battle of Ironrock

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Saturday, 19 April 2008 14:32

{jcomments on}Orange whiskers hung in thick knotted strands to his wide chest, his hair was in no better condition, the deeper red mixed in with his wiry orange of his beard. Rusted chain mail armour clung to his short stocky frame. A broad double edged battle axe held tightly in thick stumpy fingers. His breathing was laboured, short powerful legs built for climbing and pulling great weights far below the surface, struggled as they burned from the continual running, sweat plastered his filthy hair to a round plump face, lined from continual scowling that was the trade mark of his race. Furrowed lines of effort scarred his forehead as he struggled on, the great strength of his powerful legs fading with every stride. Coming to a halt next to one of the great trees that made up the vast expanse of Greenwood, he leaned exhausted against the rough bark of the trunk; his axe held in one hand, his aching lungs wheezing as his muscles screamed for more air. Wiping the running sweat from his brow with a hand coated in dried blood, he tried to catch his breath. He had no time to waste, he was the last of his party, but he needed to rest. As his breathing slowed to a steady pant and his heart stopped tying to smash its way through his broad chest, he strained his eyes for the sound of pursuit. The thumping in his ears subsided as his heart slowed, he could make out the cries and yells of his pursuers, their long legged lope swiftly closing the gape between them.
Lifting his axe he willed his legs forward, desperation alone drove the weary limbs. Images of his folk slaughtered by his blood thirsty pursuers flashed through his mind. He must warn them, he must make it back in time. Staggering on, the debris on the forest floor threatened to trip him at every stride as his feet dragged through the scattered foliage. The dimness of the forest was fading as the trees started to thin out, the light becoming brighter with every torturous step. As he half fell past the last of the trees, his heart skipped a beat at the sight that he beheld, before him the great mountains of Ironrock loomed. Pausing for a brief second he marveled at the beauty of his home, snow capped peaks towered majestically as their sharp peaks sliced through the clouds. He felt a surge of strength flow through his limbs at the sight he beheld. With a grunt he resumed his run, the sounds behind him growing louder as he struggled on. His feet struck rock as the ground started to slope up, the burning in his legs brought tears of pain to his eyes. “Not far now” he though the sound of his breathing reverberating in his ears. A cave entrance appeared before him as stumbled up a steep slope, two Dwarven warriors stood, both of them had looks of concern on their faces as the sounds of his yelling pursuers reached them. Falling to his knees he raised an arm weakly into the air, trying to catch the attention of the worried dwarfs. One of them spotted him, pointing to his fellow as he ran forwards. He felt arms lift him up, as the deep guttural voices spoke. “Their coming….” He panted “warn them” he drifted in and out of consciousness as he felt himself carried. From behind closed eyes he saw the light dim as he was carried bodily into the cave entrance. A mug was held to his lips and a cool sweet liquid flowed down his parched throat. He felt the warmth spread through him, as his exhausted body received liquid energy, his eyes snapped open as his strength returned.
“Sound the horn, sound the horn” he shouted to the two dwarfs. Both were very young, barely fourty years old, their beards only just touching their chests. They had been unsure what to do at the sound of the yelling coming from the forest, but at barrowdons command they ran towards the great horn that stood inside the entrance, facing inwards to the tunnels of Ironrock. Hastily one of them placed his lips against the end of the curved six foot long horn, two long blasts rang in Barrowdons ears, as the sweet sound of the warning horn carried down the tunnels towards the inner city that lay beneath him. Standing he walked across to the two young warriors, the elixir filling him with warmth and strength. “Again” he commanded, his voice broaching to argument. Once more the echoing rumble of the horn sounded. The three dwarfs stood at the entrance looking out at the forest below, hundreds of green skinned orc’s poured from the trees, screaming and yelling their challenge to the mountains. Stepping out onto the ledge that stretched out in front of the cave, Barrowdon, looked up at the mountain about him, Dwarfs were streaming from the thousand entrances that were scattered over the higher epsilons of the peak. Clan head to foot in chain mail, axes glittering in the sun, the dwarven force grew as they slowly descended towards Barrowdon, as he stood at the lower entrance, proudly staring up at his brethren. The green tide below seemed endless, thousands of the filthy green skinned wretches stood arrayed before the mountain dwellers. Like a tide they washed up the side of the mountain towards to dwarfs, skipping from rock to rock as they charged forward. The first of the dwarfs reached Barrowdon, none of them rushed, each one walked calmly past him, nodding their head at him in recognition. Forming organized lines in front of him, they took up position, not a word was spoken as the short powerful warriors swung their axes in anticipation, unhitching their hard steel shields. With each second that passed more Dwarfs joined the wall of shields and axes, soon every male dwarf from the city below would have arrived. The sea of green swept up the slope, their battle cries filling the air, the dwarfs stood silently, awaiting the green tide. Stepping past the gathered dwarfs Barrowdon joined the front rank, the pent up despair and agony of his flight mixing with the elixir, filling him with renewed strength.
With a great crash like the splitting of a mountain the orc’s smashed against the dwarven wall, which swayed under the assault, but held firm. With a mighty roar Pince Barrowdon swung his great battle axe, his rage unleashed as it dug into the chest of an orc. The battle for Ironrock had began.

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