Search for Rhûn RPG

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The darkness of the tunnels was becoming oppressive and the only stay that Hænir had against it was his axe. He clutched it tightly in his mailed fists as they wandered through the corridors. They had been blundering about like this for so long that he had almost forgotten what it was they were seeking. His distraction led him to stumble into Nerin who had stopped short just before him. “Oi!” the younger Dwarf expostulated beneath his breath, “watch your feet!”

Hænir scowled into the gloom and muttered an apology. The whole party seemed to have halted for a time so Hænir took the opportunity to ask Nerin how he was enduring the trials of this terrible place – it was the first chance he’d had to talk with his friend since arriving at the edge of the deadly Sea. Nerin turned to face him and said, “I am well, I suppose. As well as I could be. I took a bit of a knock in the battle, but I acquitted myself well.”

“Aye,” said Hænir with professional appreciation, “that you did lad, that you did. It was a close fought thing, but we sent them back with memories that will prevent them from coming upon us again soon!” He chuckled mirthlessly under his beard as he remembered the Rhûnian he had slain. “They were good fighters, though; the best I’ve seen since we stormed the last holdouts at Gundabad! Ah, now” he sighed, losing himself in a happy memory, “that was a proper battle, lad. The goblins kept retreating deeper and deeper into their caves and cracks, and we kept pressing in upon them. In the final sorties of the war, we were so deep beneath the surface of the earth that we fancied we could feel the fire that burns at her heart, welling up beneath our feet. The dark was so thick, you couldn’t even remember the sight of sun.” He felt rather than saw Nerin shudder. “I’m sorry, lad,” he said, laying a hand that he hoped was comforting on his shoulder, “I shouldn’t be speaking of such things at a time like this. There’s enough enemies in the dark in the here and now!”

Bali’s voice came to them through the dark, ordering the party onward. Hefting his axe, suddenly made lighter with the memory of the goblins he’d slain in that long-ago war, Hænir pressed ahead into the unnatural night-time of the cave.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Narvi trudged alone in the darkness of the tunnels. Water dripped from ceiling. Long ago, the same waters rushed through these rocks, carving exquisite sculptures of minerals. Any Dwarf would have adored this place, and even endured the damp cold for a glance. But Narvi's shivering was not from the cold outside, but from his heart.

The fury of battle left him, and his thoughts took control. The face of the man he killed appeared before his eyes; its face contorted in anger, its eyes blazing in fury, its mouth smeared with blood. The face never left him. It tortured him. He had the right to kill me. All of us. How come I survived while those whose wrath burned righteously fell? He searched for an answer. His mind gave none. So did his heart.

There was only one thing left to do. He approached someone, hoping that he would share Narvi's burden. He tapped the Dwarf in the back. It was Hænir.

"Is it right?" he asked without preamble.

"What do you mean?" answered the Dwarf.

"We were wrong to enter here. What right have we to escape, to leave this place? What right have we to kill those whose only wish is to be left alone? I fought before Dale once, and I was proud of that. The Wild Men and the ruthless Orcs deserved their fates. For trying to destroy us, and to take what is ours, they were punished.

"Now it was I who had invaded, and spilled blood on their own soil. Is it right that we live?"

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Narvi’s question stopped Hænir in his tracks, so surprised was he by the fact that he had never considered their situation in that light. Recalling himself, he moved on but Narvi had seen his reaction. “What is wrong?” he asked, “is aught amiss?”

Hænir shook his head, “Nay, lad, but your question has set me back a bit for sure. I had not thought of our journey in that way. I hate to think of what we are doing as being akin to the ravening of goblins or orcs, but there’s no denying the truth of what you say: we are the invading strangers here, and we’ve done a lot of what these folk will call murder.” He fell into an uncomfortably contemplative silence. “Nay, it’s not an idea that I relish in the least…”

“Then you believe we are in the wrong?” Narvi asked with a falling tone in his voice. “We do not deserve to win free of this place, I fear. If they come upon us again I shall fight, but I fear my heart shall not be quite right with that.”

Hænir chuckled mirthlessly. “I do not care where your heart is, lad, so long as your axe is at the ready. But I daresay that when they come upon us again we will have more and better things to worry about that the nice scruples of our situation.”

