Last Hope for Moria RPG

[piosenniel]

Balin strode the streets of Dale proudly: his white beard wagging in the wind, his scarlet cap askew upon his hoary head, yet he was completely oblivious to the comings and goings around him. He saw, yet did not see, the frolicking birds in the sky spattered with the white clouds; heard, but did not hear, the bickering and bargaining of men, the gossiping of women, or the songs of bards as they strummed their lutes and sang with lovely voices of the distant past. Turning he gazed upon the Lonely Mountain with sad fondness: it was a prosperous realm, and had now become quite wealthy, especially since the nuisance of the dragon had been slain. A smile, wistful and longing, suddenly broke upon Balin’s face as he thought of old Bilbo Baggins and the adventures they had had together as they had escaped from one danger only to be thrown into another and worse one. But then a whispered word, a word cloak in darkness, found his ear: Moria and Khazad-dum. Rich it once was, ringing with sound of the smiths, sparkling in the beauty of wealth, and filled with scurrying dwarves whose hearts were burdened with a growing greed for Truesilver. A fire stirred in Balin’s heart as the words murmured of great deeds and the pounding of the smiths as they fashioned beauty out of ungainly metal. Long had the Darkness governed Moria, long had it wallowed in the presence of evil. It was time for the Darkness to be swept away.

He resolutely shook his head, and strode towards the Lonely Mountain. It rose from the ground like a throne from the flat plains that surrounded it and Dale. Passing through the gates, he sought audience with the king, and, striding into the throne room, he saw, with slight surprise, that Floi and Ori were already there. Pausing, he began to silently withdraw when the king gestured to him.

“Hail King!” Balin cried, bowing and noticing with side-tracked satisfaction that a great portion of his long beard brushed the floor. “I have come to ask a boon: I wish to take a company of Dwarves and march to Khazad-dum, and there reclaim it from the darkness and make it again the greatest kingdom of the dwarves.” Balin never was one for dawdling around a subject.

Ori gasped audibly and glanced sharply at king Dain, hoping that he would see the foolhardiness of it. Why, the trip itself would be murder and who knew what lurked in the darkness, what dread thing would appear from its black depths?

From the expression on Dain’s face, it was clear the king thought the same. Dain’s bushy eyebrows almost seemed to disappear beneath his fine, jewel-encrusted crown, and for a moment, all his face registered was complete and utter shock. But he gathered himself quickly, and gave a small out take of breath, as if he was about to laugh, hoping Balin was jesting. But the dwarf in front of him showed no sign of jesting, his face serious, and Dain’s smile dropped from his face. “To…to Moria, Balin? To…take back Moria?” Disbelief was in his voice.

Balin nodded, unperturbed. “But of course, highness! To reclaim the awesome stretch of underground that is Moria! To make it a kingdom all would be proud of! To see the flag of the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain fly from the great tower of Zirak-Zigil –”

“It is madness, Balin.” Balin’s voice had been rising as he spoke, had been growing more and more excited and inspired, but Dain interrupted him, his voice low and incredulous.
Suddenly the smile was gone from Balin’s face as well. “Madness? It is madness to wish to reclaim what is rightfully ours? Explain yourself, King Dain!”

“You forget yourself, Balin,” Dain replied sharply. The tone of the conversation was rapidly deteriorating, and Dain knew Balin’s famous anger was soon to come out. But he himself was no lightweight at arguing, and the courtiers around the room were beginning to shift nervously, unsure of what was to happen. He kept his tone of voice civil as he took a deep breath and spoke once more. “Balin, the lost stronghold of Moria has long been left untended to –“

“And so I wish to once more make it ours!” Balin interjected with a cry.

“- and have you not wondered why that is so?” Dain continued slightly louder. Balin did not answer for a moment, staring at Dain for a second, then looking away, out of a high, fine window. For the few moments in which Balin seemed to mull it over, Dain felt hope return to him, hope that his friend had not lost his wits entirely. All around the throne room, there was the feeling of everything holding its breath…before Balin turned back, his eyes glittering.

“Not unnecessarily so,” He replied quietly. Dain sighed, and was about to say more, but Balin continued, his voice more earnest now. “Highness, I do not doubt you too have heard tales of another treasure that is said to be lost in the mines. A thing of valued of valued worth, a thing that would make our failing race great again.”

