Dwalvyn had remained silent since before he'd even boarded the raft. He'd vaguely heard tell of the vulture-friends of the eagles, based in Erebor,b ut his mind was awash with grief and thoughts of the loss of Kaldor. The mission had always seemed overwhelming, but with the loss of so many on such a journey and one of their numbers joining the Valar, hope seemed to be fading. He never enjoyed water-travel and now he was about to visit the elf-queen under the boughs of the elthin forest. Comfort was not something he felt, even if safety from Sauron's minions he did. He simply looked up at the majestic buzzard, then set himself to go with him. The company of wizards was more welcome than that of the elves - although still difficult to decipher. it had been some time since the mention of his royal seal had been mentioned and it suddenly dawned on him that he should perhaps bear proof. For the first time in nearly an entire day, he interacted with the group. He pulled the seal and held it close to the faces of the others. "The seal of Dwarfen royalty. You discredit us if you deny it's meaning." Then turned and placed it safely in his inner breast pocket once more, before walking up to the vulture. "Avian friend of the dwarfs, we shall depart when you're ready. Tell me, what moniker do you use?"

Glad someone finally took interest in him, the vulture turned to face Dwalvyn with much gusto. But noticing the solemn look on the dwarfs face, he hopped towards him with sympathetic eyes. "I was named Harorok Windhelm once, but I generally go by Hark the Shameful now." Motioning towards Dwalvyn, Hark then outstretched his left wing, revealing a patch of feathers most alien to the black drab of his coat. "I too have lost friends." Nodding towards the patch again, drawing focus to the stitch lines holding the other feathers in place. "They'll always be part of me. Give your friend the same honour." said the vulture, briefly clenching the dagger Kaldor gave Dwalvyn prior to his death with his claw.

Soon after the talk, as night drew in, Hark grew weary. He was a creature of the wild and knew that even on water his companions would not truly be safe from the horrors of the night. Lothlorien was still a good day or two away, and as Hark eyed the skies for any of the brown sages fellow birds, he felt a familiar rumbling sensation in his feet. Before he could barely lift a wing, a troll emerged from the nearby shrubbery, followed by a band of orcs, and overthrew the boats in it's furious charge. One of the larger orcs, who looked more like a man than an Orc, unleashed a flurry of crows into the sky as the troll leapt into one of the boats and cleaved it in half with it's gigantic axe, throwing Ragnar deep into the anduins depths. Realising that the crows escaping to warn other unsavoury creatures was a dire threat he turned to the companions and asked: "Friends would you have me hunt the birds, or aid you here?"

Now I've got you, Vrâsghul thought. Something had intervened with his plans. They had not contained wyrms or goblins, or clumsy trolls...

He'd been forced to improvise, and this was the result.
Frontal, brutal. An all-out attack, in the middle of the night.

But this time he would not allow his minions to fail again:
"Gimbatulûk Gundabad-glob", he whispered to the swarm of crows. While the rain began to fall, his minions emerged from the woods, and he drew his blade.
It was a blade of kind few warriors met and survived, one that can make men flee from the sight of it.
And Vrâsghul was planning on using it.


Then, he screamed, with a voice only used by those that know the dark secrets of black magic: Ghâsh-ohn-Gum!

With a sadistical grin beneath his iron mask, purple black flames erupted from his fingertips

_________________
We must forgive our enemies...
But not before they are hanged

With no answer from the party, Hark chose to head to the skies. He was the obvious choice to deal with the crows, being a bird. He took little joy in battling orcs anyway, which he found to be excessively tiring and tedious. His less-than-majestic wings unfurled in the rain as he raced off into the sky. Hark was well aware that he was no great eagle, he was not a lord of the skies, he was a vulture, a scavenger. He knew that to best the crows all he needed to do was outlast them and pick them off when they are weary, such behavior was in his blood. Lucky for Hark, this was a neck of the woods he was very familiar with; he was accustomed to the patterns of the wind, and he knew the behaviour of the mist and fog. Coming within range of one of the crebain, Hark let out a shrill scream in a tongue long lost to mortals, as he did so one of the crows found itself plummeting out of the sky in a helpless, paralyzed state.

