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Saurreg · 06-21-2005, 05:20 AM

Narguzbad, son of Azaghâl howled with unbridled glee as the last throwing axe landed onto the broad shoulder of the last unscathed troll and buried itself deep. His chosen axe throwers were still doughty and unbowed by age in the manner in which they let loose their deadly missiles. Every axe found its mark and the trolls were all wounded even before the dwarves got down to close-range melee – the type of fight that Narguzbad relished the most.

As the last axe thrower expended his compliment of hatchets, the entire Khazâd contingent roared again (one or two started to wheeze immediately after), waving and rattling their weapons in the air; eyes wide with maddening fire and almost foaming at the edge of their mouths from kindled bloodlust. Narguzbad, Lord of All That He Surveys regarded the largest of the trolls; a hideous female with uncharacteristic coolness that distinguished him from the rest of the ancient troop. He narrowed his already beady eyes into a squint before donning his wolf-faced iron mask.

The trolls helped one another up and turned to face the stunted warriors. They growled and snarled as the recognized the nature of their assailants and prepared to do battle.

Narguzbad raised his arms and his warriors ceased their boisterous taunts. An uneasy silence filled the air as twenty-one dwarves suddenly became as quiet as stone. It was the calm before the storm.

The king intoned slowly in a quiet but firm voice, “Baruk Khazâd, Khazâd ai-mênu,”

“Baruk Khazâd. Khazâd ai-mênu.” replied his congregation in equal solemnity.

The king then lowered his arms and pointed his stubby sword towards the enemy. He repeated himself but this his voice boomed and echoed throughout the dwarven halls,

“Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!”

The rest of the dwarves followed suit in equally loud and imposing voices. So great was the chant that the walls trembled and dust on the ground bounced and scattered from the vibration,

“BARUK KHAZÂD! KHAZÂD AI-MÊNU!”

Without warning Narguzbad leapt forward like an uncaged lion towards the trolls - all by himself. Grasping the heavy blade with both hands, the heavily armored dwarf bounded, onwards as his pounding feet took closer and closer to his opponent. The female troll bellowed aloud at the challenge and it too broke into a run towards her much smaller opponent whilst swinging her club wildly in the air. Riva the Black swung at Narguzbad XVIII but missed badly and stumbled. Grasping opportunity by the hair (literally by the greasy locks of the stooped Riva), the dwarven king stepped onto the grounded club and propelled himself with astonishing agility to face his mortal foe with a single leap. Well-honed dwarven reflexes swung into action and an aged but still muscular arm plunged its sword into the old hag’s neck. It was the moment the dwarves were waiting for; Narguzbad threw his head back and called out,

“SAARG KHAZÂD!”

The rest of the dwarves broke into a cheer and ran towards the enemy with the song of fury in their hearts and thoughts of true life-everlasting in their mind. All ran forwards except for perceptive old Zinshathûr who noticed two huddled shapes, trembling by the edge of the main tunnel where his great lord had just passed them by. Realizing what they were, the ancient dwarf hobbled towards them, grabbed them by the arms and dragged them roughly along the ground a good distance away from the intensive fight. Satisfied that the two Afterborn females were still alive though very badly bruised and shocked, Zinshathûr took his leave and joined the battle.

06-21-2005, 05:20 AM	#8
Saurreg Shade of Carn Dûm Join Date: Oct 2002 Location: In self imposed exile... Posts: 465	Narguzbad, son of Azaghâl howled with unbridled glee as the last throwing axe landed onto the broad shoulder of the last unscathed troll and buried itself deep. His chosen axe throwers were still doughty and unbowed by age in the manner in which they let loose their deadly missiles. Every axe found its mark and the trolls were all wounded even before the dwarves got down to close-range melee – the type of fight that Narguzbad relished the most. As the last axe thrower expended his compliment of hatchets, the entire Khazâd contingent roared again (one or two started to wheeze immediately after), waving and rattling their weapons in the air; eyes wide with maddening fire and almost foaming at the edge of their mouths from kindled bloodlust. Narguzbad, Lord of All That He Surveys regarded the largest of the trolls; a hideous female with uncharacteristic coolness that distinguished him from the rest of the ancient troop. He narrowed his already beady eyes into a squint before donning his wolf-faced iron mask. The trolls helped one another up and turned to face the stunted warriors. They growled and snarled as the recognized the nature of their assailants and prepared to do battle. Narguzbad raised his arms and his warriors ceased their boisterous taunts. An uneasy silence filled the air as twenty-one dwarves suddenly became as quiet as stone. It was the calm before the storm. The king intoned slowly in a quiet but firm voice, “Baruk Khazâd, Khazâd ai-mênu,” “Baruk Khazâd. Khazâd ai-mênu.” replied his congregation in equal solemnity. The king then lowered his arms and pointed his stubby sword towards the enemy. He repeated himself but this his voice boomed and echoed throughout the dwarven halls, “Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!” The rest of the dwarves followed suit in equally loud and imposing voices. So great was the chant that the walls trembled and dust on the ground bounced and scattered from the vibration, “BARUK KHAZÂD! KHAZÂD AI-MÊNU!” Without warning Narguzbad leapt forward like an uncaged lion towards the trolls - all by himself. Grasping the heavy blade with both hands, the heavily armored dwarf bounded, onwards as his pounding feet took closer and closer to his opponent. The female troll bellowed aloud at the challenge and it too broke into a run towards her much smaller opponent whilst swinging her club wildly in the air. Riva the Black swung at Narguzbad XVIII but missed badly and stumbled. Grasping opportunity by the hair (literally by the greasy locks of the stooped Riva), the dwarven king stepped onto the grounded club and propelled himself with astonishing agility to face his mortal foe with a single leap. Well-honed dwarven reflexes swung into action and an aged but still muscular arm plunged its sword into the old hag’s neck. It was the moment the dwarves were waiting for; Narguzbad threw his head back and called out, “SAARG KHAZÂD!” The rest of the dwarves broke into a cheer and ran towards the enemy with the song of fury in their hearts and thoughts of true life-everlasting in their mind. All ran forwards except for perceptive old Zinshathûr who noticed two huddled shapes, trembling by the edge of the main tunnel where his great lord had just passed them by. Realizing what they were, the ancient dwarf hobbled towards them, grabbed them by the arms and dragged them roughly along the ground a good distance away from the intensive fight. Satisfied that the two Afterborn females were still alive though very badly bruised and shocked, Zinshathûr took his leave and joined the battle. Last edited by Saurreg; 06-22-2005 at 07:42 AM.