Of Dwarves and Men

Early dawn had cast red light over the horizon. The legend was that if a red dawn rises, blood had spilled over the land. And this morn, the legend was life. A melee had occured and amongst bodies on sleeping mats were the wounded and mayhap dying. One foreshortened form was wrapped firmly in cloth already.

A lean Ranger's form flitted from body to body, checking one, adjusting the bandages on another. Her eyes were circled dark, and she sways occasionally on her feet when she straightens. Every so often her gaze casts to the body wrapped in the distance.


Amongst the Dwarves, there is one that moves about, hammer on shoulder. Every now and then, he will pause by a Dwarf, exchanging quiet words, laugther and a sip from a copper flask before moving on. Every now and then, this Dwarf's eyes flick to the trees, narrowing slightly as if watching for something before returning his eyes to cast looks around. This is Zinbar's Thane, Ovor.


Among the apparent carnage comes a particularly tall Ranger, Captain of Weathertop, the Iron Horse of the West: Angroch. He walks slowly, head down, taking in the sights. He stops, his head rotating on his sturdy neck. He shakes his head and both hands clench in fists.

Squatting, Angroch takes in a deep breath and lets it out slowly through clenched teeth. "What happened here?" he askes, apparently to no one--or all. "Thrice now I have arrived too late for action, and I cannot but help feel a waste."


The Mouse, her only title in the wake of Angroch's, wipes her hands on a cloth tucked into her waste and runs the back of her hand across her forehead. She replies to the Ranger in a voice that is gravelly and low.

"Troll," she replies simply, "Decided to use these folk as an easy snack." She jerks her chin at the dead body, "Was successful once." Her eyes flicker with a fire that her voice does not reveal.


As the words of the Rangers reach the ears of the Dwarf Thane, Ovor grunts and briefly tightens his grip on his hammer. Turning so as to be able to see them, he is silent for a few moments before speaking, the words rumbled after a snort. "What has happened often of late. Battle."


The Iron Horse glances from Ranger to Dwarf, then stands. He walks towards them, directing his first words towards the Dwarf Thain, "Aye, Sir. Battle hath too oft found itself upon these plains of late and--to my shame--my steel has remained unquenched."

Angroch then glances at the Mouse's words towards the dead body. This, unlike most things, gives him pause. When he finally brings his eyes back to Tinduial, he speaks, his words low and quiet, "Who?"


"To my sorrow, I know not his name," Tinduial shakes her head, "but his kin do. They have cared for him. I was unable to staunch the flow of bleeding. But two were also hurt badly...Kellan and Frarin - a silversmith and..." she frowns, "I know not who the other is. But they fought with the courage of lions. Fletcher stood before the troll, and though direly wounded, the dwarf Kellan still swung his hammer."


"Given how common it is now, I am sure your steel shall draw blood soon." A slight grin twists the mouth of the Thane. "While my hammer crushes." He chuckles quietly, taking a brief drink from his flask before stopping it and slipping it under his belt. As he hears Frarin's name, however, his grin turns into a scowl his eyes flick to Tinduial.

"Frarin has been badly injured?" A brief rumbled growl comes from Ovor as he swings his hammer, resting the head on his foot. "Where did this troll go off to, if you know? If it still lives."


A long and hearty sigh comes from the Ranger Captain, whose hand--at the words of the Dwarf--falls absently to the well-worn and downright dirty hilt of his longsword. Eyes the color of thunderclouds flick to the fallen warrior and rest there before coming back to the Mouse.

"Brave warriors, Khazad. In my years I have had the honor of fighting along side them and have rarely seen such dedicated bravery. Though, I should much rather spend my hours with them in the warmth of an overflowing tavern."

The eyes flick towards the Thane. "My Compliments, Lord, but I prey forgive. I am Angroch, the Iron Horse of the West. I do hope you are wrong about my steel finding its mark, but if you are right, I am thankful for your kin to be beside us."


"The beast lives, though your kinfolk saw it hurt with the force of their hammers. I did what I could, dwarfmaster...but I was unable to save him," a gesture to the dead khazad, "And Frarin has internal injuries that trouble me still...he bleeds into his lungs and there will be little I can do if it does not heal itself..." a shrug, "Field medicine is a capricious mistress...mayhap even the Lord of Imladris could do no better." And she pauses.