They trudged along in silence for a few minutes as Hænir turned these thoughts over and over in his mind. It had never occurred to him to question or even think about the rightness of their journey. After a life spent in the service of the King, he had become so used to following his lord’s lead, that it had been enough for him that Bali – the King’s own nephew – had felt the journey justified. Despite his early doubts about Bali’s abilities as a leader, he had never though to question his authority. And this unquestioning obedience and reliance, he now realised, had extended to a deferral of all questions about the morality of their situation to Bali. Hænir spoke to Narvi again as though their conversation had been going on that whole time. “I do not think that we are like the orcs, though, Narvi. They came to Erebor knowing that we were there and wanting to destroy us and all that we’d built. We came to this land ignorant of this folk’s existence and wanting no trouble. Remember, they attacked us first. We may have stumbled into their home unasked, but there’s other things to do than try to slaughter us without even so much as a greeting!”

“But would we have done any different if we woke up one day and found a strange folk poking about the halls of Erebor?” Narvi asked.

“I do not know,” Hænir replied slowly. “I would like to think that we’d at least try to take them alive so that we could find out what their business was. Remember, too, that these folk have not just attacked us now – they have been harassing and harrying us for days. Who do you think stole our maps and set those beasts upon us in the jungle?”

Hænir fell silent, not knowing if he had answered Narvi’s questions to his satisfaction.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Hænir's words sank slowly into Narvi. He's right, he thought. We were guiltless save of lust for treasure. We never intended to harm the natives or take thir land.

"But," he said, "we intended to take treasures that were theirs. What excuse have we for that."

Hænir was silent for a while. "We never knew that someone owned this 'treasure'. And this illusion we journeyed for, which we found out, to our dismay, was deadly, we never did take."

Narvi was frowning, his eyes on the ground a foot ahead of him. He was in a pensive mood again, the look he had long ago, while pondering the best way to shock the enemy with minimal force. Now, he was thinking of something equally deadly.

He raised his head, and understanding sparkled in his eyes. He cursed the fact that a thing so prosaic as a difference in toungues would have them fighting for their lives in the land of the enemy. Yet they were also to blame. They attacked the Dwarves without so much as an inquiry to their presence here. Understanding hardened to resolve, and he swore to himself that they would escape this place. None should dare stop him.

But, one more thing needed to be done.

"Thanks, friend." Hænir nodded, and went on ahead.

[Himaran]

The dwarves continued to stumble through the tunnels for over an hour. Progress was slow, and the single torch was repeatedly being dropped or snuffed out. The company tried to keep their hopes up by talking about Erebor or their other home, but the general morale was low. Most believed they were lost.

Then, however, they began to see signs of recent movement in the tunnel. Streaks of blood stained the floor, and weapons lay along the walls. The path itself seemed suddenly larger, and the air more fresh. "We must be near the entrance, "Bali said happily. "Not much farther now!"

So they hurried. Through the widening passage, up the roughly hewn stairs, and straight into a room filled with the very enemies they had hoped to leave behind.

[Saraphim]

Silence decended as the strangers burst into the room.
For a moment that seemed to strech for an eternity, they stared at each other, the Rhunian natives just as shocked as the intruders.

The look on the faces of the small ones in the doorway was different, however. The shock on thier faces was mingled with pure horror and fear. It was clear, to Nephil at any rate, that they had not meant to come into that room.

The moment ended as an arrow was fired. It hit one of the incomers, a glancing blow, but it started the battle again.

Maulka seemed overjoyed at the new opportunity for battle, and entered into it as if she had never stopped. Corith, while caught off gaurd, improvised with a large smithing hammer he carried with him, stuck into his belt.

Nephil tried to remain calm as the mysterious Quendi stepped into the room. His kinsman's words echoed in his mind:

"...They are like men, but different. They cannot die..."

"We will see," said Nephil to himself. He leapt over one of the small axe-weilders and threw his spear with all his strength.

The Quendi moved faster than breath, the spearhead burying itself into the rock wall not inches from his head.

Nephil crossed his arms and unsheathed his knives. They shone in the firelight, dripping with fresh poison.

The sounds of battle seemed to drift away, as if it were happening in the next room. Nephil could only see the Quendi, and the Quendi, for the first time, saw him.

Time stood still as the two began to fight.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

This time, his arrow did not fail. As soon as he saw the natives, his hands reached for an arrow and fitted it in the bow in one smooth manoeuvre. The same arrow planted itself below a native's eye socket moments later. Narvi smiled. He was once again that warrior who stood before Erebor's gates, defiantly standing between his home and his enemies.

