Thanks for the replies! Things are going to get relatively interesting now, methinks...
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The elves, as was expected, gave us no food. We didn't ask, of course. It would be a sad day if a dwarf had to ask an elf for any kind of assistance.
The dwarves had continued marching for weeks now, and not a single greenskin had been found. Every day it looked more and more hopeless, like they were all being sent to their deaths rather than to become heroes. Yet none of them said anything, but rather continued along the mountain range, looking for anything that would tell them of a goblin dark fortress near the area.
Besmar, who had remained quiet for quite some time after the run-in with the elves, had got back to talking again, much to the disdain of his squadmates. He would talk about anything that crossed his mind, be it another vulgar joke about the queen or hearing another sound in the dense woods around them...
Lokum suddenly stopped, and reached for the hilt of his sword.
"Lokum? What is it?" Vabok asked, worry in his voice.
Lokum quickly unsheated his blade, and yelled to the rest of the group: "Everyone! Form up around me! Weapons, now!" they all stood silent for a moment, but then quickly began marching towards their leader, weapons drawn.
'Too late.' Lokum thought. And he was right.
A pack of snarling, drooling wolves came charging through the brush, cutting each one of the shocked dwarves off. Cog had charged ahead to the front, and Belmar was far in the rear. The others were out of Lokum's sight.
Looking at the nearest wolf, Lokum could clearly see its ribcage against the creatures thin midsection. These creatures were desperate for anything, even a dwarf!
"Belmar! Over here!" was all he managed to yell before the white hound was upon him. The wolf jumped into the air, its claws landing on Lokum's thick shoulder plates. Lokum suddenly lost his balance, and him and the beast fell forward.
The squad leader looked up towards Belmar, who was holding the shaft of the hammer, desperately trying to hold back the teeth of a wolf. The rest was a blur, Lokum was still on the ground, the wolf near him, and Belmar... the wolf he had been holding back suddenly lurched forward, and its teeth closed around
his neck.
Lokum cursed, and quickly attempted to get to his feet. "Belmar!" he yelled, hoping for some sort of confirmation that his longtime sparring partner was alright.
Moments. Nothing. Lokum swung his iron sword, slicing the downed wolf in the leg. The blade cut deep, and stuck in the wound. Through the forest, he could hear the rest of his team fighting.
Lokum twisted the deadly blade deeper into the wolves leg, and it slowly bled to death. The rest of the squad formed up around him, and they quickly began their final assault against the beasts. One by one the wolves fell, their blood spattering on the grass around them. They stood around the corpses for a moment, gathering their breath.
"Where's Belmar?" Ber suddenly asked, though his voice showed that he knew the answer. Lokum looked pointed near a tall oak, his eyes pointing towards the ground in grief. The group remained motionless, no one saying anything. After a few long minutes, Lokum muttered a curse under his breath and slowly marched to Belmar's bloodied corpse and knelt down to it.
He put his iron-clad hand over his friends missing throat and whispered one last prayer.
Belmar would never speak again.