Hey guys, just wanted to give a thanks to everyone who's been reading and commenting asking me to update. It helps me decide which stories to focus on and get the next chapter up sooner since I have a few different stories. I know it mig not be a good thing in some peoples' eyes because it might mean I'm getting lazy but to me it's great because it means that people actually want to read more of my writing. So thanks again and on with the story.
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Relentlessly, the company searched for a cave in the nearby rock face. It seemed hopeless of such a large area but still they kept at it, driven by the prospect of the treasures that may lay within. Approximately three wasted traveling hours later, Niatha came across a fissure in the otherwise solid mountain. Vines and Ivy crawled along the outer edges, clutching at the crumbling rock. Some were even so overgrown that they hung limp over the entrance, making it almost easily missable. Almost. Stepping tentatively inside, the girl let out a gasp: it was a magnificent troll hoard! Hazing around at the glittering coins--and many other gems and jewels of various kinds as well--piled to the ceiling on every wall. It seemed these trolls had been very busy on the long journey south. In the corner lay piles of weapons strewn with silken cobwebs. A barrel also held a number of elven-looking blades.
Niatha strode outside and hollered the rest of the company at her find. Soon, like sparrows to grain, they flocked to the cave with expressions of awe and wonder grafted to their features as they entered. Only once the initial shock wore off did Niatha finally notice the foul, malodorous stink emanating from the very walls. For the smell of troll will find any place to sink it's grasping tendrils and seek a foothold in any place.
"Urgh! What's that stench?" Nori cried upon entering. He held his arm fully across his nose, muffling the sound.
"It's a troll hoard. Be careful what you touch." Gandalf warned in apprehension of nasty things from filthy, troll-infested caverns.
As almost everyone retched at the odour, Bofur stood contemplating. "Seems a shame just to leave it lyin' around. Anyone could take it."
"Agreed. Nori, get a shovel." The three began digging a small hole in which to hide a few of the treasures for safekeeping.
Meanwhile, Gandalf was examining the swords in one of the many barrels and baskets littering the ground. He drew a web-encased blade partway our of its intricate sheath and scrutinised it with a trained eye. His icy gaze traced the detail of the pommel and handle right down the blade and even the simple sheath. Coming away from the gleaming sword, the wizard looked slightly perplexed at what he'd found. Even Thorin lifted one for his own interest. He seemed impressed by the craftsmanship of the weapons and held a certain admiration in his eyes.
"These were forged in Gondolin by the high elves of the first age." speculated Gandalf. Thorin immediately dropped the sword he'd been holding back into the bucket and made to move away.
"You could not wish for a finer blade!" The wizard snapped at the stubborn prince. Reluctantly, Thorin once again gathered the blade and held on to it.
Niatha, however, paid little heed to this conversation for her attention was entirely enraptured by another blade nearby. It hung carelessly from a fraying straw basket. From what was visible outside the sheath, the girl could see an ivory pommel on leather bound grip handle. The handle was slightly hooked to fit around the fist for a better holding position. Delicately, she knelt to lift the sword with both hands. Then (clasping the handle in a practiced manor for this make of sword) she drew a shimmering silver blade. It was as long as from her shoulder to hip and curved: the dull edge of the metal was a slight arc where the sharp edge was much like that of the sword Thorin had kept. It flashed in the limited rays of sunlight coming from the cave's opening, boasting lavish decorations of animalistic motifs and knotted patterns. This was no sword of trolls or orcs or men or even dwarves or elves. This was the the sword of a Skinchanger.
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The Last of Her Kind (hobbit fanfic)
Fanfiction"Once there were many... Now, there is only me." Beorn's eyes held a shadow of sorrow and loss beneath them. "I might not be so sure of that." *** The Skin-changers were once a proud people who lived in the Misty Mountains. That was before the orcs...
