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Old 09-30-2009, 11:37 AM   #193
Groin Redbeard
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
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Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Facing the world's troubles with Christ's hope!
Posts: 1,735
Groin Redbeard is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Groin Redbeard is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
So many thoughts whirled through Trór’s head. Where to start? “I could almost see them,” he began, “Our troops moving in one smooth motion down the mountain. The Orcs almost broke. I could feel them braking. If only I had more warriors, I could have crushed them.” Trór lifted his open hand and slowly crushed the air, gazing at it in a vision of victory.

Weary and bereft of sleep, he braced himself against a pillar. He lifted his axe and examined, the head stained a permanent black. “Have you ever felt hopeless?” Trór was still looking at his axe but he could feel Oin’s eyes burning a hole in his head. There was no answer. Oin knew that Trór was asking a rhetorical question and waited for his lord to expound on it.

“When I was wounded, my aides bore me off the battlefield. While I was unconscious I had a dream. In my dream I met a Dwarf; his was beard as white as the snow capped mountains and I knew I had seen him before, though I knew not where. He led me for many hours (at least it seemed like hours) without saying a word through my kingdom, empty and dark, until presently a light began to show—a dull burning red glow from one of the roads that led to the mines. The dwarf looked at me with a sad and foreboding face. There was another road, though I did not see it at the time, but I remember now. It was dark and it stank of Orc. Then the dream ended.”

Oin was patient and expressionless. He did not say anything and Trór was thankful for it.

“I know that face,” Trór began again; “He was staring at me the entire time I could not see him. I believe it was Balin in my dream.” Trór started to stroke his beard. “Oin, I have lived a soldier’s life for as long as I can remember, but I have never felt anything as brutally clear as this. It is as if tomorrow has already happened and there is nothing you can do about it.”

Again Trór fell silent. An idea was blowing in his brain, but there was no time to think. He no longer felt his usual bold and tenacious character sweep hold of him; instead, he felt slow, he felt careful, but something was happening. It left him breathless. As if something was hunting him. The odor of death was everywhere. The wounded, the dead, and the dying were all uncomfortable reminders of an ever encroaching enemy.

“Something is approaching, Oin. It shakes my very soul with fear to think of what it might be.” Trór left the support of the pillar and stood looking across the bridge. “If I had an army I would stay and fight. But this is not an army! Can I ask them to do what I dread to do myself?

“Oin, my friend I trust your counsel. My plan of fighting has failed –the Hollin Gate is still open. Our hope is waning fast; we have a few hours to make a decision.”
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