hatchet at one of them (and missed), which was all he could do before they were upon him. Bali found himself retreating, blocking the two attackers as best he could. They were skilled warriors, and had it not been for the dwarf's own battle experience he would surely have fallen at once. But while backwards, however, the dwarf finally ran into trouble; the wall, that is. He could no longer swing his axe in such a tight position, and his assailants were closing in. No one can help you, Bali. You must survive on your own... for the company!

"Erebor!" With a long suppressed battle yell, Bali charged his opponents. Too surprised were they to defend against his rain of blows, and after running the first through, Bali avoiding a sword thrust and beheaded the second with a swift stroke. "Barak Ai Khazad! Khazad Ai Menu!" Yelling ancient battle cries, the dwarf charged every opponent before him, bringing them down with speed and ferocity. But before he could stop his forward movement, Bali found himself in the middle of the Rhunian force. Their surprise lasted only for a moment.

"Wir hev di kig! Wir hev di kig!" Bali's last thoughts before lapsing into unconciousness were about how closely the phrase the Rhunians were chanting resembled 'We have the King!'

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The woman’s attack foiled, Hænir pressed in for the kill, but another one of the savages quickly intervened. He swatted aside the man’s attack easily, for the Rhûnian was rash in his assault, and not as well trained as some of the others. With another easy blow Hænir broke the man’s collarbone and sent him reeling into a wall. Once more he turned to the woman, now quickly recovered from her wound. She stood for him, both her weapons at the ready, and the undeniable shine of battle-lust in her eye. Hænir’s own eyes glowed as he rushed her. There was a furious exchange of blows as the woman’s blades danced around his head, and it might have gone ill for Hænir had they not both been suddenly distracted by Bali’s roaring voice, lifted in rage above the general din of battle.

Across the room from where Hænir fought, Bali had been forced into a tight corner, but he waded forward from the constraints of his position, slaying as he went. Their leader seemed to have been driven mad and in his mood he attacked with little concern for defence. Hænir’s soul went cold as he saw a group of the savages move toward him, clearly intending to surround him with their blades. Forgetting the woman, Hænir sprang forward to Bali’s aid, but was met with a wall of opponents. He slew one and thrust the others aside, but the sound of steel cutting air at his back forced him to whirl, just in time to parry the renewed attacks of the warrior woman. He tried in vain to drive her off, but to no avail – no matter what he tried she came at him with greater ferocity. Hænir’s strength was beginning to fail. Despite his successes, the enemy was simply too many, and they had managed to separate the travellers from one another. The sound of chanting brought Hænir’s attention back to where Bali stood and he watched as his leader went down beneath their enemies.

The chant went through the room, being taken up by the other savages, and to Hænir’s surprise they began to retreat, apparently content with the capture of their leader. The travellers pursued their enemies, but they fought an effective rearguard action that held them at bay. Hænir pressed the attack as fiercely as he could but it was useless. Bali had been taken.

[Will Witfoot]

The knives of the savages glittered in the torch light illuminating the cavern, weaving deadly patterns in the air that the adventurers were hard pressed to avoid, and many of their attacks drew blood. Despite attacking with the same ferocity and passion for battle as before, they seemed to be more careful, utilizing complex attacks and feints with a savage cunning.

Gortek deflected a thrust from a Rhûnian's knife with a sweep of his short sword, and doing the unexpected he stepped closer, passing within the man's guard. Before the Rhûnian could react the dwarf jabbed his knee into his groin. As his adversary doubled up with a rictus of pain contorting his face Gortek slit the savage's throat with the long dagger he held in his left hand. A battle was no place for chivalry.

He had been lucky with his easy success, and his luck it seemed was about to turn. One of the savage's companions came for him, and even with several years of fighting experience under his belt Gortek was sorely pressed to avoid having one of the man's blades burry themselves into his eye or breast. It was like trying to combat shadows. His opponent swirled and ducked, avoiding all of Gortek's blows and lashing out viciously with his own weapons, leaving the dwarf dancing in a flurry of blades. Miraculously he emerged from the storm of attacks unscathed, but he had no time to marvel at his fortune before the Rhûnian released another torrent of blistering blows, forcing Gortek to drop to one knee to dodge the blade aimed for his face.

Gortek understood that he could not be the victor in this fight. His favored method had always been speed and skill, and here was an opponent who was his master in both fields. Because of his chosen vocation of fighting, Gortek wore no armour so as to not encumber himself needlessly, a fact which he severely regretted now.
As the savage loomed over him, preparing to administer the killing blow, the dwarf realized that his only chance was to resort to another skill in which he excelled at; fighting dirty. He scooped up a handful of gravel from the cave floor, and as his enemy stepped in with his blades screaming through the air towards his head, Gortek leapt into action. He caught the Rhûnian's knives with his sword, and as the man withdrew his weapons for a renewed attack Gortek cast the small pebbles and rough sand into his face. The moment of blindness this caused to the man was enough, and soon he crashed to the rough stone floor with a short sword sized hole through his breast.