'Finally some orcs to fight! May the best dwarf win!'. Ragnar brought his hammer high up into the sky, and jumped onto the first goblin. Crushing the fool under his feet, Ragnar crushed another orc skull between his hammers. In his back he could feel how an orc scimitar broke, failing to penetrate Ragnar's mithril mail. He turned around, picked up the orc that had attacked him, and slung it towards another orc that was charging Ragnar. Ragnar jumped towards the two orcs that were now lying on the ground, and carefully smashed his hammers into their little brains. But then a massive orc, no, a Uruk-Hai charged the enraged dwarf. Quickly Ragnar picked a throwing axe out of his quiver, and threw it right into the leg of the lumbering behemoth that was charging him, but the Uruk acted like nothing happend. He brought his massive cleaver into the air, but missed Ragnar, who jumped out of the Uruk's range. Ragnar parried the cleaver with his hammers when the Uruk tried to kill him again, but feared he wouldn't be able to defend himself any longer. The cleaver wouldn't penetrate his mithril armor, that was sure, but it would crush the bones underneath it. Ragnar was sure about one thing: he needed to stay alive until one of the others helped him. When Ragnar saw an orc arher was trying to kill him, he jumped into the bushes, but the orc fired his bow. The arrow luckily didn't kill Ragnar, but penetrated the uruk's skull. When Ragnar saw the weakened Uruk, he charged the evil creature and gave him the final blow with his hammer. He quickly charged the archer, with arrows bouncing off on his plate armor. with his hammers ready to strike, he jumped onto the orc and crushed another skull. That's why he was known as Ragnar the Skulltaker, or Ragnar the Crusher of Bones. He searched for his kinsman, in order to ask him how many orc had already fallen under his weapons.

_________________
Ours is the fury!

Dwalvyn pulled the dagger out as it was mentioned, clutched it to his chest, closed his eyes and raised his head to the sky, feeling the honour that was bound to the sacrificer's blade. He opened his eyes and gave his thanks and sorrow of lost friends to Hark before smelling a hideous creature and seeing the enormous form a troll crash through his vessel, snapping it in twain and catapulting him unceremoniously into the air. His peak reached, he plummeted back towards solid footing, only to find his raft nothing but splintered wood and crashed into the waters of the fast-flowing river, back-first - all wind knocked from him and the icy blue crashing around him as he began to not only sink, but get carried along the path of the water. His armour and weapons dragged him down rapidly, but his robes caught the current and tore him downstream. He caught his bearings after a few tense seconds that seemed like long minutes of repeated pummellings from all manner of trolls, his ears ringing with the screech of a thousand fell beasts and his lungs burning hotter than the fires of Mount Doom and the Eye of Sauron combined. The coldness of the water ripped through his flesh like a thousand needle-toothed orcs as the spinning and pulling of his limbs every which way felt like the wargs they'd enountered had caught him and wanted vengeance.

As his body span and his arms and legs flailed, he hit several rocks and began scrapping through the silt on the bed, pebbles and stones scratching and scraping, before the tightly held knife of Kaldor snagged in some boulders. His grip didn't lesser, but the jerking tug through his entire weight and the mass of his gear against his shoulder joint, causing ice-fire pain to shred his conciousness as it dislocated. Using dwarfen willpower, Dwalyvn managed to use this anchorage to get himself together, feeling water start to seep into his mouth through a need for air and slowly worked his way to the clamer river edge. After what felt like days of no oxygen and immense pain, he struggled onto the bank, spluttering and hyperventilating for air, but still seemingly breathing liquidsm he drank for the air he'd sorely desired. In reality, he had been under for less than a minute, but was now far enough from the party that he could no longer hear the combat he assumed they were in and his brain fuddled too much to see his hand clearly, the sensation in his shoulder trying to make him pass out. He tensely got to his feet with much difficulty, still choking and his vision, whilst blue-green from suffocation, was clearing and he could see his companions in the distance and heard the piercing shriek of Hark above him, chasing the crows. He thanked Kaldor and the Valar for protecting him on this important journey, securing the dagger about his person and unsteadily paced back to the party, trying to bring himself up to a trot.

Sulvan had been even more quiet than Dwalyvn during the gentle trck up river. He was trying his hardest not to flee, the Elf Witch Galadriel frightened Sulvan more than he cared to admit to the enemies who sat plastered around him. He payed little attntion to the discussion, catching enough to know where they would be going, and was slowly falling into a light, uneasy slumber, his eyes still open, as he had trained himself to.

