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[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The ferocity of the onslaught caught Hænir off guard, despite his so recent experience with fighting these savages. They came at the Dwarves like beasts – very deadly beasts. As last time, they fought with incredible skill and speed, but with greater caution than before. He smiled as he realized that the Dwarves had won an odd form of respect from their enemies, and it showed in the caution they demonstrated in their fighting. Hænir returned this respect, particularly as he watched the glittering dance of their blades.

All time for reflection was soon gone, however, as he was plunged into the middle of the maelstrom. He planted his feet at a shoulder’s width apart and depended upon his axe to guard him from their blows. The last time he had fought these people, he had been constrained by the closeness of their battleground, and he had tried to make up for that by matching them speed for speed. Such a strategy had almost got him killed; and now that he was fighting them in the more open space of this grand hall, it would have been suicide to try and keep up with them. Instead, he fell back on the kind of battle he was most familiar with: maintaining closed ranks with his companions and giving no ground, he dealt out a series of precisely calculated powerful blows to any who dared come near him. The Rhûnians hard-won caution was well repaid, however, as they nimbly darted aside from his attacks, before launching themselves at him, attempting to get under his guard and wound him in the leg or under his arm where his armor was weakest. He countered each such attempt, but with every counter he was forced to move back a half step. Sometimes he was able to regain that ground, but sometimes not, with the result that he was slowly but inexorably being pushed back toward the wall where he would not have room to swing his axe…but where there would be ample space for knifework.

Seeing how the battle was ending, Hænir knew that he would have to change his strategy if he were to survive. Despite the risks, he began to press forward, advancing into the attacks of his enemies. This brought him closer to their blades and lessened the time he had to react to their attacks, and soon he had been cut twice beneath his left arm. Neither wound was grievous but it did not bode well. One particularly large Rhûnian seemed to have selected him as his intended prey; seeing the blood on the Dwarf’s side, the man lunged in at him, looking for the quick kill – it was a fatal mistake. With an easy upswing Hænir removed the man’s weaponhand, before killing him with the backswing. The other Rhûnians gave way slightly, horrified, he supposed, by the ease with which his sharpened blade had moved through his enemy.

But he had gained something far more valuable from the exchange than the death of a single enemy, for in the attack he had seen something that he had not noticed before, but which now stood out to his eyes as clearly as gems in a mine. Most of their attackers wielded two blades, and until now he had assumed that they sought to counter the weapon of their enemy with the lead blade so that they could slash with the following. But it was not so – they did counter his weapon with the lead blade, but rather than holding his axe with it, they would slash with the same blade while simultaneously countering his axe a second time with the following blade. It was a marvelous tactic that depended on blinding speed and a tremendous amount of skill. But now that he realized what they were doing, the advantage began to tip somewhat in his favour.

The very next attacker came at him and tried this precise maneuver. Prepared as he was for it, Hænir ignored the woman’s following hand, knowing that the lead hand, currently engaging his axe, was destined for his throat. Stepping into her guard he countered the blow that would have killed him with the shaft of his axe, and aiming low to avoid the second counter, he swept aside his enemy with a single blow. There was an almost audible gasp from his enemies as they saw the sudden ease with which he had dispatched her. Suddenly filled with the love of battle he cried, “Khazad!” and rushed at the murderous savages before him.

[Arestevana]

Maulká gave an ecstatic shout as the battle began. Taking her javelin in both hands, she ran towards the intruders, laughing aloud. She was slightly disappointed to see the one called Quendi already in combat with Nephil, but there were plenty of other intruders to fight, if none so intriguing. She paused just short of the thickest part of the battle, looking for an unclaimed enemy. The incomers seemed to have no qualms about barging in on their companions’ fights. In fact, they often acted pleased rather than outraged if an ally brought down the enemy they were assailing. Shaking her head at this barbaric attitude, Maulká caught sight of a group of the trespassers fighting back-to-back closer to the chamber’s entrance. One in particular seemed to be having good fortune, as the strange axe-wielder brought down several native warriors one after another.

Watching for a moment, Maulká recognized a battle-rage in the creature’s eyes. It was going to charge them! Maulká jostled several other natives aside and placed herself in the creature’s path. She set the end of the shaft against the floor and steadied the point level with creature’s throat as it gave a strange but fierce battle cry and charged toward her. Maulká fully expected her opponent to be speared on the end of her javelin, but it dodged the point and swung its weapon at her head. She wrenched the javelin up, warding of the blow. She was forced to parry the blows by striking the shaft of her enemy’s weapon, as the sharp axe-head would easily cut through her wooden javelin.

