In response to http://laurelinarchives.org/node/12005
As he stood staring into the blizzard, Estarfin breathed deeply, trying to quell his fury. The cold wind blew around him, tugging at his cloak and whipping his dark hair around his face. Snow settled upon his boots, whilst the tips of his fingers grew numb within his gauntlets. He looked back over his shoulder, seeing Parnard huddled in front of the camp fire, wrapped in Maegnor's stained and ripped cloak. For a moment Estarfin felt his anger subside, and pity bloomed in his heart. Parnard was dressed in old dwarf mail, wrapped in a tattered cloak, shivering slightly despite the warmth of the fire. He was still troubled by the injury that he had suffered under Estarfin’s care. His broken arm was bound tight, but he was no healer, and there was little more that he could do. His gaze drifted to the greatsword at Parnard's side, almost laughing as he remembered Parnard swinging it wildly around in the goblin tunnels, cleaving the air and hanging vines, but little else. He turned and looked back into the snow-storm, and his mood darkened again. He and Parnard had been the first to return to the camp, and the others were still overdue. Estarfin chafed at having to wait for his companions to return; he knew that he worried needlessly, his companions were superlative warriors; but he could not stop himself.
As he was staring into the white sheet of snow that filled the air, he dwelt upon Lord Veryacano’s choice to saddle him with guarding Parnard. He kicked his boot heel into the snow, crushing it into icy slush. He heard movement from behind him and turned his head, seeing that Parnard had brought out a small sheaf of paper, and had begun to write. Estarfin turned back and watched the snow covering the stone steps that led up to the campsite, thinking of the vicious battles within the goblin tunnels only hours before.
The march to the tunnels had been fairly uneventful. They had kept out of view of any goblin sentries that had been posted, but Lord Veryacano still expected their arrival to already be known amongst the goblin filth. Parnard had proved little trouble up till then, showing an interest in his surroundings, and moving quickly and lightly on his feet. He had already had to remind him once or twice to keep up, and to stay close, but Parnard had obeyed, although with an odd expression on his face. Perhaps it was the cold; Estarfin still was not sure why the strange Elf was wearing a suit of dwarven mail in such a harsh climate, but he was no expert on the mountainous region himself, and Parnard seemed to be keeping up with them without any issues. Seeing that he was shivering with the cold though, Estarfin passed him a small flask, hoping that the miruvor would help to keep him warm and let him keep his wits about him. At the entrance to the goblin cave, Parnard paused on the threshold, staring up at the peaks above them whilst the others disappeared into the dark. Growing impatient, Estarfin gave Parnard a little shove in the back to get him moving again, and they entered the caves together.
Moving through the dark of the entrance together, Estarfin hissed to Parnard to stay with him, to keep in sight. He had no wish to fail the Hammer Lord's orders, and hefted his shield and spear into position, scanning the darkness and watching the other Hammers spreading out to search the numerous tunnels leading from the entrance cave. Already there were the twisted corpses of goblins strewn across the cave and tunnel entrances, their black blood reflecting faint flickers of the torches mounted on the walls. Daegond called back from the widest tunnel, Veryacano clearly trusting to the Hound’s keen hearing and sense of smell in the dark tunnels, as the Hammer Lord motioned for the company to advance after the indistinct figure of Daegond. As they progressed through the tunnel, they encountered ever greater concentrations of foul goblins. Veryacano, Ancalasse and Daegond formed the spearhead of the company, pushing through the barricades and defences, leaving only dead or dying goblins in their wake. None could stand against them, but there were many side-tunnels, and the three Hammers were at risk of being cut-off and surrounded. Nirhen, Elloen, Maegnor and Estarfin followed them closely however, guarding their flanks and halting vicious counter-attacks in their tracks. Estarfin stayed close to Parnard, but out of range of the wild swings of his sword.
At Veryacano’s orders, they burned the supplies of the goblins and collapsed what entrances and bridges they could as they marched through the darkness. Maegnor and Nirhen soon proved to have great skill at bringing down the great wooden beams supporting the openings of the side-passages, cutting off any chance of the goblins attacking the company from behind. Nirhen and Estarfin laughed as they burned the supplies of the goblins, the smoke and the dust from the collapsed passages filling the air. As they pushed deeper into the lair of the goblins, Parnard started to give Estarfin more and more trouble, behaving as an inquisitive child, rather than a warrior. There were numerous times that he had to grab Parnard and pull him back from sheer drops, burning supplies, twitching goblins and collapsing masonry. Each time Parnard tried to shake him off, his face darkening with anger. Nirhen tried to help, pulling Parnard back from a crumbling ledge and calling him a fool. Instead of gratitude, her help was met with further indignant looks of wounded pride. As Parnard turned away, Nirhen rolled her eyes at Estarfin and jogged into the darkness following the advance. Estarfin watched Parnard stalking away, and took a deep breath to try to relieve his frustration. At that point Maegnor ran past him, a grin on his face. Estarfin raced after him, hearing yet another passage collapsing; the sound of squealing goblins just audible before the falling rocks drowned out their cries.
Estarfin caught Maegnor, Nirhen and Parnard around the next bend, seeing the Hammers attempting to bring down the entrance to the largest side-tunnel they had yet seen. Parnard was rooting around in the supplies and detritus of the goblins, but appeared safe enough. Estarfin lent his strength to bringing down the entrance; Maegnor and him pushing with all their might against the left-hand pillar, whilst Nirhen set a burning brand into the right-hand pillar. Soon the fire and effort caused a sharp crack to sound out from the protesting wooden structure, and the three Hammers ran back from the entrance as small stones started to fall from the roof. They laughed together as the rocks came crashing down, Estarfin turning to share the joyous moment with Parnard. His smile vanished as he saw that Parnard was no longer there. “Parnard?” called Estarfin, looking around to see where his charge was hiding. “Parnard, get out here, this is no time for foolish games.” Nirhen and Maegnor had ceased their laughter, their faces serious again. “Wait here” Estarfin told them, then charged back the way they had come.