He was jolted awake by roaring and splashing, and saw to his surprise a rabble of Orcs, and a great lumbering Troll approaching. He quickly scanned the attackers for their commander so that he knew whether he should fight or join him. A figure strangely reminiscent to one of his 'masters' who was it? he asked himself, could Vrâsghul have come himself? Sulvan wondered if the Black Numenorean commander was indeed a fool.

He made up his mind to fight his way through the Orcs to their commander, so he could determine whether to stay on his side, he had half a mind to fake his own death, or ask Vrâsghul - if it was indeed him - to pull back, but Sulvan did not yet have time for the plans to come to fruitition in his mind, so instead, he strung his bow, and fired into the largest Northern Uruk he could eye, the first missed its mark, and he did not know whether he had hit another. The second arrow was true to its course, and the bruted died instantly.

Having not time to draw a third arrow, he drew sword and dagger, hurling the latter into the neck of a lesser Orc, before using the former to parry the strong, broad stroke to the Uruk nearest him. Glancing wildly for the commander, he pressed his blade closer to the Uruk, close enough to hisper something in the monster's ear. A howling to his right told him that the Warg, and possibly Tom Ferny were close, he hoped they would not interfere in this skirmish, for he needed both alive, and luckily for him, he need not fear.

_________________
"I am the Flying Spagetti Monster. Thou shall have no other monsters before me"
-FSM.

Halthor jumped sideways as an Orc leapt at him, drawing his sword in time to parry the blow aimed at his side. He spat in the Orcs face, distracting it long enough for him to chop one of its arms off, unfortunately not the arm holding the blade. A second Orc had crept forward to join the first, and Halthor went on the defensive, trying to block as many strikes as possible, although one of the pair managed to make a small wound in his thigh. Halthor took advantage of this, kicking the Orc in the face, knocking it backwards into the ground, before swinging his sword, slicing open the injured Orcs stomach, and it fell over the other Orc, landing on its crude blade.
Halthor's sword hacked through the other Orcs neck, and he looked around. Noticing Sulvan, he started to fight the closer of the Orcs that was between them. Halthor was knocked sideways, rolling for a while and his sword left his grip.

_________________
C.A.P.T.A.I.N. = Crazy And Proud To Admit It Now
http://chrisgomhobbyblog.blogspot.com/

Dwalvyn had been moving for what felt like hours, but was barely seconds, the ice-cold of the water freezing his nerves, the pounding he'd taken battered his muscles and joints and his head was still swirling. He stumbled and fell to one kne. After a few tense, nauseating moments, he managed to pull himself back up and return to his uneasy trudge back towards the battle. No more than a few passes later and he keeled over sideways and backwards, landing on the bank, less than a foot from the water as blue became black and unconciousness consumed him. Within minutes he was awake again and trying to force his body to be as enduring as the mountains of Middle-Earth, before continuing on to the party.

While Ragnar was searching Dwalvyn, he didn't discover an orc was in his back. The the orcish minion fired his bow, his arrow stabbing right through Ragnar's left arm. Ragnar turned around, looking for the archer, and when he found the marksman he ran towards him and cleaved his throwing axe right through the bow, after which he swung another throwing axe right into the filthy throath. He looked around, searching for the other orcs. When he thought everything was save, he felt great pain: Vrâsghul's purple flames had hit Ragnar in his back.

_________________
Ours is the fury!

Halthor looked around, looking for his fallen weapon. There, beneath an Orc’s foot, lay Halthor’s sword. The Gondorian quickly fired one of his three arrows into the Orc’s exposed neck and lunged forwards, picking up his sword as he did. Halthor stood up just in time to see purple flames hit Ragnar in the back. He ducked beneath an Orc’s blade, stabbing his sword through the creature’s stomach, before leaping towards the Dwarf. “Help!” Halthor cried out to the rest of the company, unsure of what to do. He parried a blow that was meant for his legs, ducked beneath another, before slicing his opponent in half. “Someone, please help!” He could only hope one of the company heard him.

