[Dwarin Thunderhammer]

Dwarin slept uneasily. The cold ground was not kind to him that night. He tried to sleep as best he could but his slumber was not to be. He gripped the cold metal handle of his ax, simply to comfort his troubled mind. The cold night breeze blew his tent open, and a few leaves swirled around inside. All was quiet except for the wind blowing through the trees. The dwarf felt uneasy, it was a feeling he had felt before, once he could remember was before the battle of five armies. Dwarin had slept in his armor (which he was accustomed to doing) so he had no need to clothe himself when he decided to look around at put his mind at ease. He was at the door, when fate it seemed made him look at his helmet and shield lying at the foot of his bed. Dwarin normally wore a hood wherever he went, but fate it seemed instructed him to don his helm and take up his shield. Thus did Dwarin step out into one of the coldest nights he had known. The cold breeze sent a shiver through his sturdy body. He fingered the handle of his ax nervously as he walked about the tents checking in to see if anyone else was awake. He was surprised to find Ulfwine, Thenamir Kalohern and Baranthol’s tents all empty.

As the night drew on, Dwarin felt no less uneasy, but there was no foreseeable danger. With a sigh (and some grumbling Dwarin Started back for his tent. The Dwarf began trudging back to hi bed, still uneasy of himself he took one last long look over his shoulder. To his surprise he saw lights in the distance, coming through the woods. Quickly the lights moved through the trees, darting and dancing about. Somehow Dwarin knew that this wasn’t a friendly welcome party. As fast as he could Dwarin scramble to conceal himself in a thicket on the edge of the wood, well away from the camp. He also knew that he had to think of a plan, fast. Quickly the Dunedlings were coming past his hiding place inn the bushes. He counted, as many as he could, there were 16 of them descending on their camp. They were armed mostly with torches clubs, spears and wooden shields. When all but the last straggler had passed, Dwarin knew the time for action was now. The last one was a short overweight man who was well behind the rest of the party. When he was no less than a foot past the thicket, he felt the a blade slice through his spine. As he fell he let out a horrendous scream. The Dunedlings rushed to see what happened, and perhaps take amusement at the plight of their comrade. When they arrived at the scene they looked at their comrade lying dead in the dirt and wondered what had happened. Suddenly there cam from the tree above the fiercest war cry they had ever heard. Down upon them descended Dwarin the dwarf, arrayed in all his glory, his shield glittering like the moon and his eyes flaming like the sun, shouting: “Khazâd! Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!”

When Dwarin jumped from the trees, he came down fighting, he cut open the chest of one Dunedlings who was oblivious to the nature of the attack. Few of the savages had ever seen a dwarf before, and none had ever fought against one in battle. He had attacked the dunedlings rear, positioning himself between the attackers and the camp, this combined with the surprise caused much confusion and chaos among the attackers. Dwarin knew his advantage was at hand, and the fact was it would not last very long and once it passed he would probably never regain it again. So the dwarf steeled his heart, and set to hacking. He rushed at one of the men standing around looking for the fight, he came with such suddenness that the man didn’t have time enough to defend himself, he was just barely able to raise his wooden shield, which provided no protection, and thus he died. One of the men spotted the Dwarf and rushed him with his club afire in the midst of the chaos fiercely yelling as he approached. Dwarin reacted quickly, he took two steps forward and dodged as the club hit the ground beside him. The surprised man practically fell on top of the dwarf, who then used his shield to flip him onto the ground behind him. Dwarin then slew the man with his ax, by this time 2 more foes were on top of him. The first one lunged at him with a spear, which the dwarf warded off with his shield. Dwarin then hewed the legs beneath the attacker and the man came tumbling down to the earth. Just after this the second of his attackers sprang upon him with a dagger, which he thrust into Dwarins back. The Dwarven armor guarding Dwarin turned the blade easily and actually snapped it. The man was stunned for a second long enough for Dwarin to bring the broad side of his ax against the side of his head, knocking him senseless. Dwarin’s good fortune did not last forever though, twelve angry, dunedlanders saw their opponent, and gained confidence.

