User blog:Auraestus/The death of Glosur and the fall of Kheled-Arnin

''Addressed to all who may take cry in these words,

''Smoke rises from the White Mountains, fire coats its peaks, and blood fills its rivers. For now the war has carried on in these mountains for over 14 years, I should know, I am part of it. My name is Glosur, and this is when I die. The dwarves ask if I have a plan, I always tell them yes, but I don't. Best to keep them full of hope until the end. Anyways, I am writing this to tell the story of the War of the Mountains, a bloodthirsty war between dwarves and the last remaining orcs. They hate our race of dwarves in the White Mountains more than all others. They gathered in Nurn, away from the prying eyes of Men, and they prepared for war, and on the evening of an unspoken day, they marched towards Ered Nimrais. Purging as they went they stood unchallenged. All thought they wanted to attack Minas tirith, so all the armies of men retreated and gathered there, but they just avoided it and continued into the white mountains, to late did we realize their intention to attack us. They first took the smaller villages and dwarven cities, but some resisted, on the slopes of the mountains dwarves fought orcs till either was brought back, and even though the orcs had nearly one hundred thousand, and we only 2,000 at that city, they fell back to the foothills, or at least we thought they fell back, but they in reality only tricked us, and burned the foothills until all that was left was a blackened mess of hills and old towns. They once more marched into the White mountains, gaining more followers as they went, but this time we were rea-''

"Glosur, what do we do, they are breaking into the lower halls!" said a dwarf

"Don't worry, i have a plan, go, go." Said another, presumably Glosur

''but this time we were ready. As they marched towards my capital, Kheled-Arnin, a sea of fire and ash followed, the once towering white peaks were now clouded in a coat of clouds and black ash. We sealed the gates, but they broke. Far they purged, we are hopeless. At the time im writing this, our allies have betrayed us, our strength has failed, and we are hopeless. Still I will fight, as my kin of old did, I am Glosur Darloc, uniter of the dwarves, king of Kheled-Arnin, writing his final words. Long has my race delved under these mountain homes, long have we stayed away from the Elves and Men, now i see we are doomed to fail. We are always shunned out by them, forced to rely on our own, and now you have done it. I do not curse, or put any dark magic on your races, but I only hope you see, what your petty grudges against us did. Goodbye"

Glosur did fight, when all other dwarves had fled or burned, only he stood alone against the hordes, and it is written in legeed, that he lasted a day and a night fighting the orc horde, until he was shot in the heart, and fell dead. This is the end of the tale for Glosur.