Twice more Maulká parried, trying to find an opening in which to strike at her adversary’s unprotected face. Even a scratch might put enough poison in the wound to kill. She blocked another attack and jabbed at the creature’s head, but it darted to one side, shearing a foot of wood from the end of her weapon with a sweep of its axe. Maulká cursed and splintered the shaft of her broken javelin against the creature’s armor, winding him. She drew her dirk and dagger so quickly that they seemed to jump into her hands.

Before the other could recover, she attacked with a maneuver she had been taught as a child; parrying with her dirk, then striking with the same weapon while parrying with the dagger in her other hand. She moved with little caution, knowing that outsiders never expected this technique. It seemed that this particular intruder was familiar with the attack though, for its counter blow left a deep cut in Maulká’s side. She fell back momentarily, and another native warrior took the opportunity to step in. Maulká cursed the man for taking her fight, but she stepped back again, reluctantly taking a moment to recover her strength.

[Himaran]

The battle seemed to be going ill for the dwarves. Bali had not seen any go down, but the Rhunians were pressing in on all sides. How could they all survive? It was but wishful thinking, and a leader does not wish. Snap out of it and fight! It could be you that goes down! The dwarf barely saw the knife flash towards him, and ducked to the side just in time before rendering its wielder lifeless.

Just then, two other Rhunians detached from the main group and charged him. Perhaps they had seen him as an authority figure, which was indeed correct. The dwarf whipped a hatchet at one of them (and missed), which was all he could do before they were upon him. Bali found himself retreating, blocking the two attackers as best he could. They were skilled warriors, and had it not been for the dwarf's own battle experience he would surely have fallen at once. But while backwards, however, the dwarf finally ran into trouble; the wall, that is. He could no longer swing his axe in such a tight position, and his assailants were closing in. No one can help you, Bali. You must survive on your own... for the company!

"Erebor!" With a long suppressed battle yell, Bali charged his opponents. Too surprised were they to defend against his rain of blows, and after running the first through, Bali avoiding a sword thrust and beheaded the second with a swift stroke. "Barak Ai Khazad! Khazad Ai Menu!" Yelling ancient battle cries, the dwarf charged every opponent before him, bringing them down with speed and ferocity. But before he could stop his forward movement, Bali found himself in the middle of the Rhunian force. Their surprise lasted only for a moment.

"Wir hev di kig! Wir hev di kig!" Bali's last thoughts before lapsing into unconciousness were about how closely the phrase the Rhunians were chanting resembled 'We have the King!'

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The woman’s attack foiled, Hænir pressed in for the kill, but another one of the savages quickly intervened. He swatted aside the man’s attack easily, for the Rhûnian was rash in his assault, and not as well trained as some of the others. With another easy blow Hænir broke the man’s collarbone and sent him reeling into a wall. Once more he turned to the woman, now quickly recovered from her wound. She stood for him, both her weapons at the ready, and the undeniable shine of battle-lust in her eye. Hænir’s own eyes glowed as he rushed her. There was a furious exchange of blows as the woman’s blades danced around his head, and it might have gone ill for Hænir had they not both been suddenly distracted by Bali’s roaring voice, lifted in rage above the general din of battle.

Across the room from where Hænir fought, Bali had been forced into a tight corner, but he waded forward from the constraints of his position, slaying as he went. Their leader seemed to have been driven mad and in his mood he attacked with little concern for defence. Hænir’s soul went cold as he saw a group of the savages move toward him, clearly intending to surround him with their blades. Forgetting the woman, Hænir sprang forward to Bali’s aid, but was met with a wall of opponents. He slew one and thrust the others aside, but the sound of steel cutting air at his back forced him to whirl, just in time to parry the renewed attacks of the warrior woman. He tried in vain to drive her off, but to no avail – no matter what he tried she came at him with greater ferocity. Hænir’s strength was beginning to fail. Despite his successes, the enemy was simply too many, and they had managed to separate the travellers from one another. The sound of chanting brought Hænir’s attention back to where Bali stood and he watched as his leader went down beneath their enemies.

The chant went through the room, being taken up by the other savages, and to Hænir’s surprise they began to retreat, apparently content with the capture of their leader. The travellers pursued their enemies, but they fought an effective rearguard action that held them at bay. Hænir pressed the attack as fiercely as he could but it was useless. Bali had been taken.

