[Himaran]

The two dwarves, upon meeting with Grash in the tower, began to make their way down into the depths of Cirith Ungol. Victuals were the company's next concerns, and would prove to be more difficult to locate than weapons and armor had been. Neither dwarf had any idea where the "kitchen" could be found, if one existed at all. Orcs were sustained by the same foods as other beings, but were fed on far less appealing fare; and who knew where it was kept. "There must be storerooms somewhere," said Dwali as they tramped along the dimly-lit hallway. "Probably down in a pit somewhere, like everything else."

The dwarf's first statement, (the more optomistic of the two, surprisingly), turned out to be the correct one. They soon arrived at a door, which was apparently locked. "Not a problem," stated a confident Brór, who raised his mace and brought it down on the lock. It virtually shattered, and Dwali moved to enter the room. But the door would not budge.

"Must be locked from the inside," muttered Brór. Then suddenly, they both arrived at the same inevitable conclusion; for if the door was barred from the inside, an enemy waited within. Or more than one, perhaps, but the warriors cared not; they wished more for revenge than feasting and wine. The entrance was blocked by thick wood, but steel would prove the victor; as Dwali's axe quickly made several cuts through the door. Brór backed up, and hurled himself forward, but the gate only shook. Then the younger dwarf took a few steps away, turned, and with a look of rage so deep and agonizing that it penetrated every figment of his being, charged it. The door virtually flew off of its hinges, and collapsed onto the floor inside the chamber.

The dwarves stepped inside the room slowly, crouched and expecting a wave of resistence to leap out at any given moment. But nothing came, and they soon began to look for other things besides orcs. "This must be the storeroom," stated Dwali triumphantly. Sure enough, sacks of food and skins of water were lined up along the wall; sadly, there would not be quite enough for the entire company's journey out of Morder. At least, not a journey without hunger.

"We will have to make several trips," said Brór. "And find out how much Grash wants to take with us. It may weigh down the group out in the mountains, if we ever do manage to leave this tower." They were turning to go, laden with several heavy packs, when Dwali was heaved forward; landing on his face with a heavy sack on top of his already weakened frame. Brór dropped his burdens and swung out his mace, watching a small orc circle him with blades at ready. The dwarf charged, and achieved surprise as he knocked away the orc's longer scimitar. But the creature, knowing that he stood no chance against the larger and more ferocious opponent, turned a ran.

Suddenly, an axe flashed up from the ground like an old-fashioned trap; burying itself deep in the orc's chest. A mace also connected with the fleeing beast, and its head landed on the floor several paces away. Dwali tugged his weapon out and stood, patting Brór on the shoulder. "I guess we both got our revenge, friend." As if in agreement, a loud rumbled shook the chamber. Exchanging strange looks, the dwarves hefted their packs and exited the room without another word; making for the meeting place.