Stepping through the ornate arched door at the southern end of the Hall of Amon Tira, the company entered what appeared to be an armory. Stone racks that seemed to once hold spears, swords, shields and coats of armor now stood empty along the walls. A heap of rusted and moldering gear of war lay in the center of the room. The glint of precious metals and gems could be seen among the rusted swords and rotting leather.
Suddenly, Duinhir spun around. “Quick, the door!” he hissed, “It’s a trap.” The sound of flat fleet padding on stone and low, gruff voices could be heard in the hall. Before anyone had a chance to react, however, a pile of stones leaning against the east wall came crashing to the floor. A Great Orc and a Warg the size of a pony came bounding through. “Who dares disturb the lair of the great Grishak Gashnaga!” the Orc roared, "A slow death to you all! Blackfang, rip ‘em to shreds and tear ‘em bits. When you’re done we’ll dump ‘em in a pot and feast like Radgul himself.”
Another two Wargs came through the hole in the wall just as four Orcs, the dim, unpleasant sentry included, rushed in from the hall. The company was surrounded with no route of escape.
As happens in dire situations of this nature, stuck underground being squeezed like a grape for the next vintage of Old Winyards by Orcs and Wargs and worse, a battle for life and death ensued.
Alaglîr was able to fit and fire an arrow before battle was joined, felling a Warg as he did. In kind, Duinhir lobbed a spear at the Great Orc Gishak, but it missed its mark.
From there, it all became a blur of friend and foe, tooth and nail, axe and sword and bow. The Warg, Blackfang, lept at Alaglîr who was forced to drop his bow and draw his sword to dispatch the beast. The Widow proved fell handed as ever with her axe. Bowen continued to surprise his companions with his command of the short sword. Duinhir and Talandil focused their attentions on Gishak Gashnaga. It was slow and deadly dangerous work. In the end, they prevailed, but not before Talandil took a wound as the Great Orc’s scimitar pierced the side of his leather corselet.
With their foes vanquished, the company remained in the armory to tend to themselves and their weapons. Duinhir bound Talandil’s wound with some help from The Widow. Out of the corner of his eye, Alaglîr noticed something out of the ordinary and seemingly very old among Gishak’s horde…