Barafo pushed himself up from the turf, his sinews straining under the weight of his iron armour, sweat trickling heavily from his brow. Seeing the Dwarf vulnerable, the Uruk-hai lunged forward once more, his crude sword cutting a wide arc through the air.

With barely a heartbeat too spare, Barafo threw himself too the ground, narrowly avoiding the Orcish blade that skimmed past his shoulder and landed with a thud in the grass beside him. Yet, as he reeled away from the jolt of pain in his side from the fall, the Uruk pounced; its feral teeth bared, a sickening look of anticipation etched across its face.

In the blink of an eye it was before him, pressing down atop him with its vaste, muscular bulk. Blows rained down upon the Dwarf as he fought desperately too keep his guard, but try as he might, most of the blows hit there intended mark. Suddenly, Barafo felt his nose crack then break, as one particular punch from the Uruk went through his guard and connected with his exposed nose. The taste of blood trickled into his mouth, and as yet more blows rained down upon him , the Uruks grinning face began to go dark and shrouded.

He awoke with a quick shake, his limbs dangling from the ground, the meaty, iron grip of the Uruks clawed hands around his throat. The beast had a look of satisfaction on him as he gradually tightened his grip upon the Dwarf, squeezing the life out of his enemy with more malice and cruelty than could be imagined. Barafo fought with a shocking sense of fear as he desperately clawed at the Uruks arms, trying too prize the creatures grip from his throat. But it was too no avail. He felt his strength waining with every passing second, and as the creatures grip tightened yet further, for the first time in his long life, Barafo met the reality of death.

But something awoke within him. Some, primeval sense of survival that we all posses, that can drive the most frail of hearts too great bouts of courage and valour. Suddenly, Barafo felt some of his strength return, and with one of his ironed boots, he swung at the Uruk, catching him in the mid-rift. The blow was not of great force, but the Uruk was distracted for a moment as he doubled over, clutching his chest. Afforded the chance too stand again after being dropped, Barafo quickly snatched at the closest thing he could; an Orcish blade lying in the grass. He clenched the unfamiliar blade in his palm, and as he turned on the Uruk-Hai of Mordor, something resonated from his mouth; an un-earthing, terryfing cry that was powerless too resist.

"Baruk Khazad! Khazad Ai-Menu!"

He roared, charging in with the blade raised.