As he refitted an arrow to his bow, a man lunged towards him. Too close for an arrow, he dropped the loaded bow and drew his axe. Too fast! The man's poisoned knife threatened Narvi's throat, and would have found its way had he not stepped to the left.

This time, his enemy's speed worked to his advantage. Narvi turned, and the enemy's back was before him, undefended. He raised his axe for the kill. The man caught the act in a sideward glance. As Narvi struck, his left hand shot up.

The Dwarf uttered a curse. His blow was held back by the man's knife, long enough for him to twist out of the axehead's way. Now the two adversaries stood face to face, barely a yard between them. Time slowed as they both raised their weapons to kill.

Narvi had long ago developed a trick to increase the strength delivered by his two-handed strike. He stepped forward as he raised the axe, and its iron head came down at a terrifying speed, its force provided by the momentum gained from his step. The enemy used the sword on his right hand in an attempt to block the blow, but realised too late that it was not enough. The axehead swept the sword aside, then found its way to the mans chest.

He removed the axe, and looked for another opponent. But the wound on his right thigh opened again, and the blood loss weakened Narvi.

Three men came after him.

[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.

[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.

[Himaran]

Upon reaching the Council Hall, Bali was instantly impressed. It was a huge cavern, with roughly hewn seats around its sides and several well-crafted ones in its center; much like an auditorium that he had seen in Gondor as child. But what caught his eye was a small pillar, sitting very close to the entrance. Not five paces fro the entrance sat a beautiful crystal, one unlike anything he had ever seen. Its outer ring was translucent, and a small ball of light filled its center. Although the Rhunians seemed to like darkness, the rays from the ball lit up the entire room. Who can tell what it is worth... far more than mithril, at any rate.

Just then, the dwarf turned his attention to the figures in the middle of the Hall. They were large, and sat hunched in their seats; but were shrouded in black hoods such that no skin showed. Bali shuddered inwardly; were they wraiths, or just old men hidden in their cloth tombs of night. Maybe some of each...

The one called Nephil stepped forward, and bowed before them. "Oh Great and Wise ones, Elders of this great world, what do you know of the Quendi? Are they indeed invincible?" He remained in his prone position, waiting for them to speak.

The Elders were silent for a moment. Then one spoke, in a low and raspy voice. "The Quendi is immune to some things.... disease and age perhaps... but not to blades. His flesh can be cut like other beings. A great warrior, yes, but invincible... no."

Nephil turned on Bali him a flash. Screaming angrily, the Rhunians dragged Bali forward. He fought violently, kicking and butting at everything he came into contact with. Suddenly, he felt the knife that the Rhunian had held at his neck lower, and the dwarf shoved himself backwards. His bonds were sliced instantly, and the dwarf leaped off to the side, barrelling through the Rhunians. Stuck in the middle of him, he ducked and dodged their blows and occasionally dove into them; rolling over the ground at a quick speed. In short, the orderly interrogation turned to mayhem. Bali could only hope that their custom was to sacrifice him, and not merely slay him with an arrow. For that would be his doom.

[Novnarwen]

It didn't take half as long as Dwalin had expected to hear footsteps coming from behind. At an earlier point, he would have kept his axe ready, but now he knew who the sound was coming from; the others. It was a great feeling that arose inside of him at that particular moment he understood that they had indeed listened to him, and that they were again sacrificing themselves for Bali. Knowing that his brother was also loved by so many others, made him shiver inside; Bali had to be a truly great person. Dwalin, of course, knew this, but the fact that so many others thought this as well, touched him. He even started wondering whether they would have done the same for him, if he had done enough good in his life that someone would remember him after his death? However, all he would have to focus on now was finding Bali; even if it meant looking for eternity.

Dwalin turned just to see the others hurrying to catch up with him. He didn't know what so say. Was there anything to say?

"Only true and brave men would have followed a poor fellow of a leader to rescue a companion," he muttered silently to himself. Hænir turned to him at once, as if he had heard what the dwarf had just said. But as he saw the expression in Dwalin's face; which both showed his fear and insecurity, he seemed willing to ignore the statement and held therefore his tongue. With which each bend and turn the tunnel took though, the expression in Dwalin's face grew ever clearer. The thought of Bali being dead, or tortured, bothered him more and more. Even though he tried to put his personal feelings away, they kept sneaking up in him, making him want to vomit. Also, when they were walking, he started reproaching himself for taking so long before he had actually done something. Why hadn't he gone to find Bali at once? Why hadn't he, when he saw the Rhuians close up on his brother, cast his enemy aside and strode after him? He knew that Bali had done it for him. Any brother would have. There were two voices in his head. One saying that he had to forget about it, saying that it wasn't his fault, saying so much that seemed so reasonable. Then again, there was another voice. This said quite a few things. It kept mentioning, how selfish Dwalin was, how he should have gone after Bali at once, and how he deliberately longed to be better than Bali. Leaving him with the Rhuians, was the perfect way for him to prove himself; after all, who had come home from Rhûn alive?

