-drip-
The stone above reflected faintly in the torch flicker: traces of light that spread vein-like across the dark surface in the manner in which only water could glisten. Zahne knew little of geology and even less of how moisture could travel from lake to sky to ground and filter even this far back into the earth. What he could see and did know was that the caves this far underground seemed to cry at times, shedding a tear from moment to moment as if grieved by what might have taken place beneath their stony gaze.
There were many signs of dark blooded infestation - rusted armor, broken weapons, dwarven skeletons, and scores of dead goblins or larger Uruk-hai. The latter were more easily identified, even when being consumed by the variant deep fungi, due to their large size and damaged carapace-like armor.
It had been weeks since the scarred warrior had first made his way into the depths of Moria. The Breelander remembered the cave he discovered in the wildlands during his youth: barely a score of feet deep, but twice that wide at the deepest part. There were signs of campfires and disturbed patches where some may have been sleeping, but it was always abandoned when he had mind to visit it. The dwarven delve was much different. There were no spots where sunlight flickered in to ensure a traveler that, if the ceiling collapsed, the sky would appear above it.
-drip-
The droplet landed on the human's one eyelid. It was shockingly cold and ever the reminder that there was no warmth this far below. Even sleeping around a small fire did little to drive off the cool damp from your back...or whichever side opposite that faced the flames. The large, solitary orb opened to look at the glowing coals that remained. Reaching behind him, Zahne grasped and then fed a broken bit of crate to the dying fire. Flame light flared as the offering was quickly consumed. In that brief instant, the sleeping form of his traveling companion was revealed. Rhawnwyn's face lay nestled into the crook of her arm, completely obscured by her long tresses.
-drip-
Rhawnwyn was a score of years younger than the battered warrior; she was a Rhoirrim by birth but did not seem oppressed by their current surroundings. Zahne figured that one so used to seeing open plains and large skies would have become curt and surly after weeks below the surface. However, Rhawnwyn was not burdened by the delve. In fact, her innocent curiosity made the trek bearable for Zahne.
The warrior had become protective of his ward, not simply for her naivety but for his part in being responsible for their need to flee Bree. The blood on his hands stained the Beast Whisperer, and he would do his utter best to find some measure of safety for her in whatever years were left.
-drip-
The sound of water continuously leaking from above had lulled Zahne's senses. The musing the scarred man did served too much as a distraction: he did not hear the soft scrape of boots on stone. The muted rattle of cloth covered armor did not betray movements that surrounded the tiny camp. Coupled with the understanding that an orc can carry a bared sword from cradle to grave without tiring, there was no warning rasp of a blade being drawn when the creatures attacked.
The glint of light off steel was just enough for Zahne to pull up his arm to shield himself, the vambrace held under impact but rattled the bones of his arm hard enough to lance pain from wrist to shoulder. The attacker's blade was thin enough to take into his gauntlet, which allowed the fighter to pull it wide and lash out with a metal clad fist. The reaction was enough to stun the gaunt goblinoid so that there was no retribution when Zahne plowed into him with a shoulder to avoid the downward slice of another blade. He shouted to rouse his companion and draw attention, drawing blade bare and unshouldering the large shield to his other arm.
It was all he could to avoid falling backwards under the blow that immediately blasted into his shield. This orc was larger than its companion and wielded a bardiche that allowed two hands to add strength to its strikes. The polearm's large blade dug at the shield's boss, scratching furrows across its length.
Two more humanoids flanked the woman; the warning did allow her to take to her feet and pull up the quarterstaff into a defensive posture. She slowly backed away from the pair, plank of wood held up and blocking the tentative slices that they offered her to test her mettle. Her retreat ended when she butted up against the wooly side of her ungulate steed. Feminine whispers carried over her shoulder to reassure the huge ram behind her, but it only further her assailants to attack.
The first began rain down overhand chops at the youth; predictably an upraised staff blocked these blows. The orc's intent wasn't to break the weapon and this became evident the second time it got lodged into the middle of the quarterstaff. Holding onto her weapon for dear life, there was nothing Rhawnwyn could do to shield her side from the second beast's advance. Black lips offered her a split toothed smile as the orc hauled back to skewer her. It's attack never came, stopped short as she was whipped around by the passing of her steed so quickly that she disarmed her first attacker. The ram's lowered head caught the flanking soldier square in the face: the nose guard folded inward, permanently welding the helmet to the dead orc's head as it dropped. The Rohirrim lass used the momentum from being forced around to finish the second orc with a steel shod wooden blow to its temple.
Zahne fared worse as his attackers worked in unison: the chopping polearm was too deadly to ignore and this allowed for the second orc to tag the larger human several times with a shortsword when he was defending against the first. This cumbersome dance continued for another minute, before one of the orcs became to hasty and allowed the cyclopean warrior to neutralize it with a pommel strike to its head. Rhawnwyn was able to rush up at the point and allow for the tables to be turned as the last orc was flanked finally. Blocking the woman's next blow offered it's bared shoulder to the warrior who immediately drove the length of his longsword through the joint and into its lung. With blood filling its airways, the creature fell silently to the floor.
It took several moments before the rush of battle left the pair of humans. No words were spoken, but the night was ended and fear of reinforcements sent the pair further on their way into the bowels of the earth. The air hung heavy beneath a ceiling that held back a mountain of rock overhead.