Suddenly a roar from the other side of the cavern captivated his attention, and he saw Bali barge through the enemy like a ship through a storm-tossed sea, slaying left and right and killing anything that dared stand in his path. Even as Gortek watched, their leader crashed into the middle of a group of their enemies, who set upon him with such force that not even the battle-frenzied Bali was able to resist it. He was clobbered unconscious, and the beasts let out a howl of glee, withdrawing from the chamber with their companion. Any chance of pursuit was stemmed by a clever rearguard action their enemies executed at the narrow doorway leading out of the chamber. Their leader was in enemy hands.

[Novnarwen]

This time, Dwalin felt more prepared for what came. The Rhuians seemed too, to be aware of the danger in approaching the dwarves, who had given them a hard time just earlier. However, as Dwalin again found himself in the situation of where he felt like he had to be saved to get out of this alive, he got a helping hand from one of the others. As he rose to his feet, his hands knitted around his axe, he thrust his blade into his attacker. But to Dwalin's surprise, the Rhuian hadn't dropped dead. He had frowned with pain, but as soon as Dwalin had turned his back to him, ready to take on another, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The dwarf was completely taken by surprise as he turned, and was stunned. As arisen from the dead, the Rhuian, still, was very much alive. Dwalin wasn't able to think or react, before something hit him in the face. His axe flung out of his hand, and he fell to the ground with a crack. Eyes still open; he could see his blade landing on the ground not very far away; as a matter of fact, only paces away from his head. Rolling onto his back, he faced the Rhuian; who grinned maliciously. Dwalin realised that he had better get the hold of his weapon again, or he would certainly be dead this time. Therefore, he didn't hesitate to roll over on his side to stretch out his hand to get a hold of his weapon again. When just about to take a hold of it, he felt his hand being smashed under a heavy boot. The poor dwarf let out a short shriek, but was nevertheless well aware of his situation: the Rhuian had grabbed the shiny blade just in front of his eyes. He was holding Dwalin by force, using his feet to tread on him, not letting him go. Now, Dwalin's attacker was about to chop the dwarf's head off, with the dwarf's very own axe. Muttering to himself, shaking, Dwalin tried one last time to roll away from the Rhuian's fierce grip. His opponent looked teasingly at him, shrugging. He kicked Dwalin in the face, leaving the little dwarf with absolutely no chance in getting to his feet.

Then without warning, the Rhuian lifted his hand, which held Dwalin's axe firmly, far above his head. Ready to strike, Dwalin's attacker gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, forcing all his energy on the hit that was going to end the dwarf's life. The dwarf himself didn't dare breathe. He only wished that someone would see him, lying on the cold ground waiting to be killed by one of these barbarians. But surely, what could he expect; the others were busy fighting off their own attackers. He hoped at least that they succeeded. Trembling with fear, he could see his own reflection as the blade came dazzling down to meet his face. With a jerk, he put all his last effort to free his hand. Crawling sideways, he saw the blade hit the ground just inches next to him. The metal made a terrible noise, and the sound made Dwalin's ears almost explode. He was just about to turn around as the second hit came thundering down towards him, and made him scream like a new born. As the Rhuian was about to make the third hit, Dwalin seized his chance; he leaped onto his feet, darted into the Rhuian, pushed him over and grabbed a hold of the axe. Dwalin's lust for revenge rose inside of him, and made him red with anger. Not hesitating anymore, he made the Rhuian step backwards, and they both stumbled in a body lying on the ground. Together they fell over, face down, both terrified not to be the fastest one to grab a hold of the axe again.

Just when the dwarf thought he had an advantage, as he had managed to get the axe away from his opponent's firm grip and made the Rhuian crawl away from him, the Rhuian drew his knife. It surprised Dwalin that the Rhuian hadn't thought of this hidden weapon before, when Dwailn had laid helpless on the floor, waiting to die. Realising that he was sweaty all over, he also noticed that a feeling of tiredness had suddenly fallen upon him. He found himself halfway closing his eyes, but heard a call from the other side of the room. With mixed feelings, he opened his eyes just in time to see Bali disappear amongst a crowd of the Rhuians. At the same time, his attacker leapt to his feet. His eyes were filled with hatred, as he came Dwalin's way with a knife in his hand. Dwalin wasn't focusing, but he felt his leg automatically lift from the floor and just kick randomly in the air. Something had darted towards him, but it had been stopped by the gigantic foot of his.

