The Siege of Nogrod

The air in Nogrod was thick with tension, a weight that seemed to press down on every stone, every dwarf. The great forges that once sang with the rhythm of creation now hummed with the anticipation of war. I stood alongside Baruk, who had become not only a trusted ally but a true friend over the past days. Despite the hardness of his exterior, there was a kinship between us, born from the shared purpose of protecting those we cared for.

Baruk was a dwarf of few words, but the silent respect between us spoke volumes. We worked together, preparing the city's defenses, organizing the warriors, and fortifying every entrance and tunnel. The dwarves had long mastered the art of defense, but even they knew that the coming battle would test their limits.

"You know," Baruk said, his voice gravelly as he handed me a flask of water, "I've fought many battles, but never like this. The orcs—these aren't just raiders or stragglers. They're an army. The likes of which I've never seen."

I took the flask from him, glancing out toward the horizon, where dark clouds gathered, promising a storm both literal and metaphorical. "I've seen the same. These are not creatures to be underestimated. But we'll make them regret stepping foot in Nogrod."

He grinned at that. "Aye, that we will."

Over the next few days, we readied ourselves for the siege. The warriors of Nogrod, with their iron resolve, formed ranks. Baruk's leadership in battle was invaluable, and I found myself learning much from him, especially his tactical knowledge of close-quarters combat and how dwarven strength could be used to hold tight against overwhelming numbers.

I spent my time with the dwarves preparing, sharpening my blade, ensuring my armor was in perfect condition, and strategizing with Baruk and Thrain. Nogrod was a fortress in its own right, but we both knew that even the best defenses could be shattered if the enemy was persistent enough.

As we neared the day of the siege, the mood in the halls was somber. The dwarves knew what awaited them. But there was a quiet fire behind their eyes—determination. A few days earlier, when I had walked among the warriors of Nogrod, I saw their faces, hard as stone but unyielding. These were not warriors who would back down from a fight. This was their home, their legacy, and they would fight to the last breath to defend it.

Finally, the day came.

We had prepared the gates, the walls, and the tunnel entrances, but no amount of stone could change the fact that orcs were coming. Baruk stood beside me as we observed the distant landscape, watching as dark figures emerged from the shadows. The orc horde was vast, their twisted forms like shadows against the pale light of dawn. Their war cries echoed across the valley like a sickening hymn.

"They'll be here by nightfall," Baruk said, his hand resting on the hilt of his axe. His grip tightened as he spoke. "We'll hold them as long as we can."

I nodded, my own resolve hardening. "We fight for our homes, for our families, and for each other. Let them come."

The first wave of orcs crashed against the gates as the sun dipped below the horizon, its last rays casting an eerie glow over the battlefield. The orcs came at us like a tidal wave, their eyes glowing with malice and bloodlust. But the dwarves, steadfast and unyielding, did not flinch. We met them head-on, with the sound of metal against metal, and the screams of battle filling the air.

Baruk and I fought side by side, cutting down orc after orc as they pushed forward, attempting to breach our defenses. The clang of Baruk's axe and the swish of my sword were music to my ears, and with each swing, I felt the weight of my ancestors, of my father, pushing me onward.

But the orcs were relentless. They had come in great numbers, and it seemed as if there was no end to them. The dwarves were holding their own, but even their legendary resilience could not prevent the mounting pressure. The gates groaned under the assault, and I saw a few of the warriors retreat, their faces lined with exhaustion.

"Baruk!" I shouted over the din of battle, meeting his eyes. "We need to hold the line! The gates will not stand if we don't reinforce them!"

He nodded grimly, motioning for several warriors to follow him. Together, we fought our way to the gates, clearing a path through the orcs with each swing. But as we reached the gates, I saw a massive orc leader, larger than the others, holding a crude but deadly mace. He was swinging it through the lines, knocking dwarves aside like ragdolls. Baruk's eyes narrowed when he saw the creature, and he nodded at me.

"Stay close," he said. "This one's mine."

Baruk charged forward, his axe held high, and I followed closely behind, cutting through the lesser orcs that tried to block his way. The orc leader roared, swinging his mace down at Baruk, but the dwarf was quick, dodging the blow and striking his axe across the orc's chest.

The fight between Baruk and the orc leader was brutal, each blow shaking the ground beneath us. Baruk was swift, but the orc leader was strong, his mace crushing stone with every swing. I could see the exhaustion creeping into Baruk's movements, and I knew that this would not end in our favor unless I intervened.

With a cry, I closed the distance, taking the orc leader by surprise. My sword found its mark, slicing through the orc's defenses and driving deep into his side. The orc howled in pain, but before he could strike back, Baruk landed the final blow, cleaving his axe through the orc's skull.

The immediate danger was over, but the orc horde was far from defeated. The battle raged on, with no sign of the enemy's retreat. But the dwarves held firm, and with each orc that fell, the walls of Nogrod seemed just a little safer.

As the night drew on, the sky was lit by the flickering flames of the forge and the fire of battle. We fought, side by side, our blades and axes a blur of steel against flesh. The dwarves of Nogrod would not fall. Not while there was breath in their bodies.

When the sun finally began to rise again, it was over. The orcs had been repelled—though not without a heavy cost. The field before Nogrod was littered with bodies, both orc and dwarf alike. The ground was soaked with the blood of those who had given their all.

Baruk stood beside me, his chest heaving, sweat and blood marking his face. "We've done it," he said, his voice hoarse. "But this battle is only the beginning."

I nodded, feeling the weight of the words. "The orcs will be back, and so will the ones marching toward Belegost. This war is far from over."

Baruk gave a grim smile. "Then we'll be ready."