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Old 06-17-2009, 06:43 PM   #175
Durelin
Estelo dagnir, Melo ring
 
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Join Date: Oct 2002
Posts: 3,121
Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Durelin is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Kór

Kór stood surrounded by vaguely familiar faces, but he could not put a name to a single one – except Grór, to whom he had just been indirectly introduced. It was a strange feeling to Kór, the apparent calm around him, as Trór made his speech. He only half listened to the words, finding it hard to concentrate enough even for such a simple thing. He felt like he was trying to think from behind a cloud, staring idly at various dwarves around him. Many of them had already drawn their weapons – suddenly he felt he should have his axe in hand. He knew it was absurd, especially since he felt conscientious about drawing out his axe all of a sudden, wondering if now that he had waited until mid-speech he should wait until the battle began.

It was very strange indeed, that he had been standing here for so long, that there was this much preparation involved for what seemed to him to be a simple thing. It felt ceremonial, so plain and structured that it only frightened him more. Suddenly a great exploded from all around him, smothering him. He jumped, startled, and now was truly embarrassed so that for several moments he did not register what was being shouted.

Kór had trouble finding his voice, as if he had forgotten how to use it. The power of all the other voices was overwhelming. He remembered the face of the dwarf woman from behind her mug, and the depth of the grief she felt. He felt guilty, guilty for not grieving deeply, for not displaying ingrained loyalty in a battle cry. But there were other ways to demonstrate one’s character…

Kór found his voice the best way he knew how. It was weak at first, but it grew stronger, encouraged by others as it took root.

“Under the Mountain dark and tall
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall.

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong;
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong…”


Kór wished dearly he was back home in Erebor, holding his harp as his father bellowed the song of victory.


It seemed a slow and drawn out process, all that lead up to the moment when the two walls collided, but the battle began abruptly and then it was all too fast for Kór. The dwarven ranks pushed forward as the goblins did, each side trying to hold their ground and cause the other to lose their hold. The few ranks ahead of him pushed forward no matter what, and every gap was filled in, with no thought for how that gap in the ranks came to be there.

Soon he was even closer to the front ranks. He found himself pushing forward, stepping over the body of one of his own comrades. He had not used a shield outside of training, but he found it natural to cover his body, and not to expose himself for a moment. As he found himself in the front ranks, he reached around and underneath his shield to strike, chopping at whatever he could reach. He struggled to hold his footing, until finally he pushed – or was pushed – forward over a fallen goblin, his boot falling directly on its head. He was glad he could not see a great deal in the night.

Thus it took him a moment to realize that there was a dwarf exposed ahead of the bulwarks, stranded amidst a sea of goblins though he was not far in. Kór pushed forward with greater strength, driven by an amount of desperation. “My lord!” he heard a shout from beside him, and he recognized the dwarf beside him as Grór and the endangered dwarf as Trór, one after the other. He was surprised Grór was still beside him, but pleased. Kór and Grór and the dwarves closest to them pushed their way slowly to their lord, as if they were forcing a wedge into the goblin ranks, hoping blindly that the rest of the line would follow them forward. Kór wanted dearly to look behind him, to make sure they were still protected and were not exposed themselves, but he knew he could not take his eyes off the enemy before him, lest he lose his footing and his life.
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