Collecting his axe at last, still laying on the floor, he was able to turn his head and see the last of the Rhuians retreat. The last ones disappeared through the opening of the tunnel, as he got to his feet. "Bali!" he screamed, but as he darted afterwards a strong hand grabbed him around his arm. Dwalin looked questioningly at Hænir, whose sweat ran down his forehead and whose face was bruised. "Aren't we going after him?" Dwalin looked around, seeing all the other dwarves alive. He sighed with relief. At least they were alive. Dwalin needed all of them when he was going after Bali.

[Saraphim]

Nephil was the one to be pulled from battle this time, but only because he did not know that they were retreating once more.

Corith had pulled him away from his battle with the Quendi, a battle that had succeeded in draining Nephil's strength.

As the survivors ran from the room, Nephil supported by Corith, he thought over what had happened.

"I never had a chance to think," he said to his cousin, "I had to keep moving. It is so fast. So fast. The small ones are strong, but slow. And the ones... that are like us... are strong, but slower than we are. But that Quendi..."

"Quiet," said Corith, setting him down when they reached another room," Rest. I'll be back."

It took a moment for Nephil to get his bearings, but after he recieved a bowl of water he was refreshed a bit and could look around. A noise at the far edge of the cave made him stand painfully up and walk over.

One of the small warriors had been captured! it was in the process of being bound, which was not an easy thing to do and took quite a number of Rhunians to accomplish.

A sound behind him and he knew Maulka was there. He turned to talk to her, but her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Oh my..." she said, "What happened to you?"

Nephil looked down on himself. He was covered from foot to chest with shallow gashes, which had been made by the Quendi's sword.

Nephil drew one of his knives and looked at his reflection in the polished metal.

Great cuts scarred his face, one coming dangerously close to his eye.

His leather armor was in tatters, and his hair tie was missing.

"You fought the Quendi?" asked Maulka.

Nephil nodded," and I'm surprised I got off this lucky," he said.

He turned back to thier captive. Those who had bound him, though successful, were now nursing bruises. No one seemed to want to get near him.

Nephil dropped to his knees in front of the bound warrior. In a loud clear voice, he said, "Who are you? Of what manner of creature are you? And, above all, why do you tresspass in our home?"

Nephil waited, hoping it could understand him.

[Himaran]

His head hurt and his hands were bound, but Bali was putting up a good fight. The dwarf had savagely kicked out at his captures upon waking; and although they still surrounded him, the Rhunians were keeping their distance. He stood, enemies that could end his life instantly on all sides, with an air of confidence and authority. Perhaps it was this that kept them from disposing of him immediately.

Suddenly, the other natives backed away slightly. A rather large male warrior stepped forth, staring at Bali with almost a questioning look. Then he spoke, not in the common tongue, but in a language to which the captured traveler was quite familer. They were Easterlings! The words had decayed over time, but now Bali could make out their distinct race. How they had become such great fighters, however, remained a mystery.

The native before him said in a calm and commanding tone, "Who are you? Of what manner of creature are you? And, above all, why do you tresspass in our home?"

Bali decided to comply. There was a very slim chance of his survival anyway, so why not make a friend before he was beaten and cooked alive? Just like in the old stories...

"I, good sir, am a dwarf. I live far away from here in a mountain; a cave of sorts. I and my company meant not to harm you or your land. We were on... a very important mission from my master." The dwarf made a firm decision not to mention treasure; that, if anything, would spell his certain doom.

The Rhunian was quiet for a moment. "A dwarf. Just like in the stories. But I care not about your race. What of the Quendi? The great warrior, the invincible one?"

Bali chuckled inwardly. So they thought that the lone elf was invincible. He was a good fighter, to be sure, but far from undefeatable. But why not let them think that? Obviously, this race knew something of the outside world.

"The Quendi is indeed invincible."

A collective gasp echoed throughout the chamber. The Rhunian stepped forward, a grimace on his face. "You lie! He is flesh like the rest of us."

Bali kept a remarkably straight face, given the humor of the situation. "Nay! He is of a lost race, one from across the great sea. He is a child of a god; you have seen his speed and strength, and the ease with which he slays us mortal beings. I cannot kill him... and neither can you."

[Novnarwen]

"We have to go after him! He would have done the same for us!"