You have always wanted to be better at Bali at something . . . something . . . something . . . just . . . anything . . .

Shivering, both frightened and uncertain about how to handle this he gave a little shriek. "What is it?" the others asked, whispering though. Dwalin tried waving them off, but the terror in his face didn't seem to convince them that everything was okay. The asked him whether he had seen any of the Rhuians, but Dwalin just shook his head. He didn't dare look at the others, in case they figured it out; and read him like an open book. What if they, too, thought he was jealous of his brother? What if they thought he was longing to be better than Bali? But all the same, was it true? Was anything of what the second voice had said true? Dwalin didn't know. It was highly uncomfortable to have these, what seemed to him, absurd thoughts in the middle of the rescuing of Bali.

As the others tried not to cast too many looks over at Dwalin the next couple of minutes, he realised he had to give all of this serious thought. But it would have to wait until he got home, home with Bali.

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

The company moved down a long and unbending passage at an awkward speed between the haste and urgency they felt for their leader, and the more cautious approach that prudence warranted. Some of them were sorely hurt, but they did not complain. Hænir paid no heed whatsoever to his wounds, nor did he care that this was likely to be his last battle. He had come on this quest with no other thought than to protect Bali and to thereby win the honour that had eluded him his whole life. If gaining that honour meant the loss of his life, then so be it.

Halfway along the passage they entered a large chamber that their meagre torch could only faintly illumine. Hænir moved to Dwalin’s side to take counsel, but was stopped by the sound of an arrow in flight. He pushed Dwalin to one side and fell upon him, so that the arrows passed over their heads to clatter harmlessly of the floors. Before any of the Dwarves could move, the Elf had notched and loosed an arrow that flew into the darkness. A strangled cry from the far end of the hall told them that it had found its mark. Before the echoes had died, Raendin had loosed another arrow and they heard the unmistakable sounds of a person’s death once more. There was a clatter and the sound of swiftly moving feet and then silence. The Dwarves all looked at the Elf with admiration, and Hænir said, “Now that was a fine piece of shooting.”

Raendin merely smiled and shrugged. “Come,” he said, “we must hurry.”

The party moved down the passage taken by their assailants, moving as quickly as they could now, for their hearts were full of wordless dread. They ran for what seemed a very long way, with their torch burning lower and lower until finally it went out plunging them into total darkness. No, not total darkness; Hænir peered ahead into the gloom and saw far ahead of them a faint twinkling light, pure and cold, as though a star had descended into the earth. “Look,” he hissed, “follow that light. My heart tells me that they have taken Bali there to do him some harm.” He ran then, not waiting for the others, but he was soon surrounded by the rush of heavy feet.

The light got stronger and stronger as they approached, and now they could hear the sound of a great crowd of people crying out in anger and hatred. The light was bright enough now that it flooded the passageway with radiance, and yet still their approach seemed unmarked for there as no attack or resistance. Finally, they burst into a huge chamber with rank upon rank of seats about them, filled with hundreds of the savages. In the middle of the room they saw their leader being subdued by a large crowd of Rhûnians who were seeking to bind his feet with rope. The crowds who stood about howling in their uncouth tongue, chanting for his blood.

A silence, deeper than death, fell upon the room at the entrance of the party. There was a stunned moment in which both groups looked at one another, realising that the moment had come, finally, for the extinction of the Dwarves. The Rhûnians began to smile, and those closest to the Dwarves moved forward, slowly drawing their blades and falling into their fighting positions. For the first time, Hænir’s eyes fell upon the source of the beautiful light, and it took his breath away. The orb was filled with light as though it were a goblet with shimmering water. In an instant he recognised it as the source of the markings that he had seen upon the Rhûnians, and he knew that he now beheld their most sacred object. There was barely enough time to think, and almost not enough to act, but Hænir managed to lunge at the orb and, before the savages could stop him, he lifted it off its pillar and held it above his head.