A murmur rippled around the room, and Dain cursed inwardly – that rumour, as Balin put it, would now be amplified a hundred times over and repeated all over the Dale. Balin went on, “It is not only the mithril that would reward a being who went down there, not if they looked hard enough. You know what I speak of, my Lord.” Balin’s voice was even, but the excitement in it was audible. He knew this would be a turning point.

Dain sighed, closing his eyes. “I know of what you speak. The ring…” the murmur which had gone around the room increased tenfold, all the courtiers now talking excitedly, not covering it. Dain opened his eyes to look at Balin, ignoring all else but the determined individual in front of him.

Yes, he knew what it was that Balin spoke of. Had he not, like any other eager and adventurous dwarf of this age, dreamt of it? Had he not felt it would be so easy, that he was so close to it that if he could just find the spot, that he would own it, a treasure that would beat any other? And when he had become king, had he not more than once felt that excitement, that now he had the power to truly grasp it, with the strength of all the dwarves at his command…but there was a fundamental difference between Dain and Balin; Dain had learnt to push down that greed, that yearning. He had a bad feeling about this – why had Moria lain quiet for so long? What caused the dwarves to nervously turn their backs on so plentiful a place… But the yearning was returning to Dain, despite his bad feelings. If a group of dwarves went to the mines, and set the fires glowing once more, it would be a great credit to all at the Dale, but more than that; if they found the ring, what then? Dain would be held above all dwarves, and the treasure and wonder of his kingdom would be more vast than any other…

He held Balin’s gaze, and for a few moments was indecisive. But the glint in Balin’s eye would not vanish, and Dain knew his friend well. He sighed, and straightened up, standing. “Very well, Balin, son of Fundin. Your request may be granted. You may take a group of loyal followers and travel to the mines of Moria, with my blessing…”

The last part of Dain’s speech was swallowed as the murmur rose to a roar, and slowly, defeated, the king sat down again.

Ori’s spirit plummeted into the depths of gloom when he heard Dain’s pronouncement of favor to the mad proposition of Balin. Nevertheless, as Balin was leaving the room, a merry tune whistling from his lips, Ori cried, “Wait, Balin! Let me come with you!”

“I was hoping you would volunteer, Ori,” said Balin with a warm smile. “Any one else?” he winked mischievously at the king, but was surprised when Floi joined.

As the three friends strode from the room, Ori murmured,

The world is grey, the mountains old,
The forge’s fire is ashen cold;
No harp is wrung, no hammer falls:
The darkness dwells in Durin’s halls.
The shadow lies upon his tomb
In Moria, in Khazad-dum.
But still the sunken stars appear
In dark and windless Mirrormere;
There lies his crown in waters deep.
Till Durin wakes again from sleep.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:34 PM January 15, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Imladris’ post - Ori

Ori stroked his wooden flute fondly as he gently tucked it away in a small travelling bag. He smiled as he remembered the odd circumstances the instrument had been given him: a wood-elf of Mirkwood had given it as a gift when he had saved the elf’s life during the Battle of Five Armies. Intricate carvings of vine and forest flowers wrapped itself about the flute, and it’s tone was haunting and enchanting and woke sweet memories or inflamed the heart to bold deeds.

He glanced out the window and roving grass lands met his eye. The sky was blue with mere wisps of cloud floating above. The sun shone brightly and a gem glittered somewhere near. A pleasant breeze brought the fresh smell of grass and flowers into the slightly musty room. All was so fair, and yet an unseen shadow hovered over their pleasant realm. Unsettling rumors whispered seductively into one’s ears, a voice of power was nigh. Alas that Balin heeded those whispers of ruin and destruction!

Ori’s thoughts turned to Balin, and Ori wished again that Balin was not so driven to reclaim Moria. Darkness held it, evil had the once mighty kingdom in its grasp. It would be folly to return, and certain death. “I cannot leave Balin alone to his fate,” Ori said aloud as he placed a brown hood upon his head. Maybe he himself was wrong, and Balin was right: maybe they would be able to conquer it again and find the Dwarven ring of power. A chill hand passed over Ori’s heart sweeping the hope away and a gloomy prediction took hold of the dwarf’s mind: they would find no ring, only death in the darkness of Khazad-dum.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:03 PM January 15, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Aman’s Post - Flori

“I cannot leave Balin alone to his fate.”

Flori heard his brother’s determined voice from his room, the room next to Flori’s own, and replied from where he stood, leaning against the door. “Aye, brother, and neither will I.” Ori turned at the sound of his voice, and returned Flori’s smile, but both smiles held more than a hint of worry. Flori walked forward further into the room, lowering his voice. “But would it not be better if there was no need for him to have to meet such a fate as you no doubt imagine?”

