Volume One - Who Were The Silent Minority?
Dwarves in the Third Age were far more likely to be found travelling around Eriador than either hobbits or elves. Even so, the presence of Durin’s Folk amongst The Silent Minority’s ranks comes as somewhat of a surprise.
One would have assumed that assaults on the Lonely Mountain, which had become the centre of dwarven civilisation since the fall of Smaug, would have severely diminished the presence of dwarves in other lands as they raced to help save their main stronghold. Not all dwarves felt this need, however.
Of all the races represented in The Silent Chronicles, dwarves were the least numerous. Despite this they appear to have played a crucial role in the Silent Minority’s operations. When not engaged in battle they were hard at work in their forges or their breweries, keeping The Silent Minority supplied with tools, armour and ale. And when they made war, they were mainly in the front rank, toe to toe with the enemy, much as you’d expect from such a doughty folk.
At sixty years Nok mastered craft of masonry and stone,He built great walls of majesty right from the mountain's bone,But spirit cannot be denied,He wished to travel far and wide,Behind examples of his skills, he left the Iron Hills.
At eighty Nok returned at last from places never seen,He told his tales to all who'd hear and even those less keen,He proudly showed his gemcraft off,As learned from Elves, though some did scoff,And settled down to find a wife, contented with his life.
One-hundred years and more Nok was when he was called to war,The Dwarves were taking back their home; the mountain Erebor,His son a fighter by his side,From evil goblin weapons died,He wept upon the battlefield, heart never to be healed.
Two hundred years and twenty, Nok had travelled Middle-Earth,But never could he venture back there to his place of birth,He felt his old bones aging fast, The time to see his home at last,From Thorin's Gate he did depart, his last adventure's start.
Indeed, so distracted was he, that he fully tripped over one of many human corpses in a little valley in the north. Now he looked around, Ferrite could tell that this was clearly the scene of a fierce, but very one sided, battle; and he was even more surprised to hear the corpse groan and mutter.
 'or' is intentional here as noone could really tell which was which. (It was the beards.) at least, this is the assumed orientation of the relationship. or mother. or she (they were very shady indeed)
TSM at the battle of Mazarbul by Aurhinius
It started with a dull thud, thud, thud, drums in the deep. A call to arms! Torvik leant on his axe watching the glow of light flicker in the reflection and stroking his beard impatiently. It was getting louder they were definitely coming and in great numbers. This was it. This was what he had waited for all his life. The last stand, right here amongst the ancestors. Honour, glory it would be remembered in the stones for ages to come. "If only we didn't have to bring the elves!" he thought.
The noise was almost deafening now, like thunder echoing in once forgotten tunnels RUMBLE, THUD, RUMBLE. "Sorry that's me, does anyone have a sausage to spare? Came a small voice from the centre of the chamber clutching her stomach." Glancing back Torvik remembered the source of the fire light. Two hobbits hunched over a small fire with a frying pan and shook his head.
"Listen." an armoured voice from the front of the chamber spoke determined.
"I could go out there round some up bring them back in here all friendly-like. What do you say?" Torvik rested his gauntleted hand upon his dwarven companions shoulder and smiled "I'm up for it Elak but the others I'm not so sure". Turning away he walked slowly toward a crumpled corpse laying amongst the rubble dressed in black. Somehow he looked strangely serene gazing toward the ceiling at peace with his now dead fate. Torvik kicked it without a second thought. "Come on Annundril it's not over yet"
"Seriously?! I just had myself perfectly arranged and I wore black especially!" came the annoyed reply. Torvik shook his head remembering why elves really were the enemy.
"Has anyone seen Melethron?"
"He said something about being desperate and that's the last I saw of him" came a muffled reply from the fire half a sausage in hand.
Everyone exchanged looks as the noise rose further.
"Brave, Brave Sir Melethron, Melethron ran away. When danger reared its ugly head, He bravely turned his tail and f-l-e-d." The melodious voice hung on the final note for dramatic flair while holding her note on the lute. Beoras glanced across at Rhiannon stopping the performance dead in its tracks.
"Alright this is what we'll do" came another voice "I've got this really good riddle about a mirror that'll take care of one. I'll poke another in the eye. That'll distract him, take his attention off you Rhiannon. Re-position here behind this one" with a quick sweep of his dagger in the dirt Levin completed Dhae's masterpiece of a diagram. "A couple of stabs with my daggers" Levin became animated to indicate his intent thrusting his arms back and forth. "and then you'll be exhausted as usual, Levin and I'll have to do something about it" came Milinia's reply.
"Quiet everyone! We need to focus. Focus everyone. There's far too much chatter" Beoras commanded.