Stuck.
Going west was no longer an option, going east death waited around every corner. Should he go back to Hrimbarg or Khazad -Dum? Hilfar shivered at the thought. He had struck a deal with the tavern keep of the forsaken inn to do all these petty chores while in return he would receive food and a roof over his head. Both lacking any taste or comfort, but what should one expect in these parts?
"What I would give for a good pint and a barrel of old Tobys...". Hilfar watched the stars in the cold night. Each shining brighter than the other "Mahal, hear my prayer". Hilfar whispered in the cold night air "Guide my path through the darkness, show me what road to take. Give me a chance to redeem my honor."
His words seemed void in the dark.
The next day he was tasked to prospect for ore in the hills close to the inn. A task he was well familiar with. These barren hills held little more than dust and stone at first glance. And also on second glance. After 2 hours examining the earth with a burning sun on his head, he was preparing to head back. A stocky figure with an axe drawn made Hilfar startle and reach for his own sword "who... who are you?".
The other dwarf grinned and yelled "Take your ruddy hood off, let me see yer face!". Hilfar saw it was a dwarf from the Dourhand clan, they would recognise him too if he took his hood off. The Dourhand came pacing to Hilfar who in return pointed his sword at him. Hilfar took his hood off and showed his auburn red beard joined with a bewildered look on his face. The Dourhand stopped and looked a bit shocked "YOU!". The dourhand looked around to make doubly sure that Hilfar was alone. A malice grin showed on the dourhand his face "A hefty price rests on your head, trademaster... Bromar will make me rich!". The Dourhand twisted the axe in his hand ready to do some chopping. Hilfar was no fighter, and this time there was no one to fight for him.
Hilfar took a few steps back "I am trademaster no longer, my head is worth nothing..". The Dourhand kept grinning "lies!". Hilfar grabbed a rock from the ground and tossed it to his head. The stone hit its head slightly, Hilfar ran up to the distracted Dourhand and collided recklessly into him. Both toppled over and rolled off the hill. Dust, rocks and struggle followed. To Hilfars suprise the Dourhand had lost its axe during the brawl off the hill.
Hilfar now stood there with his sword before his armless enemy, and he hesitated. The dourhand crawled over the floor to his axe. Killing goblins was one thing, but to kill a fellow dwarf..
The dourhand reached the hilt of his axe but a big dwarven boot burried his hand. Hilfar ran his sword deep in his back piercing armor, skin and organs. The cry of the Dourhand was echoing through the hills. Hilfar released his sword and fell trembling on his knees next to his dieing foe.
Hilfar burried his face in his hands.
