The Dwarves advanced slowly but steadily, following their banner through mud and filthy blood, onward, onward, and onward again.
The furious cries of humans fighting Half-orcs, the clash of weapons, and the dying screams of lives snuffed out grew clearer through the heavy rain.
The two forces had never been particularly far apart.
The Warg Riders tasked with keeping them apart certainly would not stand by and watch the humans and Dwarves join forces.
Amid savage, terrifying howls, the Wargs split into groups of two or three, racing and snarling around the Dwarves. Their crimson eyes fixed on their prey as they launched probing attacks again and again.
Yet the coldly gleaming spears in the Dwarves' hands always drove them back, leaving these cunning, deadly creatures with nothing to show for their efforts.
Soon, a piercing horn sounded from the west, carrying Ragash's orders.
A large force of ironclad Uruks, no fewer in number than the Dwarves, stood before them with wooden shields and warhammers. In the mountain downpour, they formed a silent, sinister black wall between the humans and the Dwarves.
But the Dwarves did not stop advancing.
"Forward! Keep moving forward!"
Thorin's roar echoed through the mountains. At their king's command, sharp spears drew steadily closer to the enemy. Battle was about to erupt.
Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh! Whoosh!
Several unidentified black shapes suddenly hurtled down onto the Dwarves, smashing small gaps in their tightly packed formation. Seizing the opening, the previously silent Uruks roared and broke into a headlong charge.
At the same time, two enormous figures parted the curtain of rain and approached the Dwarves. They were cave Trolls carrying great clubs. Under orders from the horn, they had skirted the fierce fighting in the center to reinforce the Uruks blocking the Dwarves.
As they approached the