“PARNARD!” shouted Estarfin as he ran, fear and desperation entering his voice. He had failed Veryacano, Parnard had been taken or slain, he knew it. “PARNARD!” No answer came to him from the darkness. Tearing at his hair in desperation, he whirled about, sprinting back towards his companions, hoping to find some trace of Parnard to enable him to follow his trail. Skidding to a halt, he saw Parnard with Maegnor and Nirhen. Instead of relief, Estarfin felt only fury. Marching up to the slender Elf, he grabbed hold of the front of his tunic, wrenching it forward until they were almost nose to nose. “You fool! Are you trying to get yourself lost? Do you wish to perish forgotten in this terrible place?” Parnard did not answer, his eyes wide. Shaking him slightly, Estarfin bellowed into his face once more “I was ordered to keep you alive by the Hammer Lord himself!” Parnard began to answer “How dare… What do you mean lost? I was right here!” Estarfin released his grip on his mail tunic, shaking his head at Parnard. “Move” he growled at Parnard. “MOVE!” he bellowed when Parnard hesitated. He bolted like a rabbit, and the three Hammers followed him.
They soon caught up with the rest of the company who were arrayed before a great set of doors, carved with foul symbols and pictures. They had not been idle; many corpses were spread across the floor, the dark stones slippery with blood. Daegond, who had clearly heard the shouting from further back in the tunnel, asked what had happened. Seeing the bright eyes of the Hammer Lord swivelling to observe him, Estarfin dropped to his knee, his head hanging with shame. “Forgive me my Lord, I lost sight of Parnard in the darkness, and feared that he had been slain.” He could not think of anything further to say, and could not bring himself to raise his head to meet the eyes of the Hammer Lord. He did not think he could bear to see disappointment or anger at him written on those features, and so kept his gaze on the floor.
“Nirhen, Daegond. Stand guard over this entrance and keep Parnard safe. The rest of you, with me.” Estarfin looked up to see the Hammer Lord striding to the doors, knowing that he had failed him, and could no longer be trusted to perform the task that had been asked of him. Standing, he saw Veryacano smash one of the doors from its great hinge, the scarred oak falling with a great crash. The Hammer Lord let out a roar, and charged over the threshold. His chosen companions charged after him, and Estarfin followed.
The throne-room of the Great Goblin was incredibly hot and stuffy, sweat appearing on Estarfin’s skin almost as soon as he entered the room. There was already a great battle beginning, the Hammers engaged upon every side by the guards of the Great Goblin. He launched himself into the fray, crushing bones with his shield, and spitting, hacking and slicing goblins apart with his spear. He used his heavy boots to break ankles, stamp on the throats of the fallen, and sweep the legs from unwary opponents. The green jewel that he wore upon his brow, taken so long ago from the ruin of Doriath, he used to crack the weak skulls of any goblin that got too close. Suddenly he saw Maegnor in front of him, automatically spinning himself so that they could fight back to back. The crowds of goblins surrounding them soon thinned, and Maegnor and Estarfin looked up to a large platform in the middle of the room, to see Lord Veryacano and the Great Goblin facing each other. Estarfin grinned as he saw the enormously fat goblin waving a spear at the Hammer Lord, knowing that the fight was already over. The Goblin King thrust with the spear suddenly, a vicious look upon his face that quickly turned to surprise as he saw Veryacano no longer in front of him. The Great Goblin looked down in pain and horror, seeing that Veryacano had opened him from chest to groin, his foul insides leaking onto the floor. Will a final roar, Veryacano spun on the spot behind the Goblin, and the tusked head flew off, rolling down the stairs of the dais. Letting out a great cheer, the Hammers quickly cleared the room of any remaining goblins, then gathered around their Lord. Tired, but satisfied, he gave the order to burn it all, seizing the fallen head of the Great Goblin and holding it aloft. Estarfin and Maegnor quickly set burning brands to the wooden throne and dais, following the other Hammers as they left through the smashed doors.
As they emerged from the suffocating heat, Estarfin saw Parnard giving Nirhen and Daegond a look of purest hatred. Estarfin frowned to see this. Nirhen had a wicked tongue, and Daegond liked to play with his food before he ate it; but surely Parnard understood that it was simply a part of their Order, to mock each other mercilessly but in good humour? He did not have time to reflect on it however as Veryacano and Ancalasse led them quickly out of the tunnels, smoke and dust following them down the winding passage until they finally felt fresh air on their faces. Grinning at Nirhen, Estarfin emerged into the weak sunlight, a wall of cold air slamming into him as the heat of the tunnels was replaced by the biting winds of the mountains.
Estarfin stirred from his memories, hearing the sounds of a blade being sharpened behind him. He heard odd noises coming from Parnard that sounded almost like laughter, although what there was to laugh at when their companions were missing he did not know. Perhaps the wound was more serious than he thought. He ought to check it again, but could not swallow his pride and turn to face Parnard, preferring to brood on his own bitterness. He had lived long enough to become master of his own rage, but still cursed himself silently that he had slipped again. He should not have threatened Parnard, he knew that. But at the same time, he also felt relief that he had released him; and building fury at the memory of Parnard’s words. He clenched his fists, breathing through his nose as the sounds of the whetstone on the blade grated against his restraint. He hoped that the others would return soon, trying to clear his mind of the black rage that was settling upon him.
