We cannot get out. There are thousands of them. Their shouts rattle our very souls, but we do not lose heart. Trapped in the main hall we are. They have taken the first and second level. We have barred the door but cannot hold for long. They are coming. They have taken the courtyard and the southern hall. The thousands of screeching devils, all like voices like drums and howls. The ram continues to pound the door. The battle-worn hares fight for honor now, not hope.

The door is breached. There was a loud explosion and the door flew in leaving it cockeyed by a hinge. Heavily armored vermin were streaming out of the opening. The hares defending the back door saw this and some fell back without an order. A shout rang from without. When the attackers saw the defenses weakened, they made a furious press and breached the defense.

“Retreat! Fall back to the center of the room, form ranks.” Coldstrype shouted urging the men back.

Vermin poured in like a flood from front and back. Small wiry ones squeezed through the cracks, wielding fork-bladed, short swords. Huge bullnecked ones threw the tables aside. Soon, these were passed by a surging host of yellow-eyed fiends carrying every kind of spiked mace, axe, or double-edged sword imaginable. Like a dark wave they swept over the ground claiming the soldiers who were to slow. Coldstrype leaped onto a table and a few hundred of his last loyal hares form ranks around their lord. Coldstrype’s face was grim; he had a gash above his right eye, which was oozing blood, blurring his vision. He turned to see his men before him, fear in all of their eyes. He wiped blood from his eyes, “Men, be brave. Whatever may happen, let us conduct ourselves with honor for those who have passed before us. I am talking to that inner strength in you all. You might saw, let us surrender, but I say be courageous! Stand, hares of the Mountain! This day, right here, this is the last stand of Salamandastron. Eulaliaaaa!”

Every Salamandastorn warrior raised their weapons in the air and cheered even those badly wounded they could hardly hold their weapons at all. Coldstrype strode to the front of the ranks; eyes clouded by a blue mist, looked at the vermin before him he glanced back to his loyal men, “For Salamandastron”

Coldstrype charged head on into the vermin horde, every soldier followed not one wavered. Thus began the last charge of Salamandastron

-Extracts of Lieutenant Caruthers writings. Last recorder of Salamandastron

-With major contributes from Lord of the Rings<u> and <u>The Purliond Boy<u>

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