Ori sighed, but did not answer, and Flori understood. The pair were close, and their deep friendship was as strong as the bond of blood they shared, but they both also treasured Balin as a friend. Neither would abandon him, but Flori knew his little brother feared the same as he himself; that he felt the same doubt about this excursion to the lost mines of Moria.

Moria was lost – wasn’t that what the elders always said? Or, as they preferred to put it, Moria was no longer a place for the dwarves. But Balin paid no heed to them, and to the rumours of the shadows that had grown so long in Moria, tales of old that were suddenly going to be brought up close by this quest; all he listened to were the tales of the treasures down there. True silver; plentiful mines; rich, vast halls. And, most of all one of the seven dwarven rings, worn by the kings of old, a prize greater than any other.

Flori sighed, crossing the room slowly to sit in a chair by the window, and closed his eyes for a few moments. When he opened them, his bright, azure gaze took in the plentiful land of the Dale for as far as he could see. A rich land, now they had reclaimed it for their own in the Battle of Five Armies, and a content people as well. What more could they wish for? But Flori understood Balin’s desire, and knew also that the dwarf wished to travel, as the younger warrior did himself. And after all, who would not wish for such a treasure as was held by Moria, no matter what the cost?

[piosenniel]

Will Witfoot's post

Alrik was in his smithy, fixing a couple of broken links from his chainmail shirt. The armour had been partially penetrated by a sword blow of a goblin during the latest scrap with them near the shores of Esgaroth. Those creatures sure had seemed a lot tougher when he had been a lad.

He paused an lifted the shirt to eye-level. Satisfied with his own work he took off the leather appron he had worn to protect himself from the heat, hung his hammer beside the door and made for the hall where ale was served. It would taste fine after the days work he had done.

He had barely time to sip from his tankard when a messenger in the livery of King Dain strode over to him with a purposeful step. Bowing in the formal way of greeting, he handed him a letter from Lord Balin. So it read:

Honoured Alrik Stonebeard,

As the strength of our people has in the recent years grown many-fold from its once depleted might, I now wish to embark (with any willing company) on a journey which, if successful, will truly raise our people to our former glory. I ask you, as a loyal servant to King Dain, to aid me in the expedition with the purpose of freeing our once great hold, Moria.

Yours trusting,
Balin, son of Fundin

Alrik almost spat out his ale. The name of Moria, a name which haunted the minds of the dwarfs, had a powerfull effect on him. Long had he dreamed of this day.
He glanced at the letter again. It was written in a strong and beautifull handwriting, and quite unlike the formal letters passed between the high clansmen was short and to the point. He did not have to think twice about his decision.

He told the messenger to tell Balin that he could trust in his help, and made his way back to his forge. He had to make a few preparations.

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent's post

The warmth of the sun brushed across the several layers of Nali's beard. A breeze rushed across the mountain as Nail tied his boots and checked his mail. A letter with a silver trim and a very royal seal caught Nali's eye. With a bit of uncertainty, Nali opened the letter slowly, as if it was a firework, ready to explode. With a befuddled face, Nali read the parchment, which stated:

Dear Nali, I, Balin invite you to partake in an expedition of honor, glory, and riches... Nali stopped as the opportunity of riches crossed his eyes. Nali had been in a bit of trouble with some very noble dwarfs owing them a hearty amount of money, due to an unfortunate mix-up. An unfortunate mix-up called cheating. The letter continued: ...I only ask you to visit me with a band of other dwarf's near king Dain's hall. There is some travel involved, and quite a bit of fighting, and...Uh...possibly injuries on one level or another...but the reward fully compensates the trials you face. And then some! If you would please visit me at mid-day, I would be much obliged. Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

Nali was shocked. The riches spoke of would more than cover his debts, as well as make him a very rich man. A wise dwarf, or even a normal dwarf would have questioned the part about injuries on one lever or another, but then, Nali was not a normal dwarf. So Nali build up his strength, and at noon, he set off for Balin.

The travel took longer than expected, as it was several hours past mid-day when Nali finally made it to Balin. There were many dwarfs gathered by Balin, all looking like they were ready to set out. Nali couldn't help but feel ashamed about his lack of preparation. But then again, there was no call for an immediate travel.

Balin walked slowly to Nali, and with a mumbled comment under his breath, Balin greeted Nali with a very hearty, "Good Day!" Nali responded with his normal reply to a good day, which was: "Isn't it, though.”