Thus Dwarin became on the defensive, mostly trying to ward off blows, and avoid getting killed. He was getting pushed farther and farther toward the tents. Dwarin was desperately hoping that one of the other uninjured riders would hear the sounds of battle and rush to his aid, seconds later his hopes came true. The taller rider, Gurthden, came rushing out of his tent fully arrayed for battle. With a battle cry of his own the man rushed into the thick of the melee. He crashed into the line of battle, his sword immediately found the belly of a decent sized attacker who was caught unaware and he felled him with one stroke. Their attackers had very little or no battle training and easily gave way to the new attacker. So the Dwarf and the rider gained the offensive for a moment. Dwarin tripped and beheaded one more foe as he eagerly rushed at Gurthden with a little to much enthusiasm. Gurthden himself was busy killing another enemy, by slicing his throat when he let his guard down. Nine was the count now, nine angry dunedlanders against a soldier of Rohan and A Dwarf of the iron mountains.

The night air grew thick with the sounds of battle as the attackers once more gained the offensive. Dwarin and Gurthden were slowly pushed back to the tents. It was only due to their skill, training, guts and sheer determination that they had not been killed or captured. With many wounds and bruises inflicted on both sides. Seeing their goal reached the enemies began setting their tents aflame. The fire spread quickly as the flames spread from tent to tent and from the tents to Aspida’s house. Dwarin and Gurthden were now fighting in the midst of an inferno. They smelled the stench of death in their nostrils. Its slimy hands were about their feet as the flames began to stifle them as they fought. The two valiant warriors were on the verge of death when the sound of thundering hooves reached their ears. Suddenly it seemed the tent burst forth in flames! Through the tendrils and the flame a horse and rider appeared. The rider was screaming a war cry at the top of his lungs, he brandished a short sword in his right hand and a spear in his left as he fell upon the attackers. He hurled his spear at one his foes, and hit his mark dead on, piercing him through the heart. The dunedlanders gave way. With one stroke of his sharp sword he decapitated a hapless dunlander standing in his path. Suddenly the tide of the battle had turned! Kalohern and Telefax gave much needed support and reinforcement to the tow warriors. The odds were now in the rohanian party, with superior training and renewed vigor they took the battle to the dunedlanders. Kalohern himself slew one more as the man tried to wrestle the boy from his horse. Telefax sent a man, who was approaching from behind, flying 20 feet with his hind hooves. Gurthden scored two more, one he stabbed through while dodging a spear. Quickly he grabbed the fallen spear and sent the shaft straight through the man who was upon him. Dwarin killed the last three remaining. Dwarin was cornered betwixt Aspida’s house and a fiery tent when the three descended upon him, the biggest of the three struck first he brought his club down upon Dwarin just as the dwarf raised his shield. So strong was the blow that the club shattered on impact. Dwarin saw his chance and sliced his belly open while he had the chance, but he was forgetful of the two other club-bearing men who had also cornered him. One of them hit Dwarin with his club and sent him two the ground. When he came to finish the dwarf off, Dwarin sprang up and sliced his arm off below the elbow. He now had the last one cornered so he picked up a spear and ran him through pinning him to Aspida’s wall.

The battle was over, but at a dear cost, the tents were flaming and Aspida’s house was ablaze. The final Tally was, Dwarin: 8, Gurthden: 4, Kalohern: 3, Telefax: 1, Dunedlanders: 0. Though the battle was done they were not out of peril, Dwarin ordered Kalohern and Gurthden to salvage as much of the supplies as possible. Dwarin himself went inside to find and save the injured riders resting inside. Due to his many years in the smithies of Erebor Dwarin took no notice of the smoke but plunged into the oven, which was Aspida’s house. Dwarin quickly carried all of the injured riders out to the stables where the horses and his cart was (which thankfully hadn’t caught fire). He had made sure they were all unharmed and all right was about to rest, when he remembered that He hadn’t found Aspida! Dwarin rushed back inside, twice nearly being crushed by a flaming timber. Frantically he rushed from room to room, shouting and searching. He found Aspida in a corner of her bedchamber crumpled on the floor unconscious. So the weary dwarf picked up the fragile woman and carried her through the fragile structure made of embers, which had once been her home. He finally reached the threshold of her home where she awoke. She bade him to hold her and listen to her last words. Dwarin held back the emotions of anger and sadness as she spoke to him thus:

[ January 02, 2002: Message edited by: Dwarin Thunderhammer ]