Dwalin found himself waving desperately with his arms. As everyone turned their attention to Dwalin, the dwarf took his time and looked seriously at each and every of them. Many of them were bruised, and were covered in blood. Their faces were covered in dirt and sweat, and only the elf looked almost like normal. They were exhausted, and with their grimaces, Dwalin knew that they were thinking the same as him; Bali could be dead already, and what was the point in going after him then? It would suit them no good to burst into the Rhuian's new resort in the state they were in; they were tired and their backs were sore. After being in battles, such as this one, Dwalin reckoned they all needed a couple of days to fully recover. As the original leader of the quest though, he felt a certain responsibility, now that Bali was gone. He couldn't let his brother, and companion, to a certain death. Surely, if Bali wasn't dead already, he would certainly be soon; if none went after him. Even though the thoughts of Bali being dead made him utterly miserable, he couldn't stop trying to convince the others; that was his job.

"Bali is depending on us. Only we have the power to save his life. We can either go after him and find him.... Or we can turn our backs on him, pretend that he isn't gone, and leave him with these barbarians, which will certainly be his death." He coughed gently, as if he wasn't trying to get them all to feel bad about themselves for not taking a stand yet, but to realise the facts in this situation. He put up the grimmest face he could ever dream of, and continued to stare at them.

No one said anything. It was completely silent, only Nerin found himself stumbling and falling to the ground. He sighed as he rose to his feet again, red faced, and disgusted by the look of the dead Rhuian who had caused his fall.

As a couple of minutes passed, the dwarf couldn't take it anymore. The silence was unbearable, and it made him angry that no one had said anything yet. Didn’t they care? Didn't they care at all for Bali? What Dwalin came to realise annoyed him the most, was that after all Bali had done for them, they didn't seem a bit grateful for what he had done. Narrowing his eyes, uncertain about what to do, he made his move towards the tunnel door. "I will go! If that means I will have to go alone, I will." With a determined tone in his voice, he didn't offer the others another look before he paced sternly out of the opening. He could only hope that he would hear footsteps following him.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Dwalin’s panicked appeals for help did not fall on deaf ears, for even as the young Dwarf cast about him in a near frenzy, Hænir was already moving about the room examining the bodies of the fallen. His practised eye noted the manner and shape of what little armour the savages wore, and he committed to memory where it was weakest. He stooped time and again to examine their weapons, picking them up and balancing them in his palm, assessing how they would best be used in battle. He saw that most of them had multiple blades hidden in small sheathes and pouches about their body, but that most of them chose to keep their knives in cunningly hidden leather sheathes that they hid in their sleeves. As he looked at corpse after corpse he began to note that for all the differences in their clothing and arms there was a single motif that was repeated again and again. Stamped in the leather of their shirts, engraved on the blades of their weapons and even tattooed into their skin, was the stylized image of a glowing sphere of light, with many shafts of radiance spilling outward from it. He had no idea what it meant, but he carefully filed the image away for further study.

So intensely was he focused upon the search of the dead that he did not notice the ringing silence of the hall until it was broken by the furious ringing of Dwalin’s heels upon the stone. The young Dwarf’s last words echoed through Hænir’s mind, and as Dwalin disappeared into the darkness of the passage down which the Rhûnians had taken Bali, Hænir sprang up from where he was crouching over the dead and rushed across the hall crying, “Why do you all stand there amazed and dumb? Bali has been taken by a cruel and savage folk; we have seen what they do with their prisoners! We cannot, nay we will not let him be taken!”

His grip on his axe tightened as he flew down the passageway behind Dwalin, and from behind he heard the sounds of the others start to follow.

[Arestevana]

Maulká sighed and leaned against the wall. She had been less reluctant to retreat this time; there had been great satisfaction in fighting that creature. Still, she would have liked to have killed it. A sharp pain reminded her of the cut in her side. It must be deeper than I thought, she realized; blood had soaked through the leather of her armor. Reaching up, she freed the wide leather band that was plaited into her long hair. She bound the cloth tightly over the injury, above her armor to hide the blood. Her hair would have to stay loose, a hindrance in fighting, until she could find something else to tie it with. She grimaced.

