[Himaran]

“I am Brór, Brór Stormhand.”

Dwali thought hard for a moment; the name seemed faintly familierly, but still out of the reach of his waning memory. Ah, what did it matter; Brór would die too, burning in the fires of Mordor like them all. This was just a respite, and intermission; then they would all be recaptured, tortured, and finally sent away from this dark hell. But if he was to face that fate, Dwali knew that he would go down fighting; and now was the time to prepare. Death and orcs are certainly not the same... but one results in the other, and I intend to be ready for both.

"Then you must be... Dorim. Come, let's find some blades." They began to traverse the courtyard, staying fairly close together. Dwali found a stout, single-headed axe to supplement the knife he had stolen, and the other dwarves had similar luck. Clothing was slightly more difficult to come by; there were many bodies, but most of the orc dead wore tattered rags and torn armor. Than Dorim gave a shout, motioning them over. Two large Uruks, obviously captains, lay sprawled on the stone floor; arrows protruding from their necks and torsos.

"These will do," he said, but there was immediately an uncomfortable pause. Three dwarves were staring at two sets of armor and leather garmets. Dwali, however, signaled for Brór and Dorim to take them; he was already better clothed than they. Grateful for the quick resolution to what could have become a prolonged argument, the pair stripped the orcs quickly. They were pleased when minutes later, Dwali found a similarly dressed corpse. Thus, the trio returned to the meeting place wearing and carrying full orc gear, and although quite uncomfortable, it would provide enought protection in the probable event of a fight.