Far over the Misty Mountains cold, in dungeons deep, and caverns old, the Dwarves were roaring. They were discussing something, something very important with loud voices: The Reclaimation of Khazad Dum. Only a month earlier they had sent out messengers to all dwarvish empires that were still existing. Because deep in the dungeons of Erebor, the high dwarflords were discussing about how, and when to reclaim their home: Khazad Dum. Among them were Dain, the king of Erebor, Balin, the man they had chosen to lead the company, and a young dwarf, wearing a white tunic gilded with Mithril, a chainmail of dwarvensteel and a facemask of Mithril from the treasures of Erebor, given to him by Balin after he had taken him as his pupil. "We should prepare our men to march out within a week, my lords, and hope our allies arrive in time," Balin said, while pointing at the west edge of Mirkwood. "We must be quick in order to get our army at the gates of Khazad Dum before Sauron is able to send his troops to kill us in the open, and I don't want to go through Mirkwood, even if the Elves'll give us protection. I still remember last time I went into Mirkwood". These words made Dain smile. Just when Balin wanted to ask how long it'd take until their allies'd arrive, someone walked in...
(Feel free to join! Dwarves and men of Dale are allowed to join without contacting, other races should contact me first why dwarves would ask/allow them to join their army. Everyone else should wait and join in when the company is on it's way.)

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Ours is the fury!

Bardon of dale was an eager man, he had been raised in dale, and even named after it's greatest hero, but the town held little poignancy to him. His job was simple enough, he'd ferry goods to and fro lake town, this led him often to far away lands such as Mirkwood, or, on occasion, Rhovanion, however it was his oft trips to Erebor that he cherished. The cities of men were so, uninspiring, all men seemd to do was build on the earth, not build into it like the dwarves did. He'd manged to befriend a few dwarves, and would lie to the younger, more impressionable ones about being the real Bard.

One fateful day, while delivering some goods to his friend Kaldor, a captain of the dwarven merchant guard, the perky dwarf offered him a proposition.
"We dwarves don't like to travel, boy, but we do like fighting. Balin is planning an expedition, and i know that every dwarf involved will be dead set on the fighting, and nothing else. I need a focused lad to be a runner or sorts, y'know deliver messages for us as fast as you can."

The proposition excited Bardon, an expedition, with dwarves, he knew dwarves weren't prone to wanderlust, and what could possibly be worth them shifting from under their rocks, unless of course, they were visiting another hold? Bardon knew Erebor was impressive, but he had tales, tales of cities that filled up whole mountains with halls and mines. He knew he wanted to go, and then a final few words sealed the deal.
"If you want the job we have plenty of veteran ponies who got too old, so you can have yer pick lad."

Bardon went home that night, to his rusty shack in the depths of Dale, and thought long and hard, failing to get any sleep as he laid wide awake. He'd miss his mother, but he had many brothers and a loving father, his family would not be at a loss without him. He told them in the morning and they wished him well, his father went as far as to give him his old dwarvish buckler, just for 'special occasions'
"You won't need it son, but if you do, just remember that you might be bigger than those dwarves, but they will fight fiercer than you ever could, if you get in a sticky situation, hide behind a rock, and do what yer told."

Gorvin stroe in through the doors as they opened, regal bearing running through his posture and, although he made no effort to do so, managed to make the grandest entrance any single mortal could. His thick beard was heavily braided, as though a warrior, and it had fine Dwarven plates woven through it, not dissimilar to a kind of scale mail armour. A fine helm sat upon his head; a brown metal, reminiscent of a crown, but clearly just a strong piece of headgear with no importance beyond. He strode across in silence, apparently oblivious to his interruption and tardiness and seated himself centrally at the table. After a moment, he became very concious of the lack of return to the discussion at hand. Eventually, he gruffly stated, "Well get on with it already."

Here was a Dwarf of no importance in any direction, neither poor nor rich, neither betitled, nor belittled. He was a Dwarf of Erebor, renowned for his powerful nature, his mere stance and presence dominating even the largest of holds easily. But he was also infamously poor of luck. When it had come to taking the Lonely Mountain back, he had sorely wanted to join Thorin's company, but for lack of a better word, became waylaid after an already overdue missive receival. As it were, he missed the adventure until finding himself on the battlefield as part of the Dwarfen host that had amassed. In fact, it was he who had travelled to the Iron Hills and received word from Thorin's ravens of the situation at the Lonely Mountin and convinced Dain Ironfoot to travel to his prince's aid.

'Gentlemen, I'm afraid getting to the gates of Moria'll get difficult now there are whispers of a Nazgul building up an army in Dol Guldur. that'd mean we need to sneak past an army with way more men, or at least orcs, than we have. But if we act quickly and get some help from the elves, it might work', Balin said, looking over the map table. 'Elves, where were they when Erebor was captured by Smaug, what dd they ask for when Thorin recaptured the city? No, the elves're not going to help us', Dain said, expressing his dislike of the elvish race. 'Balin, prepare yourself, tommorow you'll go to Moria. Ragnar, gather your guards and make sure they're all ready for tommorow. Gorvin, make sure our army is ready for tommorow, and see if you're able to send a raven to scout the area. Tommorow, you'll go on your path to reclaim the greatest city ever built'. After giving everyone their orders, Dain walked away.

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Ours is the fury!

Gorvin stood as Dain walked away and loudly pronounced, "Well what are we weaiting for?" before storming off towards the rookery to deliver his missive to one of the black birds to gather any information ahead of them, then moved on to the barracks to gather the troops and muster those that were coming along. He checked the armoury to make sure everyone checked out their armour and equipment, replacing broken links in ringmail, sharpening blades that needed it and gathering his personal combat equipment before heading to his chambers to get a small bag. He moved on to the pantry and filled it with travelling food, like biscuit rations, bread, some cheese and salted meats. He returned to the barracks to readdress the gathering muster of Dwarfs and prepare them for the trip to Khazad-Dum.