She noticed Nephil on the far side of the cave where the group had stopped, and walked over, being careful not to reveal her injury by an uneven gait. It wouldn’t do to admit to taking an injury from one of the undersized trespassers. When she got close to Nephil, she saw that he was covered in numerous scratches and cuts, including several deep cuts on his face.
"Oh my... What happened to you?" Maulká exclaimed.
Then she remembered seeing him go after the immortal warrior. “You fought the Quendi?”
“And I'm surprised I got off this lucky," he responded, nodding.
Maulká watched as he turned to where the other natives had gathered around the prisoner. She listened to the questions impatiently, more interested in the prisoner’s answers. She was surprised to hear the creature -the dwarf-refer to a master. Is he not the king? She broke off her musings in time to hear their suspicions about the Quendi confirmed.
“He is a child of a god; you have seen his speed and strength, and the ease with which he slays us mortal beings. I cannot kill him... and neither can you." Declared the prisoner.
In the sudden silence that descended on the group, Maulká said, “We must go to the Council Hall. The Elders will know if he speaks the truth.”
Nephil agreed, and gave directions for their march, setting several archers to guard in case the intruders tried to follow. Minor chaos developed as the few members of their company tried to arrange a marching order, but all was quickly sorted out. No one seemed eager to carry the prisoner, for it had dealt out many bruises with its earlier struggles. Corith knelt next to the dwarf.
“Someone throw me a knife,” he called. The prisoner seemed completely composed, but Maulká thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty in its eyes at the man's words. She threw Corith her short knife. He caught it neatly by the hilt and cut the rope that bound the captive’s feet. Then he pressed the blade against the prisoner’s neck, forcing it to walk in front of him. The company left the chamber, heading swiftly toward the Council Hall. As they left, Maulká called over her shoulder to Corith, who was near the back of the party, “Be careful not to scratch the prisoner unless you want to kill it. The blade is poisoned.”
She laughed to herself, imagining the dwarf’s discomfort.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Narvi was barely alive. He would not have been, save for the natives' retreat. He dropped his axe, and collapsed on the spot, weakened by the strenuous effort and the loss of blood.

Why had they retreated? he asked. Soon he knew.

Dwalin seems to be in an agitated mood. "Bali is depending on us. Only we have the power to save his life. We can either go after him and find him..." Bali was taken? As a warrior, he feared capture more than death, and cared for a lost comrade more than his life. He wanted to follow Dwalin, to rescue Bali from those Men.

But look at you now! You barely lasted against three of them, and now you intend to assault their very stronghold? How badly do you want to die? As always, his body rebelled at thoughts of action only the mind knew was possible. Or necessary.

But he couldn't have lived with himself, knowing that he left their leader to some cruel fate. Despite his battered condition, he had to go after Bali.

"We cannot, nay we will not let him be taken!" Hænir's voice resounded in the cavern. And with that, ignoring the pain, he stood to his feet, and trudged after the two Dwarves.

[Himaran]

Upon reaching the Council Hall, Bali was instantly impressed. It was a huge cavern, with roughly hewn seats around its sides and several well-crafted ones in its center; much like an auditorium that he had seen in Gondor as child. But what caught his eye was a small pillar, sitting very close to the entrance. Not five paces fro the entrance sat a beautiful crystal, one unlike anything he had ever seen. Its outer ring was translucent, and a small ball of light filled its center. Although the Rhunians seemed to like darkness, the rays from the ball lit up the entire room. Who can tell what it is worth... far more than mithril, at any rate.

Just then, the dwarf turned his attention to the figures in the middle of the Hall. They were large, and sat hunched in their seats; but were shrouded in black hoods such that no skin showed. Bali shuddered inwardly; were they wraiths, or just old men hidden in their cloth tombs of night. Maybe some of each...

The one called Nephil stepped forward, and bowed before them. "Oh Great and Wise ones, Elders of this great world, what do you know of the Quendi? Are they indeed invincible?" He remained in his prone position, waiting for them to speak.

The Elders were silent for a moment. Then one spoke, in a low and raspy voice. "The Quendi is immune to some things.... disease and age perhaps... but not to blades. His flesh can be cut like other beings. A great warrior, yes, but invincible... no."

Nephil turned on Bali him a flash. Screaming angrily, the Rhunians dragged Bali forward. He fought violently, kicking and butting at everything he came into contact with. Suddenly, he felt the knife that the Rhunian had held at his neck lower, and the dwarf shoved himself backwards. His bonds were sliced instantly, and the dwarf leaped off to the side, barrelling through the Rhunians. Stuck in the middle of him, he ducked and dodged their blows and occasionally dove into them; rolling over the ground at a quick speed. In short, the orderly interrogation turned to mayhem. Bali could only hope that their custom was to sacrifice him, and not merely slay him with an arrow. For that would be his doom.

[Novnarwen]

It didn't take half as long as Dwalin had expected to hear footsteps coming from behind. At an earlier point, he would have kept his axe ready, but now he knew who the sound was coming from; the others. It was a great feeling that arose inside of him at that particular moment he understood that they had indeed listened to him, and that they were again sacrificing themselves for Bali. Knowing that his brother was also loved by so many others, made him shiver inside; Bali had to be a truly great person. Dwalin, of course, knew this, but the fact that so many others thought this as well, touched him. He even started wondering whether they would have done the same for him, if he had done enough good in his life that someone would remember him after his death? However, all he would have to focus on now was finding Bali; even if it meant looking for eternity.

Dwalin turned just to see the others hurrying to catch up with him. He didn't know what so say. Was there anything to say?

