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[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.

[Himaran]

His head hurt and his hands were bound, but Bali was putting up a good fight. The dwarf had savagely kicked out at his captures upon waking; and although they still surrounded him, the Rhunians were keeping their distance. He stood, enemies that could end his life instantly on all sides, with an air of confidence and authority. Perhaps it was this that kept them from disposing of him immediately.

Suddenly, the other natives backed away slightly. A rather large male warrior stepped forth, staring at Bali with almost a questioning look. Then he spoke, not in the common tongue, but in a language to which the captured traveler was quite familer. They were Easterlings! The words had decayed over time, but now Bali could make out their distinct race. How they had become such great fighters, however, remained a mystery.

The native before him said in a calm and commanding tone, "Who are you? Of what manner of creature are you? And, above all, why do you tresspass in our home?"

Bali decided to comply. There was a very slim chance of his survival anyway, so why not make a friend before he was beaten and cooked alive? Just like in the old stories...

"I, good sir, am a dwarf. I live far away from here in a mountain; a cave of sorts. I and my company meant not to harm you or your land. We were on... a very important mission from my master." The dwarf made a firm decision not to mention treasure; that, if anything, would spell his certain doom.

The Rhunian was quiet for a moment. "A dwarf. Just like in the stories. But I care not about your race. What of the Quendi? The great warrior, the invincible one?"

Bali chuckled inwardly. So they thought that the lone elf was invincible. He was a good fighter, to be sure, but far from undefeatable. But why not let them think that? Obviously, this race knew something of the outside world.

"The Quendi is indeed invincible."

A collective gasp echoed throughout the chamber. The Rhunian stepped forward, a grimace on his face. "You lie! He is flesh like the rest of us."

Bali kept a remarkably straight face, given the humor of the situation. "Nay! He is of a lost race, one from across the great sea. He is a child of a god; you have seen his speed and strength, and the ease with which he slays us mortal beings. I cannot kill him... and neither can you."

[Novnarwen]

"We have to go after him! He would have done the same for us!"

Dwalin found himself waving desperately with his arms. As everyone turned their attention to Dwalin, the dwarf took his time and looked seriously at each and every of them. Many of them were bruised, and were covered in blood. Their faces were covered in dirt and sweat, and only the elf looked almost like normal. They were exhausted, and with their grimaces, Dwalin knew that they were thinking the same as him; Bali could be dead already, and what was the point in going after him then? It would suit them no good to burst into the Rhuian's new resort in the state they were in; they were tired and their backs were sore. After being in battles, such as this one, Dwalin reckoned they all needed a couple of days to fully recover. As the original leader of the quest though, he felt a certain responsibility, now that Bali was gone. He couldn't let his brother, and companion, to a certain death. Surely, if Bali wasn't dead already, he would certainly be soon; if none went after him. Even though the thoughts of Bali being dead made him utterly miserable, he couldn't stop trying to convince the others; that was his job.

"Bali is depending on us. Only we have the power to save his life. We can either go after him and find him.... Or we can turn our backs on him, pretend that he isn't gone, and leave him with these barbarians, which will certainly be his death." He coughed gently, as if he wasn't trying to get them all to feel bad about themselves for not taking a stand yet, but to realise the facts in this situation. He put up the grimmest face he could ever dream of, and continued to stare at them.

No one said anything. It was completely silent, only Nerin found himself stumbling and falling to the ground. He sighed as he rose to his feet again, red faced, and disgusted by the look of the dead Rhuian who had caused his fall.

As a couple of minutes passed, the dwarf couldn't take it anymore. The silence was unbearable, and it made him angry that no one had said anything yet. Didn’t they care? Didn't they care at all for Bali? What Dwalin came to realise annoyed him the most, was that after all Bali had done for them, they didn't seem a bit grateful for what he had done. Narrowing his eyes, uncertain about what to do, he made his move towards the tunnel door. "I will go! If that means I will have to go alone, I will." With a determined tone in his voice, he didn't offer the others another look before he paced sternly out of the opening. He could only hope that he would hear footsteps following him.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Dwalin’s panicked appeals for help did not fall on deaf ears, for even as the young Dwarf cast about him in a near frenzy, Hænir was already moving about the room examining the bodies of the fallen. His practised eye noted the manner and shape of what little armour the savages wore, and he committed to memory where it was weakest. He stooped time and again to examine their weapons, picking them up and balancing them in his palm, assessing how they would best be used in battle. He saw that most of them had multiple blades hidden in small sheathes and pouches about their body, but that most of them chose to keep their knives in cunningly hidden leather sheathes that they hid in their sleeves. As he looked at corpse after corpse he began to note that for all the differences in their clothing and arms there was a single motif that was repeated again and again. Stamped in the leather of their shirts, engraved on the blades of their weapons and even tattooed into their skin, was the stylized image of a glowing sphere of light, with many shafts of radiance spilling outward from it. He had no idea what it meant, but he carefully filed the image away for further study.

