Victory
The sound of flapping wings echoed throughout the mountains.
The company was prepared to fight again, fight a foe long ago vanquished and forgotten by the living.
Thorog, reborn from the dark powers of the Nazgul and their servants, to spread terror to the free people once more.
The brave army gathered and started taking up positions to bring battle to the beast, something well familiar, for this has been going on for days.
Again and again have the heroes charged, only to meet their demise. They kept charging nonetheless, even when without hope for victory. No hope, for the beast does not belong to the world of the living. It has no blood rushing through its body. Feels no pain when struck with even the sharpest blade of the mightiest warrior. It's a creature born of dark magic and filled with malice for every living thing. The men cower in fear by the sheer size of it and flee in terror when its cries fill their minds with dread.
The company held its ground though. Tiny in size but great at heart, they rushed the beast once more with courage and determination as their weapons and mighty weapons they were.
The Dwarves were the first ones to strike the beast, filled with a bloodlust unseen until now by their comrades, justified by their need for revenge and memory of their heritage and ancient forefathers that forfeit their lives on that very same spot.
Destruction ensued and broken bodies lie in ruin. The company fought amongst their fallen from the previous days of battle, since the beast, cruel as it was, did not give any room for the men to retrieve them. They were its trophies now and it had determined to increase their number.
Orders were being shouted back and forth and the soldiers obeyed with great precision. The beast was wounded but did not pay heed and even though a mortal being would have its life drained from its body by now, Thorog remained, facing its enemies with what seemed like a mocking glance.
The company lost heart and started to slowly give ground to the dragon by unwillingly thinking of retreat and the safety of their homes at the arms of their loved ones.
Only the Dwarves stay put with a slight sparkle of craze in their eyes and enough stubbornness to not retreat even in the face of death. With their fierce battle cries they tried to bolster the courage of their comrades and renew their efforts, only to fail miserably, as the soldiers continuously kept on their slow retreat.
It was the faces of their fallen comrades, on whose bodies they were stumbling as they were moving through the battlefield, that managed to turn the tides of fate and force the army to either stand firm and face victory, or perish in oblivion, for they played a double part.
They were not only a great loss as friends and brothers in arms, but each man saw in their faces the forms of their families, of friends and lovers, of people precious to them above all.
It was then that they realized the horrible death that awaits them all, should they fail right there. Suddenly, they understood how small is the thread that holds the fate of many and that it's in their grasp to either keep it intact or let it be cut by the veil of the coming darkness.
Then one of the champions let out a maddened cry full of despair, like his very soul was being forcefully pulled out of his body, and with tears in his eyes and blood in his face, he charged the beast once more...
It was like the company awoke from slumber, as if they were in deep sleep dreaming of horrors untold of and everlasting darkness. You could see in their eyes the surprise leaving them and their resolve returning. They looked like mythical heroes coming alive from ancient stories of old, to do battle one more time and then be forgotten again, until need calls them forth once more.
They rushed the beast like an avalanche on the snowy mountains enveloping everything and paying no heed to wounds, broken limbs and the hellfire from the dragon's mouth.
Muscles, blood and bones were working like a well oiled machine, cutting the fell beast piece by piece. Songs of valour and wrath were being sung by the entire company as they kept on their bloody business, until one of the elven arrows struck the dragon for the final time and removed the black shadow from the long dead body.
A huge cry rose in an uproar in the Misty Mountains, a cry of joy followed by weeping sadness for the comrades who gave their lives, for the brothers who became shields for the innocent and stood proud to fight off the darkness.
The beast Thorog lay dead but at a huge cost, the most precious cost of all. The lives of free people, of brothers, irreplaceable friends, whose bodies may be burned, but their memory will live on inside each one of us.
Now rumour grows that the shadow is rising at the east. Rumour of Durin's bane, emerging from the depths of Middle Earth.
Although battered and in terrible shape, the company moves on. More sacrifices must be made to stop the coming darkness. War approaches, the sound of battle echoes in the distance. The clang of steel is calling us to meet and meet it we shall...
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Originally Posted by Chayal
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