A strangled cry ran through the room and the Rhûnians froze. Every eye in the cavern was upon the globe. Hænir took a careful step back and lowered the orb to chest level. He quickly whispered to Dwalin. “Lad, I think I could use your help with this; just hold your axe above this trinket and make like you’re about ready to break it. Maybe that will convince them to give us back our leader!"

[Himaran]

Novnarwen's post

Everything had happened to quickly. Before the poor dwarf had given all this thought, he suddenly found himself and the company standing in a chamber, surrounded by these barbarians who were now closing in on them. Their blades were raised, and their eyes were lit up with a certain desire to end all of their petty little lives. They were ready to strike any moment now. But with a movement so fast, that the eye might have missed it, Hænir darted unexpectedly towards something which had obviously caught his attention. Grabbing a hold of whatever it was, everyone went silent. The Rhuians, who seemed quite pleased by the company’s arrival, seemed now to be in shock. Their muttering, their giggling and their smirking; all was gone. Now, everyone seemed rather tense. The barbarians, stood with mouths open, heaving after air. What was happening? Even Dwalin felt his sweaty hands almost losing their grip of his axe, which he had raised to defend himself.

After a few seconds, as Hænir had grabbed whatever it was, he came hurrying back towards Dwalin. Showing sign to hold his hands out, Hænir handed him something . . . a stone . . . Dwalin looked hesitatingly at him and at the shining object. The Dwarf hadn’t noticed its light before, but now, as it shone so clearly before his eyes, he couldn’t take his eyes from it. Was it gold? Was this the treasure they had come all the way from Erebor to get? He wondered. As he got a proper look of it, it actually reminded him of the moon. It was letting out this silvery light; which gave the impression of being an orb. No, this was not at all gold.

“Lad, I think I could use your help with this; just hold your axe above this trinket and make like you’re about ready to break it. Maybe that will convince them to give us back our leader!" Hænir said.

"Wow, this must be valuable!" Dwalin muttered to himself, not quite following Hænir’s way of thinking. He kept staring at it, feeling numb all over, as if a spell had been cast over him. It didn’t exactly reflect anything, so it was most definitely not some kind of mirror. It wasn’t gold either, and it could certainly not be silver. It was way too heavy for that. “But it must be valuable," Dwalin muttered again, as he was able to turn his attention towards the Rhuians, Hænir and Bali. And just then, he knew what Hænir had meant. It was valuable, very valuable. If it wasn't, why else would the Rhuians stand so still as if it was the end of the world? None of them had in fact moved after Hænir had got his hands on it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he could spot Bali. He tried to give him a wave. But as he was about to wave to Bali with his axe in his left hand and the orb in his right, he realised that it was quite complicated, and naturally he failed. He tried again, now almost losing his grip on the orb. There was a loud uproar in the crowd of Rhuians, as they saw how Dwalin had almost dropped the orb to the ground. The fear in their eyes showed that this thing, which Dwalin was holding, was something of the most precious they had. Giving this one more thought, Dwalin held his axe over the orb. Again, there was shouting and screaming. Frightened Rhuians looked as if they wanted to get a hold of the dwarf who was threatening to destroy the orb, but because of their fear that he would destroy it, they kept still. Dwalin smirked, hearing Hænir.

"Let the dwarf go, and I shall not give him," Hænir pointed at Dwalin, "orders to destroy it." The Rhuians looked sceptically at Hænir, showing no sign of letting Bali go. As Dwalin knew that they definitely had the advantage in this situation, he giggled. He lifted his axe, looked at the Rhuians who were surrounding them and Bali, ready to strike. Once more the Rhuians looked terrified, and they seemed to be having a disagreement. Dwalin couldn't make out what they said, but they seemed quite angry. "Don't give them anymore time," Hænir whispered into Dwalin air. He nodded, and sank his axe slowly. Just then, there was a loud scream from one of the Rhuians. As if seen a ghost, the Rhuian's white face lit up the chamber. Everyone seemed to turn their attention towards Dwalin and the company, who had just earlier burst into the room. Everyone held their breaths, looking horrified.

Just before the axe would have destroyed the orb with the beautiful light, movements from the corner interrupted Dwalin’s concentration. From where Bali stood, also holding his breath, the Rhuians spread to give the dwarf room to walk pass them. Dwalin looked surprisingly around, very pleased with himself.

