((A big thank you to everyone who came along to hear it! By the way, this isn't the end for Veinbolt's Company!))
Borimi Veinbolt, the noble Firebeard, of grand descent was he! In his service were fighters far-feared, an upstanding company! Patrol they would, the Ered Luin, in numbers most considerable, All decked out in steely sheen, Dwarrows most formidable, One fateful day they left the walls, of mighty Gondamon, Swift they marched, stout soldiers all, in a moment they were gone, South they strode, behind their lord, in hauberks of tempered mail, Well-armed they were, with spear and sword, battle-hammer and flail, At the hour of noon on that same day, the Rath Teraig they reached, No birds did sing and the sky was grey, thus Pheili the Steward beseeched: ‘My honoured Lord, let us not pass here, for darkness fills my heart, If we proceed and enter in full I fear, we shall only return in part,’ Borimi’s face showed true concern, but his heart was drunk on pride, With eagerness his eyes did burn and so he then replied: ‘I will not cower from the Orcish other, these fell paths I will tread, And I will not ask any of my brothers to alone scout out ahead,’ The mountain track Borimi chose, so he would not be shamed, Alas for those brave Dwarrows! Dwarves who thus were named: Meivar, Vrastor, Kalituke and Simbar, Torthi, Rhorban, Zhann and Drerin, Rophealin, Argoin, Khimi and Wevkar, Hefalin, Bolkladir, Gradel and Thurrin, As well as these there were many more, though their names are not recorded, But methinks there were around three-score Dwarrows Borimi over-lorded, The company walked on; flanked they were, by the rocky slopes, The mighty Veinbolt none would deter while he held his naïve hopes, Then suddenly, out from the rocks, came a high and vicious shriek, The Dwarves breathed deeply through beard-locks, about their eyes did seek, Then down both slopes poured the goblin horde, screaming their war-cries! Lusting for blood their chieftain roared, shouting to the skies, Arrows flew from the ambuscade; the Dwarrows raised their shields, A great clattering and thudding was made, but the timber did not yield, The foul darts of the goblins missed and a shield-burgh was formed, A fortress of linden that might resist the oncoming Orcish swarm, But although the foe could not pierce that sturdy wall of wards, Over it leapt the goblins fierce, slashing down with their swords, The first who leapt, Lord Borimi met and he smote him with his fist, But soon his party was sore-beset, Orc warriors in their midst, Seeing this the Firebeard drew his short-sword well sharpened, And entered the fray that ensued, above the skies still darkened, Cutting, stabbing, slashing, hacking, he danced a dance of little grace, The foul goblins that were attacking, shrank from the mask upon his face, Many a Dwarrow met his doom, yet fourfold Orcs did fall, The goblins slipped away in the gloom at the sound of a deep horn-call, ’Twas then that Borimi looked around and saw a sight to make maids swoon, Many of his warriors lay dead on the ground, though more stood tending deep wounds, ‘My friends,’ in a loud voice he cried, ‘We must set a steady pace, With stout hearts and with the Moon as our guide we may yet leave this place,’ Yet what the Firebeard did not know, was that there would be no Moon that night, So despite their strength their pace was slow, relying on mere starlight, When they began to think they might leave unharmed, again came the goblin-bite, The company, distressed and alarmed, scattered into the night, Borimi was left only with Mitas his ward, and Dwarves Khimi and Thurrin, ‘With me!’ yelled the Firebeard lord, wrapped in his cloak of sheepskin, And though he did not know it himself, this garment would bring sorrow; Seeing it Orcs, on a rocky shelf, shot fell-arrows at the Dwarrows, A single shaft hit poor Mitas and pierced him in the chest, And in that thrice-cursed place, alas! He went to his final rest, Then Borimi was the most terrible sight and vengefully he did bawl, Ascending the goblins’ height, in his wrath he slew them all, Then to his warriors, at the end, he made this final plea: ‘Do you remember, steadfast friends, the oaths you swore to me? Forget them and desert me now, run back to your wives, No protest will I allow, I bid you save your lives!’ Khimi and Thurrin, they obeyed though they were hardly lief, But Lord Veinbolt, at the gorge he stayed, and fell to his knees in grief.Notice: With the Laurelin server shutting down, our website will soon reflect the Meriadoc name. You can still use the usual URL, or visit us at https://meriadocarchives.org/
A Firebeard's Folly
Submitted by Siggald on October 27th, 2014