_________________
C.A.P.T.A.I.N. = Crazy And Proud To Admit It Now
http://chrisgomhobbyblog.blogspot.com/

Aethelwulf slammed his shield into the orc's face, the iron boss killing as sure as any sword, while he caught a morningstar on sword. The chain wrapped around Guthwyn's blade, and the orc holding it began to tug. Aethelwulf braced himself, and pulled back. Suddenly, the orc let go, and the Rohirrim stumbled back as the resistance to his strength suddenly vanished. The orc gave him a kick, and while he fell drew a long, crooked dagger. Aethelwulf caught the first stab on his shield, but the second opened a gash on his thigh. Only then could he seize the morningstar the orc had dropped, and he brought it up in a great swing. The orc had though him defeated, and did not react quickly enough, as the spiked ball hit him squarely in the face. "That was a narrow escape." Aethelwulf thought as he grabbed his sword again, and clambered to his feet. He launched a cut at an Uruk who was fighting one of the elves, but it deflected off the beast's armour. Then, suddenly, the air glowed purple, and a lance of fire hit Ragnar in the back. "Help!"the Dwarf shouted, burning. A goblin from the misty mountains came in his way as Aethelwulf fought his way there, swinging a large stone maul. His opponent had no shield, though, so while the mail deflected off his own, Aethelwulf hacked down in a ferocious cut on the goblin's arm. He hacked straight through it, but the blood-crazed creature didn't give up. It slammed the stump down on Aethelwulf's sword-hand, and grabbed the sword with another. It tugged, and Aethelwulf had to let go. He rammed the shield at the orc, who jumped off, and then groped blindly for the maul. He found it, just as the Orc flung his sword into the river and picked one of Ragnars throwing axes. A second later, the maul reduced it's skull to bloody bits. Aethelwulf could think once again of Ragnar, and saw he was close to the river, and just a few paces away. Ignoring the next orc charging him, he sprinted towards the dwarf, and hit him full in the chest with the maul. The mail absorbed the blow, but the force of it launched the dwarf into the river, as Aethelwulf had intended. He turned, just in time to see an uruk cutting down on him, the falchion deflecting off his helmet. He jumped aside, knowing that with his simple weapon he was no match for an Uruk-Hai, and rejoined the fight.

EDIT: I confused Ragnar and Dwalvyn, sorry.

_________________
"... Telchar wrought it in the deeps of time."
-On Andùril, The Lord of the Rings

Dwalvyn looked up again and saw the newly befriended warrior dwarf covered in flames of sorcerous hue, before one of the men smashed him squarely in the chest. Dwalvyn tried to give cry to anger, but the effort forced him to a knee and he saw the true intention as the Dwarf landed on the flat of his back in the shallow calms at the edge of the river. It looked like his companions could be losing the battle. With an unforseen burst of herculean strength, he pushed up from his knee and managed a half-jog, that was drunken in nature and headed to his companions.

Overhead, a shadow swooped down and a blur of brown crashed amongst some of the evil combatants, crushing them and a burst of speed saw one sliced in half, dark viscera spraying everywhere. The vulture ad detoured to give the part some respite before retaking to the skies and his own mission.

Ragnar cried of pain when he felt the sorcerous flame spell in his back. He cursed his bad luck. But, luckily for him, the flames hadn't penetrated his armor, making him able to stay in the battle. He looked around for more entertainment. 4 goblins and 2 uruks, not bad, he thought. Ragnar took another throwing axe from his back, swung it right into the face of the first orc, while charging another one. A third orc jumped in front of him, but Ragnar just smashed his hammer through the greenskin's skull. But just when he was about to kill the last orc, an uruk jumped right in front of him. Quickly Ragnar sandwiched the uruk with his hammers, but, as unlucky as he was today, the uruk managed to stab his sword at Ragnar's belly. Crying of pain, Ragnar turned around, killed the last orc, and discovered the last uruk was heading for Dwalvyn. He took one of his throwing axes from an orc corpse it got stuck in, swung it into the uruk's back, but, unluckily, it only scratched the uruk and instead also scratched Dwalvyn's shoulder. Feeling awkward he jumped at the back of the uruk, both hammers lifted into the sky. His steel boots broke one of the uruk's arms, but, with the other arm, the uruk still managed to hit Ragnar in his breast. Ragnar, now fully covered with both dwarfblood and orcblood, smashed one of his hammers into the uruk's neck, but his plate armor just fended it off. Seeing no other way to kill the uruk, Ragnar kicked the uruk in the face with the steel boot at his left foot, breaking his nose and crushing one of the disgusting-looking eyes. Then he finished the uruk off by pulling of his helmet, and smashing a hammer right into his face.

_________________
Ours is the fury!