[Himaran]

Bali watched in amazement as the Rhunians simply spread away from him. Deciding not to look surprised, he walked to the room's center and collected his weapons and gear in a leisurely manner. As he walked towards the party, the savages stepped back, giving the dwarf a clear path. He strode through the widening gap with an air of command, but when he reached his group became his old friendly self again. The dwarf patted Dwalin on the back, and gave him a smile that his younger brother had always longed for; one of respect. "Nice move, lad. Now let's get out of here. Oh, and Haenir, may I see that for a moment." The dwarf handed the crystal ball over, and Bali examined it.

"Beautiful. Rare and exquisite. It must be incredibly valuable. Keep it safe!" After handing it back to Haenir, Bali looked around the company.

"Thank you all for coming after me. Hand you not, I would surely be dead. And, more importantly, we would not have found this!" They all chuckled.

"I wonder why they care about it so much," said Gortek. The Rhunians were still standing, as if frozen to the ground. They made no move in any direction, but simply stared at the shining light Haenir held.

"I have no idea, but let's not stay and find out," said Durin. Bali and the others agreed, and they left the cavern peacefully.
_______________________

Several hours later, they had left the caves, and headed north up the canyon. And they knew that they would all make it home.

[Saraphim]

No one had touched the Great Light. No one. Never in the life of Nephil, or indeed the lives of the Elders, some of whom had seen more than a hundred summers. It was the heart of the city, and it was said that it brought luck.

So it was, that when the Dwarf-creature had grabbed the Light, the entire cavern of Rhunians had frozen in their tracks.

It was as if, with that simple gesture of reaching out and taking the Light, the Dwarf had reached out and taken the soul of the people of Rhun.

We never thought to gaurd it, thought Nephil quickly, while he dared not move his body, Never. No harm has ever come to it before.

One of the other Dwarves made as if to crash his axe down onto the Light, and the Rhunians stiffened as one. But they still did not move to stop the thieves.

They slowly edged out the door. No one followed them.

The Light could still be seen as it moved down the carverns, but soon it would be gone. Forever.

Nephil thought of something. He broke from his frozen body and ran from the room.

No one followed.

The last of the party was disappearing down a corner. But Nephil wanted the one at the tail end.

"Quendi!" called Nephil, hoping it would answer.

It stopped and slowly turned, surprised to be called by that name.

One of the men stopped as well, and looked questioningly at his friend.

Nephil stopped and held his arms out, showing he had no weapons. The man drew his sword, but niether Nephil nor the Quendi noticed.

"Yes?" It questioned.

Nephil was shocked to find himself talking to the enigma that had haunted his thoughts since he saw him in the forest, but he collected his thoughts.

"Are you...truly...immortal?" he asked.

"I can be killed. But if not, yes, I live for eternity."

The Quendi looked at Nephil, judging him through his eyes.

"I am Raendin,"

"Nephil," he said.

The man put his hand on Raendin's shoulder and the two quickly ran from the hall, following the Light.

