The Siege

"Dwarves, young and old! Warriors and craft dwarrow! Kin and company! Let us hold our heads high with bears tucked under our belts and steel on our backs! Today is the day we shall drive the final stake into our enemies grave. Today is the day the bards and word weavers will craft tales of our deeds! Today is the day when every foul foe will know the name Durin's Folk. Raise your axes, hammers, swords and bows! To the enemy! SIGIN TARAG!" Thogen shouted, the doors of Sarnur already breached and a wall of Dourhands waited to meet him.

"Everyone remember what to do?" Thogen grumbled, his shield was held out in front of him alongside Asudroms and Dhordurs, Thalamath, Byl and Hilfar had theirs above the groups heads. "Yes Azaghalbad, keep us alive until we reach the gate .." Hilfar replied but Asudrom was soon to correct "Keep the hammer guard alive ..". The unit moved like a turtle in its shell, safe from the outside word but lack of vision, each one of them followed the dwarf in front and the dwarf in front watched his step, feet climbing a stone stairway.

Steel clicked off stone ground, the noise like frozen rain pounding the vale though the steel was cold but those it protected were blazing hot. Thogen held his war hammer high, his words were crisp orders and his troops listened. They had been stationed in Gondamon for a few weeks now dealing with a rising Goblin threat to break their Siege over Sarnur, Goblins rose in giant hoards to strike the flank of the dwarves and now it was time for one side to lose. "Check arms, tighten leather, fix plates! We march to war!

Thogen stood watch at the high stone walk ways of Gondamon, the stone slick with a layer of frost and ice, the high moon giving the land a luminous glow and the sound of wolves howling the in the distance filled the air, yet still he stood watch. A puff of blue smoke curled from the crafted stone pipe that hung on his lips, filled with battle scars. Etched runes and gold rings made this a piece worth a good deal of silver, again and again the blue smoke trailed from the stone bowl and faded to nothing in the slight breeze.

The Vale of Thrain was once a busy trade route, Noglond looked over the roadway and cleared ruble and debris from avalanches, Gondomon the great of the forts held markets and resting spots for travelers. Both holds held Dwarven folk inside but now their numbers boasted with noble warriors. Traders did not come around these parts in the past months, caravans left abandoned on the cobbled pathways and some bodies picked clean from the crows. This was life in times of war. 

A bird chirped a sweet tune off in the distance, the morning sun had started to rise and like a blankets of warmth the rays kissed the land of Ered-Luin. Down the steep slopes of the high mountains silence seemed to fade away into a humming noise of thuds and steel, the blankets of crisp white snow now found a crimson tint, it air stank of battle. Blood and guts, the smell of war. 

"Quickly .. I must be the first to get to them, got to kill them!" he spoke to himself, his legs darting much quicker then the rest of his comrades almost running like a rabbit. First he ran past the heavy units, slow and bulky with sets of iron that would hold them to the bottom of a lake, they could take a hit but not go at the speed he could! Next he sprinted and dodged past the medium units, they wore some leather but a lot of light robing or nothing at all, they weren't as big as the heavies but they built the mass of the group, the backbone of this driving force.

It was a cool winter evening at the gates of Thorin's Hall. The sun had started to fade and at that the fallen stars of the sky took their place, watching over all those who walked the good green, or white Earth. The sounded of huffing breath and clattering steel echoed down the long stairway to Frerin's Court, "March! Keep the line tight and straight" Master Thorlaen ordered, a stern drill master and to code was his commands. "Don't break the line!

The sound of slumbering dwarves echoed in the Valley of Thrain, like a hundreds of sawing logs or grumbling bears who were woken up from winter hibernation. It was a clear night, the sky was open and the light of the moon and stars cast a majestic glow and the warriors liked this, no clouds .. no snow .. no more shoveling. Many engineers had been busy in the past week after the caravan from Hilfar Uzraku Asjâr​ Othrikar had reached Thorins Hall.