"Only true and brave men would have followed a poor fellow of a leader to rescue a companion," he muttered silently to himself. Hænir turned to him at once, as if he had heard what the dwarf had just said. But as he saw the expression in Dwalin's face; which both showed his fear and insecurity, he seemed willing to ignore the statement and held therefore his tongue. With which each bend and turn the tunnel took though, the expression in Dwalin's face grew ever clearer. The thought of Bali being dead, or tortured, bothered him more and more. Even though he tried to put his personal feelings away, they kept sneaking up in him, making him want to vomit. Also, when they were walking, he started reproaching himself for taking so long before he had actually done something. Why hadn't he gone to find Bali at once? Why hadn't he, when he saw the Rhuians close up on his brother, cast his enemy aside and strode after him? He knew that Bali had done it for him. Any brother would have. There were two voices in his head. One saying that he had to forget about it, saying that it wasn't his fault, saying so much that seemed so reasonable. Then again, there was another voice. This said quite a few things. It kept mentioning, how selfish Dwalin was, how he should have gone after Bali at once, and how he deliberately longed to be better than Bali. Leaving him with the Rhuians, was the perfect way for him to prove himself; after all, who had come home from Rhûn alive?

You have always wanted to be better at Bali at something . . . something . . . something . . . just . . . anything . . .

Shivering, both frightened and uncertain about how to handle this he gave a little shriek. "What is it?" the others asked, whispering though. Dwalin tried waving them off, but the terror in his face didn't seem to convince them that everything was okay. The asked him whether he had seen any of the Rhuians, but Dwalin just shook his head. He didn't dare look at the others, in case they figured it out; and read him like an open book. What if they, too, thought he was jealous of his brother? What if they thought he was longing to be better than Bali? But all the same, was it true? Was anything of what the second voice had said true? Dwalin didn't know. It was highly uncomfortable to have these, what seemed to him, absurd thoughts in the middle of the rescuing of Bali.

As the others tried not to cast too many looks over at Dwalin the next couple of minutes, he realised he had to give all of this serious thought. But it would have to wait until he got home, home with Bali.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The company moved down a long and unbending passage at an awkward speed between the haste and urgency they felt for their leader, and the more cautious approach that prudence warranted. Some of them were sorely hurt, but they did not complain. Hænir paid no heed whatsoever to his wounds, nor did he care that this was likely to be his last battle. He had come on this quest with no other thought than to protect Bali and to thereby win the honour that had eluded him his whole life. If gaining that honour meant the loss of his life, then so be it.

Halfway along the passage they entered a large chamber that their meagre torch could only faintly illumine. Hænir moved to Dwalin’s side to take counsel, but was stopped by the sound of an arrow in flight. He pushed Dwalin to one side and fell upon him, so that the arrows passed over their heads to clatter harmlessly of the floors. Before any of the Dwarves could move, the Elf had notched and loosed an arrow that flew into the darkness. A strangled cry from the far end of the hall told them that it had found its mark. Before the echoes had died, Raendin had loosed another arrow and they heard the unmistakable sounds of a person’s death once more. There was a clatter and the sound of swiftly moving feet and then silence. The Dwarves all looked at the Elf with admiration, and Hænir said, “Now that was a fine piece of shooting.”

Raendin merely smiled and shrugged. “Come,” he said, “we must hurry.”

The party moved down the passage taken by their assailants, moving as quickly as they could now, for their hearts were full of wordless dread. They ran for what seemed a very long way, with their torch burning lower and lower until finally it went out plunging them into total darkness. No, not total darkness; Hænir peered ahead into the gloom and saw far ahead of them a faint twinkling light, pure and cold, as though a star had descended into the earth. “Look,” he hissed, “follow that light. My heart tells me that they have taken Bali there to do him some harm.” He ran then, not waiting for the others, but he was soon surrounded by the rush of heavy feet.

The light got stronger and stronger as they approached, and now they could hear the sound of a great crowd of people crying out in anger and hatred. The light was bright enough now that it flooded the passageway with radiance, and yet still their approach seemed unmarked for there as no attack or resistance. Finally, they burst into a huge chamber with rank upon rank of seats about them, filled with hundreds of the savages. In the middle of the room they saw their leader being subdued by a large crowd of Rhûnians who were seeking to bind his feet with rope. The crowds who stood about howling in their uncouth tongue, chanting for his blood.

A silence, deeper than death, fell upon the room at the entrance of the party. There was a stunned moment in which both groups looked at one another, realising that the moment had come, finally, for the extinction of the Dwarves. The Rhûnians began to smile, and those closest to the Dwarves moved forward, slowly drawing their blades and falling into their fighting positions. For the first time, Hænir’s eyes fell upon the source of the beautiful light, and it took his breath away. The orb was filled with light as though it were a goblet with shimmering water. In an instant he recognised it as the source of the markings that he had seen upon the Rhûnians, and he knew that he now beheld their most sacred object. There was barely enough time to think, and almost not enough to act, but Hænir managed to lunge at the orb and, before the savages could stop him, he lifted it off its pillar and held it above his head.