Nephil stared after them, deep in thought.

~~~

It was some days later. The entire city was present in the largest cavern. The Elders stood in the middle, looking harrassed and tired.

Maulka was standing near them as well, proclaiming as loud as she could that the thieves must be stopped, the Light returned.

Nephil had been only vaguely following the events as they unfolded. He stood fairly close to the middle with Corith.

Suddenly he heard his name and felt hundreds of eyes on him. On of the Elders had asked him a question.

"Well?" said the old man,"Should we go after them? You were the one who ran out after they did...the unthinkable. Sould we go?"

Nephil cleared his throat. Thoughts rushed through his mind, of the Quendi, of the Dwarves, of the half-starved catch. The question echoed in his mind, and he knew with certainly that if they went after them, the intruders would not live to see another sunrise. The Light would be returned, and life would return to normal.

"No," said Nephil, and the entire carvern began to murmur. His voice grew stronger, "No. We should not. We have lost too many, and the Quendi...the Quendi cannot be killed. By any means. We will lose."

The absurdity of this statement almost made Nephil laugh, but the Elders, unbelievably, took him seriously.

Nephil turned and left the room, pushing through his people. He left the main hall, and turned down the exiting tunnel.

Outside, rain fell in torrents, but Nephil climbed a rock outcropping oblivious to the slippery ground.

He faced west, the direction the intruders had come, and where they would be going now.

He thought of them, making thier way through uncharted forest, fearing pursiut.

But they had the Light. And Nephil wished them luck.

[Esgallhugwen]

Nerin was limping badly from the battle, one of the Rhûnians dove under him and slashed at his leg from behind, cutting deeply into his calf. But it didn't stop him from going after Dwalin and Hænir; he had wanted to say something but his body ailed him badly and he could not think of anything so he remained silent.

His gut feeling told him that Bali may yet be alive but knowing the viciousness of these natives and their irratic way of fighting Nerin found it hard to believe in hope. After all why would they choose to keep him alive? he thought sadly being unable to think of any reason why would spare his life.

But that had all changed when they reached what looked to be a council room. By the time Nerin had hobbled up to the entrance he almost gasped at the sight in front of him.

Nothing was happening, not one person, not one Rhûnian was moving. Then he saw to his left that Dwalin and Hænir had the most beautiful thing he had ever seen on this whole miserable journey.

A globe of crystal that contained a light of silver and gold, or was it alight, Nerin couldn't be certain, but as he looked around noticing no torches, candles or other means of illumination he knew the core of the orb was indeed giving off its own radiance.

Soon enough they were on their way with Bali safely in tow and the luminescent globe that the Rhûnians seemed to hold with great reverence. Several hours later they headed North up the canyon.

As they reached the craggy borders where they first entered Rhûn Nerin stopped and looked over the vast tangled jungle, his first adventure where he nearly lost his life. And yet somehow he respected the place and its inhabitants, as wild and vicious as they were, after all they were the invaders and the Rhûnians were only trying to protect their country land; Nerin would have done the same.

"Farewell Kain, and the land of Rhûn, I doubt I'll ever see ye again, nor would I want to seeing as all the trouble yer 'ave given me will last me for quite some time" he laughed and smiled at his comapanions.

Finally he would be going home and with a treasure to boot!

[Fordim Hedgethistle]

Hænir’s heart grew heavier and heavier as they scaled the walls of the land that had very nearly been their tomb. His every muscle ached from the exertions of battle, and his wounds cried out for care and tending. He looked ahead to the rest of their journey with little hope for they had no food, no supplies and no equipment still, and they were weeks from their home. All that they had was the globe that Hænir bore in a small bag upon his back.

It was the weight of this globe that bore upon him most heavily, however, for he could not help but think of what he and Nerin had said to one another about their mission. The globe was clearly the greatest treasure of the Rhûnians, as sacred to them as the Arkenstone was to his people, and they had stolen it from them. He could not shake from his mind the vision of what it would be like in Erebor if a band of strangers from this land had assaulted the Mountain and carried off the precious heart of their realm from the very tomb of Thorin. Hænir shrugged his shoulders against this thought and tried to drive it away. Ever higher they climbed, rising above the jungle below and into the mountains. Soon they would be in the high pass above the waterfall, and then upon the other side of the Mountains and any hope that the Rhûnians had of retrieving the treasure would be gone.

Hænir’s heart should have been light, for they had escaped certain death at the hands of the savages, and he had finally won the honour that had eluded him his whole life. His failure to save his King all those long years ago had been repaid by his protection of Bali, and at long last Hænir would be able to engrave his name upon his axe to join the revered names of his ancestors. The weight of that axe upon his shoulder had never been so reassuring, nor had he borne it with such ease.

