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Old 03-09-2009, 04:20 PM   #139
Groin Redbeard
Ghost Prince of Cardolan
 
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Join Date: Nov 2007
Location: Facing the world's troubles with Christ's hope!
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Groin Redbeard is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Groin Redbeard is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Trór tightened his jaw as Kórin spat upon his braided beard, yet he did not flinch or say a word; in fact, Trór was pleased. Kórin’s insult would be a serious matter under different circumstances, but it could be ignored-she was just rabble. The insult showed Trór that his punishment was harsh and that was good. He was rid of her, and a dwarf would soon be purged of his cowardice, a good start. Two hot heads down, how many more would there be? He looked down and wiped the spit from his beard.

When he looked up, Trór was surprised to see his friend Frar suddenly appear before him. Frar looked angry and focused when he spoke, but Trór was surprised to hear the wit and humor in his voice: good joke; a rare thing from Frar. Trór chuckled to himself, knowing that it was Frar’s subtle way of encouraging him. Frar went on to explain why he had not spoken during the council, but there was no need to explain, Trór understood perfectly well why Frar hadn’t spoken: warriors make lousy diplomats. Anyway, Trór was glad to hear that Frar would not stay quiet in the future; Trór needed help from his friends.

Frar stood half a head taller than Trór and was visibly as tough. Through Trór, Balin kept the colony safe, and through Frar, Trór accomplished the task. Both warriors were strict disciplinarians and perfectionists, which is why Balin chose them for their jobs. Trór was harsher and more rapid in his affairs, while Frar was subtle, wiser, and a little more cautious than his commander-their differences were what made them strong as a team. In a whole, Frar's advice was usually not accepted well (a fault of Trór's); however, his advice usually shaped the direction that the war council would take. Frar wasn't one to hold grudges against his opponents. Even when strategies would turn out in ways that he opposed Frar would dedicate himself to the strategy with as much determination as if it was his.

Even though Frar was older, Trór had always been superior in rank. Even under the rule of Dain Ironfoot, Trór had been amongst the king’s closest advisers. Unlike most dwarves in similar circumstances, Frar did not hold Trór’s youth against him. As gratitude, Trór shared the command of the army with him as much as possible. Frar was the superior in age and Trór in rank, and they loved each other for it. Frar was his closest friend and adviser, now they would be even closer.

“Indeed, no time to lose.” Trór was roused by Frar’s enthusiasm. Leave it to his old war hound to stir him up. He could read Frar’s thoughts as clearly as he had spoken them: ‘Take care of your new subjects. Let me find the Orcs, say the word and I’ll kill them all.’ But Trór knew Frar would never dare to ask such a thing. They started to walk briskly toward the arranged troops, who were all deeply stirred by Balin's death; their rage was evident in their eyes and clenched fists.

“We will take sixty of our finest and fastest soldiers. Your dwarves are the best trained and equipped to move fast; therefore, the majority will from your command. Forty is a good amount and I will take twenty of my own. You will take the point; I will bring my dwarves no less than twenty paces behind yours.”

The sixty dwarves were already in file before Trór and Frar reached them. Forty of Frar’s and twenty of Trór’s; the officers were well trained, they knew what to expect. The leading officer stepped forward and bowed slightly to Frar and then Trór.

“My lord,” the officer said grinning, “the soldiers are ready.”

Trór faced and leaned over to Frar. “Our objective is to find Óin and the front of the Orc army. We will go as far as the ground I had chosen on the map. If we haven’t found Óin by then, we must assume that he has found his way back to here and we must do the same.” Frar nodded. “Use your own discretion on whether or not to engage the enemy,” Trór added with a grin. He knew that it was against what he led the council to believe, but the soldiers were itching for a fight, as well as Frar. They shook hands before they departed, Trór went to the rear and Frar took the point.

Trór’s soldiers hushed as he approached. Individually, they were the toughest warriors in the army, remnants of Trór’s old command. They all wore heavy steel hauberks and helmets that protected their noses and eyes. Their boots, like Trór’s, were fashioned with iron plates after the manner of the Iron Hills' dwarves. All of them a wielded a heavy doubled handed mattock and protected their backs with shield, which was sturdily slung on their back. Some of the warrior’s beards were braided to keep from getting knotted, while others simply let their beards grow wild. Their faces were whether worn-not old but experienced-there were no young dwarves under Trór’s command. They were loyal, hard, and feared, traits of their race and occupation. Veterans, they were all veterans.

His shield and battle axe were brought to him; Trór slung them on his back. His spear had been placed to the side at the beginning of the council and was now picked up again. Trór thrust it upwards as if to test its effectiveness, produced a cheer from his troops. His helmet was placed in his hands, it was modeled similar to the helmets of his soldiers except that his was gold laced on the rims and bore the emblem of a raven on its crest; it was a magnificent specimen of dwarven craft. The brisk wind that had been blowing during the council had brought clouds to shield the light of the moon and stars. Trór lifted his gaze heavenward. It looked like it was going to rain, a common occurrence in the winter months. Good, the rain will render our march inaudible. Trór slowly positioned his helmet on his head and waited for Frar to commence the march.

Last edited by Groin Redbeard; 03-09-2009 at 04:29 PM.
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