A strangled cry ran through the room and the Rhûnians froze. Every eye in the cavern was upon the globe. Hænir took a careful step back and lowered the orb to chest level. He quickly whispered to Dwalin. “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!"

[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.

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin was limping badly from the battle, one of the Rhûnians dove under him and slashed at his leg from behind, cutting deeply into his calf. But it didn't stop him from going after Dwalin and Hænir; he had wanted to say something but his body ailed him badly and he could not think of anything so he remained silent.

His gut feeling told him that Bali may yet be alive but knowing the viciousness of these natives and their irratic way of fighting Nerin found it hard to believe in hope. After all why would they choose to keep him alive? he thought sadly being unable to think of any reason why would spare his life.

But that had all changed when they reached what looked to be a council room. By the time Nerin had hobbled up to the entrance he almost gasped at the sight in front of him.

Nothing was happening, not one person, not one Rhûnian was moving. Then he saw to his left that Dwalin and Hænir had the most beautiful thing he had ever seen on this whole miserable journey.

A globe of crystal that contained a light of silver and gold, or was it alight, Nerin couldn't be certain, but as he looked around noticing no torches, candles or other means of illumination he knew the core of the orb was indeed giving off its own radiance.

Soon enough they were on their way with Bali safely in tow and the luminescent globe that the Rhûnians seemed to hold with great reverence. Several hours later they headed North up the canyon.

As they reached the craggy borders where they first entered Rhûn Nerin stopped and looked over the vast tangled jungle, his first adventure where he nearly lost his life. And yet somehow he respected the place and its inhabitants, as wild and vicious as they were, after all they were the invaders and the Rhûnians were only trying to protect their country land; Nerin would have done the same.

"Farewell Kain, and the land of Rhûn, I doubt I'll ever see ye again, nor would I want to seeing as all the trouble yer 'ave given me will last me for quite some time" he laughed and smiled at his comapanions.

Finally he would be going home and with a treasure to boot!

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir’s heart grew heavier and heavier as they scaled the walls of the land that had very nearly been their tomb. His every muscle ached from the exertions of battle, and his wounds cried out for care and tending. He looked ahead to the rest of their journey with little hope for they had no food, no supplies and no equipment still, and they were weeks from their home. All that they had was the globe that Hænir bore in a small bag upon his back.

It was the weight of this globe that bore upon him most heavily, however, for he could not help but think of what he and Nerin had said to one another about their mission. The globe was clearly the greatest treasure of the Rhûnians, as sacred to them as the Arkenstone was to his people, and they had stolen it from them. He could not shake from his mind the vision of what it would be like in Erebor if a band of strangers from this land had assaulted the Mountain and carried off the precious heart of their realm from the very tomb of Thorin. Hænir shrugged his shoulders against this thought and tried to drive it away. Ever higher they climbed, rising above the jungle below and into the mountains. Soon they would be in the high pass above the waterfall, and then upon the other side of the Mountains and any hope that the Rhûnians had of retrieving the treasure would be gone.

Hænir’s heart should have been light, for they had escaped certain death at the hands of the savages, and he had finally won the honour that had eluded him his whole life. His failure to save his King all those long years ago had been repaid by his protection of Bali, and at long last Hænir would be able to engrave his name upon his axe to join the revered names of his ancestors. The weight of that axe upon his shoulder had never been so reassuring, nor had he borne it with such ease.

But still the weight of globe bore him down, darkening his mind and clouding his joy on this day. As they neared the top of the mountain pass, he paused and looked back over the lands they had entered so unknowingly. His eyes traversed the jungle and looked out to the distant glimmering of the Sea – the Sea that had promised such riches and brought only death and despair to them. The others were plodding ahead of him now, and none watched as he pulled the globe out of his hands. He held it before his face, and even in the full light of day, its radiance was a wonder to behold. At that moment, there came a slight rustling from the scant brush that rose upon the slopes of the mountain almost to where he stood, and from the foliage emerged the form of the woman whom he had fought with in their final encounter. She still bore the signs of their combat, but as she regarded him he could tell that she felt the same guarded respect for him that he did for her. She gazed at the globe with such despair that it rent Hænir’s heart to the very core, and again he imagined what it would be like to have the Arkenstone ripped from his people’s hands. He looked at the woman and their eyes met through the radiance of the globe once more, and Hænir knew that the only thing he could bear from this country that he had not brought with him, was his honour…