But still the weight of globe bore him down, darkening his mind and clouding his joy on this day. As they neared the top of the mountain pass, he paused and looked back over the lands they had entered so unknowingly. His eyes traversed the jungle and looked out to the distant glimmering of the Sea – the Sea that had promised such riches and brought only death and despair to them. The others were plodding ahead of him now, and none watched as he pulled the globe out of his hands. He held it before his face, and even in the full light of day, its radiance was a wonder to behold. At that moment, there came a slight rustling from the scant brush that rose upon the slopes of the mountain almost to where he stood, and from the foliage emerged the form of the woman whom he had fought with in their final encounter. She still bore the signs of their combat, but as she regarded him he could tell that she felt the same guarded respect for him that he did for her. She gazed at the globe with such despair that it rent Hænir’s heart to the very core, and again he imagined what it would be like to have the Arkenstone ripped from his people’s hands. He looked at the woman and their eyes met through the radiance of the globe once more, and Hænir knew that the only thing he could bear from this country that he had not brought with him, was his honour…

[Himaran]

SAVE FOR ANY OTHER LAST POSTS

----------------------------------------

Novnarwen's post -Dwalin

It was a silent company that set out that day. When thinking about what they had been through, especially after the last event, Dwalin understood why. Now he found himself deep in thought however. Not only had he doubted that his brother was alive, been bitten by a snake, lost the map, seen Kain die, but he'd also promised these dwarves treasures. In fact, Dwalin had to admit, he had imagined mountains of gold and oceans of silver. Unfortunately, that had only been a dream not coming true. All they had was the crystal ball they had taken from the Rhuians, and what were they supposed to do with it? Dwalin didn't at all mind Hænir wanting to give it back to the Rhuians, as he would certainly not find it in useful in any way.

The lack of treasures and their misfortune was eating Dwalin up inside, as they walked in silence. And if that wasn't enough, he kept thinking about the second voice in his head; the one that had said all those things about him being jealous at Bali. Had he not proven himself in the chamber, when he had saved his brother's life? Dwalin frowned, being ashamed of himself. How should he not have saved him? They were brothers! And yes, he cared for him very much. Was he really jealous, or did he just admire him? Those were two very different things, but hard to tell apart. Deciding that he would have to think this through, he snorted and followed the others.

Soon, the company found themselves looking into the eyes of one of the Rhuians; a woman. Dwalin had seen her in the chamber. She, too, had stood stricken, as if the world was about to end when the dwarves threatened to destroy the orb. At the time, Dwalin hadn't felt anything. He hadn't offered her a thought. Now on the other hand, he realised, by looking at her, that it was right to give it back. As Hænir handed the crystal ball of to the woman, Dwalin smiled. They hadn't found any treasures, but Dwalin settled with the thought of Hænir showing such nobility was a treasure in itself. He only hoped that the others settled with this thought as well.

***

For each step however, as they got closer and closer to Erebor, Dwalin had difficulties coping and believing that they were on their way home from a perilous adventure. It had only brought but misfortune to all of them, so it was no wonder why he couldn’t cope with it. Or was it? After the company passed the sea of where Kain had died, Dwalin couldn't stop thinking of this event. Had it been his fault? After all, it had been he who had dragged the dwarves out on this quest. And what did any of them come home with except a story about bad fortune and much misery? He shook his head. At last, Dwalin had made up his mind.

"I need to talk to you," he whispered into Bali's ear. "But it can wait until we get home."

He turned his gaze to sky as they were coming out from the jungle. Far ahead he could spot a bird, flying. Was it coming towards them, to meet them, or would it be waiting for them when they came hurrying along the road out of Rhûn? Dwalin wondered.

[Himaran]

Last Post for the Game

Bali watched as Haenir slowly stepped towards the woman, arms outstretched. She seemed frightened, but the sight of the glowing object he held out was far too important to run from. When he stopped, just paces from her position, the Rhûnian darted out, grabbed the ball, and hurried back into the forest -- but then stopped. She turned, looking the dwarves over again, a smile covering her features. And then she was gone.

"Well, Haenir, two noble deeds in one day." The dwarf looked up at his leader, surprised.

"Aiy? I followed your brother to save you, and gave away the only treasure we found on this ill-turned journey. What is noble about that, aye?"

Bali smiled. He looked out over the plains, visible from the plateau, and saw a sparkling light moving quickly towards the canyon. "You, my friend, have just made a peaceful agreement with the enemy that sought to eat us all alive. And that... is noble indeed."

"Now then, with our conciences cleared up, let us go home -- before we lose our food as well as our treasure!" Shouted Gortek. And, chuckling heartily, the party took one last look at the land of Rhûn before leaving it and its people behind forever.

____________________________________

Epliogue

It was noon, or about it. The sun shined brightly over the cobbled road as a small company reached the gates of Erebor. Everything, save the beautiful voices of several birds, was quiet. The group stood in front of the heavy stone doors, each with private thoughts and memories of the journey. "What will they think of us," muttered Durin. "I promised my mother a big bag of treasure, and all I have is a bloody weapon and a sack with no food in it."

"Just be lucky that you have a sack," returned Nerin, and the entire company laughed.

And so, turning, they knocked on the gates of the city. Suddenly, they were thrown inward, and a large procession greated them. Dain Hammerhead, Durin's father, hurried out and clasped Bali's hand. "How are ye, lad? I so wish I could have gone on this journey with you, but I had other matters. What happened? Did you find any treasure?"

Once again, silence hung in the air. How could one begin to describe what they had been through, seen, and conquered? Then Bali said, putting a hand on Dwalin's shoulder, "Well, we had a wee bit of trouble with the map."

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~