The Siege of Belegost

The mountain winds howled as we approached Belegost, the great city of the dwarves. Smoke rose into the air, and the distant clash of steel on steel reached our ears. From the ridge, I could see the battle unfolding below. An immense host of orcs, at least twice the size of the army that had attacked Nogrod, pressed against the gates of the dwarven stronghold. The ground trembled beneath the stomping feet of the enemy, and the air was thick with the stench of death and ash.

I glanced back at the warriors of Nogrod. For all their bravery, I could see the doubt flickering in their eyes, their hands tightening nervously on the hafts of their weapons. They were strong, yes, but this was no small skirmish. This was a horde born of shadow and malice, a tide of darkness that seemed unstoppable.

I urged Lauriënénar forward, my golden steed's hooves crunching against the rocky ground. Turning to face the dwarves, I raised my voice above the din of the enemy.

"Dwarves of Nogrod!" I shouted, my voice echoing like a thunderclap. "Do not falter! Look to your axes, to your strength, to the unyielding fire in your hearts! You are the children of Mahal, the unbroken stone! These orcs think they can crush you, but they forget who you are. You are the smiths of war, the masters of the mountain! They come with numbers, but we come with fury. Let us show them that no shadow can withstand the light of our wrath!"

The dwarves roared, the fear in their eyes replaced by blazing determination. Baruk, standing near the front, raised his axe and bellowed, "For Mahal and Belegost!"

The dwarves took up the cry, their voices swelling into a war chant that shook the earth. I turned back toward the battlefield, gripping my sword tightly. The gates of Belegost were straining against the enemy, but they held strong. Not for long, I feared.

"Forward!" I cried, and spurred Lauriënénar into a gallop.

The charge began, the ground quaking beneath hundreds of dwarven feet and the rumble of war wagons. Lauriënénar surged ahead, his golden mane streaming like fire. We crashed into the orc horde like a falling star, and the battlefield erupted in chaos.

My sword flashed in the light as I cut through the enemy. An orc lunged at me with a jagged blade, but I parried the blow and drove my sword through its chest, twisting the blade before pulling it free. Blood sprayed across my armor as another orc rushed me, but Lauriënénar reared up, his hooves smashing the creature's skull into pulp.

Around me, the dwarves of Nogrod fought like men possessed. Axes cleaved through limbs and torsos, shields shattered orc skulls, and the war wagons plowed through ranks of the enemy, leaving trails of mangled bodies in their wake. The cries of the dying filled the air, a gruesome symphony of death.

I saw Baruk in the fray, his axe a blur of steel as he hacked through the enemy. A particularly large orc charged him with a spear, but Baruk sidestepped and buried his axe in its spine, the creature collapsing with a strangled cry. "Is that all you've got, you filth?" he roared, before turning to face the next foe.

Suddenly, the gates of Belegost groaned open. With a thunderous shout, the dwarves of Belegost poured forth, their gleaming axes and hammers catching the light of the sun. They struck the orcs from behind, their battle cries mingling with the clash of steel. The orcs, caught between the dwarves of Nogrod and the fresh reinforcements from Belegost, began to falter.

The battlefield became a slaughter. Limbs were severed, heads rolled, and the ground was soaked with black blood. Lauriënénar and I were a storm, cutting down orcs wherever we turned. I saw their fear, their desperation as they realized they were losing. The tide had turned.

But just as victory seemed within reach, the air grew heavy and cold. A shadow darker than night fell over the battlefield. The dwarves paused, their faces turning pale as a figure emerged from the ranks of the orcs.

The ground shook with each step it took, flames flickering along its massive, horned frame. Its fiery whip cracked the air, and its molten eyes glared with a hatred that seemed to pierce the soul.

A Balrog.

The battlefield fell silent as all eyes turned to the towering creature. Even the orcs seemed to draw back in fear, though their leader bellowed orders to press the attack. The Balrog raised its whip, the flames roaring higher as it prepared to unleash its wrath.

I tightened my grip on my sword, Lauriënénar stamping his hooves nervously beneath me. "Steady," I whispered, though my heart pounded in my chest.

The battle was far from over.