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"Well Frodo." Gandalf smiled, his eyes lit up strangely for a moment in sharp contrast to the terrible battle that had just came to a needed pause. There was a mutual look between them for the briefest of moments, the look that only friends as they had been could share.

Turning to the others, the smile still vaguely on his lips, he noted, "I think there is more to this hobbit than meets the eye."

Struck with the beauty of it, Boromir gaped without shame. Never before had he seen such amazing armor.

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[I shall fill in for her.]

The dwarf gasped in awe, his eyes scarcely leaving the shirt. “Mithril! You are full of surprises Master Baggins!”

Who would have thought to see such a wonder in these perilous times, in a ruinous mine, and worn by a hobbit no less! But his admiring eyes were overtaken by another one of his dwarven senses. Orcs. Their tireless tramping was heard all around, echoing off of the old mine walls, singing dolefully in it’s structure. Gimli looked to Gandalf, as did many of them, for directions what to do next.

The light from Gandalf’s eyes faded, weariness overcoming wonder.

“To the Bridge of Khazad-dûm!” he said, hurriedly, and moved onward with a speed that contradicted his old stature. The light of his staff he held in front, his robes waved about him, and he soon was running with an immense speed that the rest of the company found hard to keep up.

Behind them, the orc army was coming in closer. Their cries strung through the air, giving the already frightened hobbits a new meaning to their haste.

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Scrabbling noises, rasps of metal, growls - Sam twisted as they ran, feeling his blood run cold. Spiderlike bodies of goblins were creeping down the walls, more every time he looked. Movement caught his eye, far up in the dimly lit ceiling. Like ants they were pouring out! The many columns of towering stone now seemed faintly lit, too, by the light of distant torches, perhaps - or more? Was that a glow, far down the corridor behind them...

But there was no time to contemplate threats at the breakneck pace Gandalf led them. Every glance to the side revealed more hunched figures emerging from shadows.

Elizabeth found her grip on the spear white-knuckled, stomach likewise clenched in terrified anticipation. She was running full pelt behind the four scrambling hobbits, just ahead of Boromir, and dived just as Merry fell, carrying Pippin with him, to shove them upright and yell to keep going. Something followed, something worse - if possible - than myriad goblins.

Three times now Legolas had half-drawn his bow, itching to loose arrows into the countless goblins encroaching on them. He stilled his hand, knowing that speed was of utmost importance and his arrows would never be found again if he released them into that mob. Goblins ahead! He slowed, grip tighter on the bow. A cursory glance told him that a sea of the spikily armored, hunched creatures extended in every direction - bulbous eyes glowing, feral snarls multiplying to echo frighteningly. The bow came up, Legolas' own gaze boring an enraged hole into their ranks.

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Aragorn considered pointing out that Frodo had given them no reason to suspect deviltry, but now was hardly the time for pointless banter. When -if- they escaped Moria, then he would willingly -and gladly- discuss any grievances the pirate still held. For now, however, he dismissed the topic from his mind and took up the rear in the company's hasty withdrawal from the chamber. Goblins were pouring out of every open hole and crevasse -indeed, even the ceiling was teeming with them-, filling the air with their deafening cries as the Fellowship raced across the great hall. Once, Merry and Pippin seemed to stumble, but Elizabeth quickly got them back onto their feet. They had gotten maybe halfway across the chamber when the goblins finally closed in around them, effectively surrounding the company in a swarming sea of leering faces and orcish snarls. Aragorn had gotten out of countless tight situations before (many of which, in his opinion, he'd had no right to even survive), but even the Ranger was finding himself hard-pressed to imagine an outcome that didn't involve every last one of them meeting their early demise at the hands of the goblins.

Barbossa gripped his sword tightly, the only outward sign that he was even remotely apprehensive about their current predicament. That he could survive such a massive onslaught of foes did not necessarily mean that he was particularly keen on the idea, especially given that the goblins didn't seem the sort to be discouraged by the immortality of their victim.

Just as the attack seemed imminent, however, something resembling a low growl came from one of the far passageways, accompanied by an otherworldly red glow. Immediately, the goblins began shrieking in fear, then hastily retreated as quickly as they had appeared. Perplexed by this sudden retreat, Barbossa looked to Gandalf, wondering if the wizard was just as much in the dark.

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For what seemed like the longest moment after the eerie growl, there was absolute silence. Merry strained to hear it again, although everything within him wanted not to. Whatever could make a whole legion of orcs scatter like frightened sheep... he shuddered silently.

Stepping up closer to Gandalf, and holding his torch forward as if to reveal the unknown creature, Boromir said in a low voice, “What is this new devilry?” His breath came in silent heaves; the running had been vigorous even for a trained Captain of Gondor.

Gandalf brow furrowed deeply, his eyes shut in a moment of intense concentration. Again came the rough, grating growl. His eyes lifted to the strange light in the entrance. “A Balrog,” he said. “A demon of the ancient world.” His voice was both steady and undisturbed, as well as wary.

“This foe is beyond any of you,” he continued slowly, still staring almost angrily at the dark creature. And then his voice rose to an urgent peak,

“Run!!”

Once again they made a mad dash for their lives, coming to a small doorway. “Quickly!” Gandalf said as he ushered them through. Glancing one more time behind him, he followed them.

Boromir rushed on ahead, down a flight of ancient dwarven stairs. In his haste he didn’t see that the middle was fallen out between them, and he lost his balance on the edge. He gave a cry, throwing his arms back, trying not to fall in the great abyss.

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Legolas leapt nimbly down the half-broken stairs, which were pitted with age and uneven from centuries of use, and caught Boromir before he plummeted. Nodding once to Will in the spirit of 'help appreciated but not needed' he turned to beckon the others on with a gesture. Gandalf seemed, curiously, to be hanging back...but he was of the ancient order of the Istari, a wizard of power surpassing that of any of his companions, and not for a moment did the elf even consider throwing him a glance of questioning curiousity - or even letting the thought linger. Gandalf knew what he was about.

Elizabeth felt her heart jump into her mouth upon seeing Boromir narrowly avoid what would certainly have been his death. She herself had felt upon the edge of doing so from the moment they'd set foot on the treacherous stairways, and his brush with doom was no comforting sight. A glance over her shoulder revealed the mines trembling behind them and an unearthly, demonic light increasing in its pursuit. Panicking, she turned forward again. "Go, let's go!"

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[FM!!!111oneone!!! nice to have you back.]

Gimli took the stairs in an ultimately graceful fashion, stumbling and jolting the entire way down. Yet, perhaps from an entire ancestry of living underground, he managed to keep up. Huffing and puffing, he hurtled down the last couple steps and slammed into Sparrow who slammed into Will who slammed into Elizabeth who slammed into Sam and so on and so forth. In fact, the entire Fellowship would have gone over the edge all on the account of one unfortunate Dwarf, had Gimli not seized Sparrow's shirt and dragged the tallish man back. This noble act of self-sacrifice made him lose his balance and land on his rump, already bruised from an encounter with an Orcish club back in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Gimli shook himself, climbed painfully to his feet, and stuck his head out to the side, peering ahead to see what the fuss was about. His mouth opened in an O. The gap was daunting. The Elf might make it, and even the Ranger if fortune favored. The Hobbits would have a hard time. So would the Dwarf. Anxiously he peered up at Aragorn. "Well? What now?"

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