[Will Witfoot]

The knives of the savages glittered in the torch light illuminating the cavern, weaving deadly patterns in the air that the adventurers were hard pressed to avoid, and many of their attacks drew blood. Despite attacking with the same ferocity and passion for battle as before, they seemed to be more careful, utilizing complex attacks and feints with a savage cunning.

Gortek deflected a thrust from a Rhûnian's knife with a sweep of his short sword, and doing the unexpected he stepped closer, passing within the man's guard. Before the Rhûnian could react the dwarf jabbed his knee into his groin. As his adversary doubled up with a rictus of pain contorting his face Gortek slit the savage's throat with the long dagger he held in his left hand. A battle was no place for chivalry.

He had been lucky with his easy success, and his luck it seemed was about to turn. One of the savage's companions came for him, and even with several years of fighting experience under his belt Gortek was sorely pressed to avoid having one of the man's blades burry themselves into his eye or breast. It was like trying to combat shadows. His opponent swirled and ducked, avoiding all of Gortek's blows and lashing out viciously with his own weapons, leaving the dwarf dancing in a flurry of blades. Miraculously he emerged from the storm of attacks unscathed, but he had no time to marvel at his fortune before the Rhûnian released another torrent of blistering blows, forcing Gortek to drop to one knee to dodge the blade aimed for his face.

Gortek understood that he could not be the victor in this fight. His favored method had always been speed and skill, and here was an opponent who was his master in both fields. Because of his chosen vocation of fighting, Gortek wore no armour so as to not encumber himself needlessly, a fact which he severely regretted now.
As the savage loomed over him, preparing to administer the killing blow, the dwarf realized that his only chance was to resort to another skill in which he excelled at; fighting dirty. He scooped up a handful of gravel from the cave floor, and as his enemy stepped in with his blades screaming through the air towards his head, Gortek leapt into action. He caught the Rhûnian's knives with his sword, and as the man withdrew his weapons for a renewed attack Gortek cast the small pebbles and rough sand into his face. The moment of blindness this caused to the man was enough, and soon he crashed to the rough stone floor with a short sword sized hole through his breast.

Suddenly a roar from the other side of the cavern captivated his attention, and he saw Bali barge through the enemy like a ship through a storm-tossed sea, slaying left and right and killing anything that dared stand in his path. Even as Gortek watched, their leader crashed into the middle of a group of their enemies, who set upon him with such force that not even the battle-frenzied Bali was able to resist it. He was clobbered unconscious, and the beasts let out a howl of glee, withdrawing from the chamber with their companion. Any chance of pursuit was stemmed by a clever rearguard action their enemies executed at the narrow doorway leading out of the chamber. Their leader was in enemy hands.

[Novnarwen]

This time, Dwalin felt more prepared for what came. The Rhuians seemed too, to be aware of the danger in approaching the dwarves, who had given them a hard time just earlier. However, as Dwalin again found himself in the situation of where he felt like he had to be saved to get out of this alive, he got a helping hand from one of the others. As he rose to his feet, his hands knitted around his axe, he thrust his blade into his attacker. But to Dwalin's surprise, the Rhuian hadn't dropped dead. He had frowned with pain, but as soon as Dwalin had turned his back to him, ready to take on another, he felt a hand on his shoulder. The dwarf was completely taken by surprise as he turned, and was stunned. As arisen from the dead, the Rhuian, still, was very much alive. Dwalin wasn't able to think or react, before something hit him in the face. His axe flung out of his hand, and he fell to the ground with a crack. Eyes still open; he could see his blade landing on the ground not very far away; as a matter of fact, only paces away from his head. Rolling onto his back, he faced the Rhuian; who grinned maliciously. Dwalin realised that he had better get the hold of his weapon again, or he would certainly be dead this time. Therefore, he didn't hesitate to roll over on his side to stretch out his hand to get a hold of his weapon again. When just about to take a hold of it, he felt his hand being smashed under a heavy boot. The poor dwarf let out a short shriek, but was nevertheless well aware of his situation: the Rhuian had grabbed the shiny blade just in front of his eyes. He was holding Dwalin by force, using his feet to tread on him, not letting him go. Now, Dwalin's attacker was about to chop the dwarf's head off, with the dwarf's very own axe. Muttering to himself, shaking, Dwalin tried one last time to roll away from the Rhuian's fierce grip. His opponent looked teasingly at him, shrugging. He kicked Dwalin in the face, leaving the little dwarf with absolutely no chance in getting to his feet.