[Himaran]

SAVE FOR ANY OTHER LAST POSTS

----------------------------------------

Novnarwen's post -Dwalin

It was a silent company that set out that day. When thinking about what they had been through, especially after the last event, Dwalin understood why. Now he found himself deep in thought however. Not only had he doubted that his brother was alive, been bitten by a snake, lost the map, seen Kain die, but he'd also promised these dwarves treasures. In fact, Dwalin had to admit, he had imagined mountains of gold and oceans of silver. Unfortunately, that had only been a dream not coming true. All they had was the crystal ball they had taken from the Rhuians, and what were they supposed to do with it? Dwalin didn't at all mind Hænir wanting to give it back to the Rhuians, as he would certainly not find it in useful in any way.

The lack of treasures and their misfortune was eating Dwalin up inside, as they walked in silence. And if that wasn't enough, he kept thinking about the second voice in his head; the one that had said all those things about him being jealous at Bali. Had he not proven himself in the chamber, when he had saved his brother's life? Dwalin frowned, being ashamed of himself. How should he not have saved him? They were brothers! And yes, he cared for him very much. Was he really jealous, or did he just admire him? Those were two very different things, but hard to tell apart. Deciding that he would have to think this through, he snorted and followed the others.

Soon, the company found themselves looking into the eyes of one of the Rhuians; a woman. Dwalin had seen her in the chamber. She, too, had stood stricken, as if the world was about to end when the dwarves threatened to destroy the orb. At the time, Dwalin hadn't felt anything. He hadn't offered her a thought. Now on the other hand, he realised, by looking at her, that it was right to give it back. As Hænir handed the crystal ball of to the woman, Dwalin smiled. They hadn't found any treasures, but Dwalin settled with the thought of Hænir showing such nobility was a treasure in itself. He only hoped that the others settled with this thought as well.

***

For each step however, as they got closer and closer to Erebor, Dwalin had difficulties coping and believing that they were on their way home from a perilous adventure. It had only brought but misfortune to all of them, so it was no wonder why he couldn’t cope with it. Or was it? After the company passed the sea of where Kain had died, Dwalin couldn't stop thinking of this event. Had it been his fault? After all, it had been he who had dragged the dwarves out on this quest. And what did any of them come home with except a story about bad fortune and much misery? He shook his head. At last, Dwalin had made up his mind.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered into Bali's ear. "But it can wait until we get home."

He turned his gaze to sky as they were coming out from the jungle. Far ahead he could spot a bird, flying. Was it coming towards them, to meet them, or would it be waiting for them when they came hurrying along the road out of Rhûn? Dwalin wondered.

[Himaran]

Last Post for the Game

Bali watched as Haenir slowly stepped towards the woman, arms outstretched. She seemed frightened, but the sight of the glowing object he held out was far too important to run from. When he stopped, just paces from her position, the Rhûnian darted out, grabbed the ball, and hurried back into the forest -- but then stopped. She turned, looking the dwarves over again, a smile covering her features. And then she was gone.

"Well, Haenir, two noble deeds in one day." The dwarf looked up at his leader, surprised.

"Aiy? I followed your brother to save you, and gave away the only treasure we found on this ill-turned journey. What is noble about that, aye?"

Bali smiled. He looked out over the plains, visible from the plateau, and saw a sparkling light moving quickly towards the canyon. "You, my friend, have just made a peaceful agreement with the enemy that sought to eat us all alive. And that... is noble indeed."

"Now then, with our conciences cleared up, let us go home -- before we lose our food as well as our treasure!" Shouted Gortek. And, chuckling heartily, the party took one last look at the land of Rhûn before leaving it and its people behind forever.

____________________________________

Epliogue

It was noon, or about it. The sun shined brightly over the cobbled road as a small company reached the gates of Erebor. Everything, save the beautiful voices of several birds, was quiet. The group stood in front of the heavy stone doors, each with private thoughts and memories of the journey. "What will they think of us," muttered Durin. "I promised my mother a big bag of treasure, and all I have is a bloody weapon and a sack with no food in it."

"Just be lucky that you have a sack," returned Nerin, and the entire company laughed.

And so, turning, they knocked on the gates of the city. Suddenly, they were thrown inward, and a large procession greated them. Dain Hammerhead, Durin's father, hurried out and clasped Bali's hand. "How are ye, lad? I so wish I could have gone on this journey with you, but I had other matters. What happened? Did you find any treasure?"

Once again, silence hung in the air. How could one begin to describe what they had been through, seen, and conquered? Then Bali said, putting a hand on Dwalin's shoulder, "Well, we had a wee bit of trouble with the map."

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~