So intensely was he focused upon the search of the dead that he did not notice the ringing silence of the hall until it was broken by the furious ringing of Dwalin’s heels upon the stone. The young Dwarf’s last words echoed through Hænir’s mind, and as Dwalin disappeared into the darkness of the passage down which the Rhûnians had taken Bali, Hænir sprang up from where he was crouching over the dead and rushed across the hall crying, “Why do you all stand there amazed and dumb? Bali has been taken by a cruel and savage folk; we have seen what they do with their prisoners! We cannot, nay we will not let him be taken!”

His grip on his axe tightened as he flew down the passageway behind Dwalin, and from behind he heard the sounds of the others start to follow.

[Arestevana]

Maulká sighed and leaned against the wall. She had been less reluctant to retreat this time; there had been great satisfaction in fighting that creature. Still, she would have liked to have killed it. A sharp pain reminded her of the cut in her side. It must be deeper than I thought, she realized; blood had soaked through the leather of her armor. Reaching up, she freed the wide leather band that was plaited into her long hair. She bound the cloth tightly over the injury, above her armor to hide the blood. Her hair would have to stay loose, a hindrance in fighting, until she could find something else to tie it with. She grimaced.

She noticed Nephil on the far side of the cave where the group had stopped, and walked over, being careful not to reveal her injury by an uneven gait. It wouldn’t do to admit to taking an injury from one of the undersized trespassers. When she got close to Nephil, she saw that he was covered in numerous scratches and cuts, including several deep cuts on his face.
"Oh my... What happened to you?" Maulká exclaimed.
Then she remembered seeing him go after the immortal warrior. “You fought the Quendi?”
“And I'm surprised I got off this lucky," he responded, nodding.
Maulká watched as he turned to where the other natives had gathered around the prisoner. She listened to the questions impatiently, more interested in the prisoner’s answers. She was surprised to hear the creature -the dwarf-refer to a master. Is he not the king? She broke off her musings in time to hear their suspicions about the Quendi confirmed.
“He is a child of a god; you have seen his speed and strength, and the ease with which he slays us mortal beings. I cannot kill him... and neither can you." Declared the prisoner.
In the sudden silence that descended on the group, Maulká said, “We must go to the Council Hall. The Elders will know if he speaks the truth.”
Nephil agreed, and gave directions for their march, setting several archers to guard in case the intruders tried to follow. Minor chaos developed as the few members of their company tried to arrange a marching order, but all was quickly sorted out. No one seemed eager to carry the prisoner, for it had dealt out many bruises with its earlier struggles. Corith knelt next to the dwarf.
“Someone throw me a knife,” he called. The prisoner seemed completely composed, but Maulká thought she saw a flicker of uncertainty in its eyes at the man's words. She threw Corith her short knife. He caught it neatly by the hilt and cut the rope that bound the captive’s feet. Then he pressed the blade against the prisoner’s neck, forcing it to walk in front of him. The company left the chamber, heading swiftly toward the Council Hall. As they left, Maulká called over her shoulder to Corith, who was near the back of the party, “Be careful not to scratch the prisoner unless you want to kill it. The blade is poisoned.”
She laughed to herself, imagining the dwarf’s discomfort.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Narvi was barely alive. He would not have been, save for the natives' retreat. He dropped his axe, and collapsed on the spot, weakened by the strenuous effort and the loss of blood.

Why had they retreated? he asked. Soon he knew.

Dwalin seems to be in an agitated mood. "Bali is depending on us. Only we have the power to save his life. We can either go after him and find him..." Bali was taken? As a warrior, he feared capture more than death, and cared for a lost comrade more than his life. He wanted to follow Dwalin, to rescue Bali from those Men.

But look at you now! You barely lasted against three of them, and now you intend to assault their very stronghold? How badly do you want to die? As always, his body rebelled at thoughts of action only the mind knew was possible. Or necessary.

But he couldn't have lived with himself, knowing that he left their leader to some cruel fate. Despite his battered condition, he had to go after Bali.

"We cannot, nay we will not let him be taken!" Hænir's voice resounded in the cavern. And with that, ignoring the pain, he stood to his feet, and trudged after the two Dwarves.