Then without warning, the Rhuian lifted his hand, which held Dwalin's axe firmly, far above his head. Ready to strike, Dwalin's attacker gritted his teeth, closed his eyes, forcing all his energy on the hit that was going to end the dwarf's life. The dwarf himself didn't dare breathe. He only wished that someone would see him, lying on the cold ground waiting to be killed by one of these barbarians. But surely, what could he expect; the others were busy fighting off their own attackers. He hoped at least that they succeeded. Trembling with fear, he could see his own reflection as the blade came dazzling down to meet his face. With a jerk, he put all his last effort to free his hand. Crawling sideways, he saw the blade hit the ground just inches next to him. The metal made a terrible noise, and the sound made Dwalin's ears almost explode. He was just about to turn around as the second hit came thundering down towards him, and made him scream like a new born. As the Rhuian was about to make the third hit, Dwalin seized his chance; he leaped onto his feet, darted into the Rhuian, pushed him over and grabbed a hold of the axe. Dwalin's lust for revenge rose inside of him, and made him red with anger. Not hesitating anymore, he made the Rhuian step backwards, and they both stumbled in a body lying on the ground. Together they fell over, face down, both terrified not to be the fastest one to grab a hold of the axe again.

Just when the dwarf thought he had an advantage, as he had managed to get the axe away from his opponent's firm grip and made the Rhuian crawl away from him, the Rhuian drew his knife. It surprised Dwalin that the Rhuian hadn't thought of this hidden weapon before, when Dwailn had laid helpless on the floor, waiting to die. Realising that he was sweaty all over, he also noticed that a feeling of tiredness had suddenly fallen upon him. He found himself halfway closing his eyes, but heard a call from the other side of the room. With mixed feelings, he opened his eyes just in time to see Bali disappear amongst a crowd of the Rhuians. At the same time, his attacker leapt to his feet. His eyes were filled with hatred, as he came Dwalin's way with a knife in his hand. Dwalin wasn't focusing, but he felt his leg automatically lift from the floor and just kick randomly in the air. Something had darted towards him, but it had been stopped by the gigantic foot of his.

Collecting his axe at last, still laying on the floor, he was able to turn his head and see the last of the Rhuians retreat. The last ones disappeared through the opening of the tunnel, as he got to his feet. "Bali!" he screamed, but as he darted afterwards a strong hand grabbed him around his arm. Dwalin looked questioningly at Hænir, whose sweat ran down his forehead and whose face was bruised. "Aren't we going after him?" Dwalin looked around, seeing all the other dwarves alive. He sighed with relief. At least they were alive. Dwalin needed all of them when he was going after Bali.

[Saraphim]

Nephil was the one to be pulled from battle this time, but only because he did not know that they were retreating once more.

Corith had pulled him away from his battle with the Quendi, a battle that had succeeded in draining Nephil's strength.

As the survivors ran from the room, Nephil supported by Corith, he thought over what had happened.

"I never had a chance to think," he said to his cousin, "I had to keep moving. It is so fast. So fast. The small ones are strong, but slow. And the ones... that are like us... are strong, but slower than we are. But that Quendi..."

"Quiet," said Corith, setting him down when they reached another room," Rest. I'll be back."

It took a moment for Nephil to get his bearings, but after he recieved a bowl of water he was refreshed a bit and could look around. A noise at the far edge of the cave made him stand painfully up and walk over.

One of the small warriors had been captured! it was in the process of being bound, which was not an easy thing to do and took quite a number of Rhunians to accomplish.

A sound behind him and he knew Maulka was there. He turned to talk to her, but her eyes widened when she saw him.

"Oh my..." she said, "What happened to you?"

Nephil looked down on himself. He was covered from foot to chest with shallow gashes, which had been made by the Quendi's sword.

Nephil drew one of his knives and looked at his reflection in the polished metal.

Great cuts scarred his face, one coming dangerously close to his eye.

His leather armor was in tatters, and his hair tie was missing.

"You fought the Quendi?" asked Maulka.

Nephil nodded," and I'm surprised I got off this lucky," he said.

He turned back to thier captive. Those who had bound him, though successful, were now nursing bruises. No one seemed to want to get near him.

Nephil dropped to his knees in front of the bound warrior. In a loud clear voice, he said, "Who are you? Of what manner of creature are you? And, above all, why do you tresspass in our home?"

Nephil waited, hoping it could understand him.