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Old 08-31-2009, 07:14 AM   #184
Folwren
Messenger of Hope
 
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Join Date: Jun 2005
Location: In a tiny, insignificant little town in one of the many States.
Posts: 5,228
Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Folwren is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Kénan and Kéni fought side by side, inching back together step by step as the forces of the orcs continued to press forward. Kénan knew from the beginning that they could not win. The only reasonable thing to do was to retreat back within the mountain and barricade the gates, but the order was never given.

Kéni was wearing out. Kénan saw his strokes become feeble and sweat poured down his beardless face. The suddenly a large orc broke through the seething lines of dwarves and goblins. He lunged towards Kénan. The old dwarf parried the thrust of his spear, but the orc brought the shaft up hard against Kénan’s chest in a back handed stroke. Kénan stumbled back, almost thrown off his feet. Before he could regain his balance and attack the orc again, the creature had turned to Kéni. He swung with the butt end of his spear at Kéni’s head. The boy jerked back to avoid it and tried to parry with his axe. He missed, and as his wielding arm went wide with the stroke, the goblin took advantage of his opened guard and plunged the spear deep into his chest.

Kénan hurtled himself forward with a roar of fury. With one blow of his axe, he hacked the head from the spear’s shaft and then with the second swing, removed the head from the orc’s neck. He fought as thought he had gone mad, his eyes blazing and spit frothing at his mouth as with each stroke he cursed the orcs and all their descendants.

But after he had killed many and cleared a circle about Kéni, he returned to his grandson. The broken spear protruded from his chest, but he was still alive and conscious.

Kénan hung his axe on his belt and stooped and lifted Kéni in his arms, as though he weight no more in his armor than a little child. Then he bore him back to the gate.

Inside someone met him. Kéni changed hands to be carried in for help, if possible. “How goes it?” Kénan asked. “Do you know?”

“Lord Trór has been brought in wounded. He says we are not to retreat.”

Kénan looked at Kéni, gasping and struggling for breath, and he shook his head.

“No. We will not retreat.” His hand tightened around the haft of his axe. He stooped and kissed Kéni’s brow, murmured, “Goodbye, son. You fought well. I will meet you in the halls of our fathers.” Then he turned and strode back out into the cold night of blood and snow.
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