"I am Sabine, Mouse of the North," she quirks a small grin, tempered and twisted by the scarring of her cheek.


"Ovor, son of Ovar, Thane of Zinbar Clan of the Lonely Mountain." A slight bow from the Dwarf is given to the Rangers before he nods slightly. "As long as it lives, then it needs to learn to fear Dwarves." The words are rumbled in an almost matter of fact way. "Unless the Lord of Imladris is close, I would think that field medicine is the best we can hope for now."

After a moment, his gaze flicks to Angroch, a slight grin tugging at his mouth again. "Were times better, I would see how well you do with true Dwarven drinks rather than what most manling taverns serve. Unfortunately, my own stock is... depleted."


Glancing southeast, Angroch frowns, the lines on his face deepening, the light glinting in his eyes, "Which way did the beast flee, do you know? If it was wounded, it would seem wise to mount a party to hunt it and end it."

Glancing now to the Thane of Zimbar Clan, Angroch stares for a moment, letting the words of the Dwarven lord sink in, then, and only then, the hint of smile crosses the face of the Ranger Captain.

"Two challenges in one day, Sir. The first of the Olog of whom we need destroy. The second of the Dwarven Thane who challenges my gullet, one of many years practice. I assure you, My Lord, I should not wish your challenge to fall forgotten, and shall hold you to it."

(At this point, Tind had to idle and didn't return before the scene finished before she did, however, she told us to pretend that she said the troll went north, so that's what we went with. Cheers)

A quiet laugh comes from the Thane. "Excellent! I shall not forget the challenge, Iron Horse, so you have no need to worry about it. I have precious little of the brews of Master Brewer Keeneye with me, but they may suffice... unless you plan on travelling east of the Mountains any time soon. Otherwise, unfortunately, it will have to be what they serve around here."

"North, hrm?" Ovor's eyes flick that direction, narrowing slightly. "If it is wounded, it would not have gotten far..."


"Even in the best condition, Olog seem to not get very far very fast. Wounded, it should not be too much of a hunt at all. Although once it is found, what happens thereafter I darenot predict, seeing the carnage it hath already wrought." Angroch sighs and glances back at the Thane.

"I cannot wait until our challenge be met, Lord, although already I hear in your words subtle excuses of a lack of..." He considers his words, "Proper spirits."


"We will finish it or it will finish us." The Thane shrugs slightly, lifting his hammer to his shoulder once more. "I would bring my Huskarls, but they are needed here."

A gleam of amusement seems to come into Ovor's eyes he pulls the copper flask from his belt and lightly tosses it at the Ranger Captain. "Drink, then, Iron Horse. See if proper Dwarven spirits is worth the wait. 'Tis Keeneye's Iron Brew."


Catching the flask as though he had expected it all along, the Iron Horse glances at it, then raises an eyebrow towards Ovor.

"Keeneye's Iron Brew, you say?" He starts, one more cautious glance towards the flask. He twists the cap off and smells it, then nods in approval. "Warm overtones and a hint of that which is to come. Promising."

At that, Angroch tips back the flask and takes a liberal--though not selfish--pull from the flask. He holds the liquid in his mouth a moment before swallowing. He brings steely eyes to the Dwarf, then lets out a very, extremely slight wheeze.

"Aye, My Lord," the Ranger says, "That'll wake you in the morning!"


The Dwarf Thane laughs, nodding his head. "Ay. A good drink while abroad, I have discovered a drink is useful for opening the eyes. If you want a true treat, you should try Keeneye's Northern Stout if you come east of the Mountains. That is a true drink."


"Stout, you say?" The Ranger Captain says, "Aye, I am enthralled by that, indeed. Perhaps, when this is finished with, I shall certainly head east of the mountains to partake."

At that, he tosses the flask back and glances northwards, "But for now, as I am healthy and well-rested. I will scout north to see if I can find the troll in question. I shall return post haste with my findings. Well met, Master Thain Ovor. I look forward to our next meeting."

With that, the Iron Horse lopes northwords, his cloak flowing behind him, his bootfalls nearly silent...


Catching the flask and deftly tucking it under his belt, the Thane nods his head. "Ay, I will await your news Iron Horse." Ovor watches for a few moments as the Ranger Captain goes north before turning his attention back to the Dwarves around him.