"I will not lie to you, Nali son of Dwali, this mission is substantially dangerous. We, which is to say me and a couple of these dwarfs over here, are going on a quest. A quest...to reclaim Moria." Balin said in a depressed voice. If Nali had been drinking, it would have sprinted farther than ever before.

"Moria? Are you mad, Balin? Dwarrow-delf is destoryed. Have you heard none of the stories." Nali said as he swallowed a considerable amount of air. "Have you heard none of the stories of Durin's bane? There is terror there not conceivable to even the wisest dwarf. And you wish to reclaim it?"

"True, there is danger. But there is more to Khazad-dum than evil, Nali. There is mithril. A substance harder than dragon scales. And I'm not talking about shards of a once shining gem. I'm talking about mithril as far as the mine can see. An amount worth more than middle earth. Don't you see? With the reclaiming of Moria, we will bring the dying race of the dwarfs into the minds of all he dwell in Middle Earth!" Balin said, excitement pouring into his face.

There was silence. Despite his low intelligence, Nali new what fate probably awaited him. But this quest was not meant to sooth the debts of Nali son of Dwali. It was for all dwarfs and their honor.

With a shifty look, Nali spoke: "Alright. I'll do it! When do we leave?"

[piosenniel]

Orual's post

"Foolishness and adolescent posturing, that's what this is," Óin grumbled, shoving a faded and stained shirt into his pack. His brother, Glóin, looked on as he did so, a small smile tugging at his lips.

"If it's so foolish, then why are you packing already? Has Balin even approached you about going with him?" Glóin asked, stepping up to his brother.

Óin looked up indignantly. "It's assumed, isn't it?" he said. "Balin knows I'll have to go with him to make sure he doesn't make a fool of himself, at least more than he already has. No invitation is necessary, and I'm surprised that you even ask." He went back to packing. "You can't possibly imagine that I'd let Balin tromp off to Moria alone like some addle-brained Man off to seek glory and death, can you? War and danger we've already seen together. I'd be the fool if I didn't follow him."

Glóin did not reply, and Óin continued packing. Finally he brought out his old cloak, the very same brown cloak that he had worn to old Bilbo Baggins' house that first day. His fingers ran over the worn wool, feeling the patches and the tears he hadn't bothered to fix, and images flashed through his head of all the events that had caused the rents and stains and general raggedness of the cloak. A nostalgic smile slid unbidden onto his face, and he folded it gently, but did not pack it. He would need it.

He turned to his brother. "Besides, it's about time I go on another adventure. Makes a dwarf get soft, sitting around in safety all the time." Glóin smiled and clapped his brother on the shoulder. Óin shrugged away irritably.

"Not to say that I think it's a good idea, mind you. I'm just going along for Balin's sake."

[piosenniel]

Melisil’s post

Loni awoke to a sunny morning. He lived in a cabin near the bottom of the Lonely Mountain. He walked into his kitchen to grab some breakfast- a mug of ale and a chunk of cold deer meat… he was in need of more food. After breakfast he returned to his room to get ready for hunting. He pulled his leather armor in place, leaving his gloves off till last. At last he was ready. Grabbing his spear which lay by the door, he went out, ready for at least half a days worth of hunting.

He was stopped, however, by a fellow Dwarf by the name of Dwarin Strongshield. "Loni! Stop!" he called, climbing the slight hill, "Balin, son of Fundin, has sent me to ask a favor of you... for him." Dwarin started, as he reached where Loni stood waiting. "he asks that, if you’re interested, you would join him in a quest of sorts. He was particularly vague about details, especially to me, but he said that it may be rough at times, but the reward will well be worth it." Dwarin took a breath, he wasn’t one that was used to delivering messages, "He says if you’re interested, you’re to meet him near King Dain’s hall." he finished, taking a new tone of voice, "Now, how’s about you inviting me in for ale? I’ll dare say I deserve it."

"Right you are! Come on in Dwarin!" he said laughingly as they returned inside. After he had fetched the ale, and they had both had a good drink, Loni started, "So you say Balin’s the start of this quest, eh?" Loni leaned back in his chair. He wasn't very trusting to some, Balin included, "I’m not sure how wise this whole thing is, and I wish he weren’t so vague in his tellings. I guess I’ll have to go down there anyways though, to humour Balin. Still, I most likely won’t join." Loni said this casually enough, but, truth be told, he was already more then sold at the mention of a good reward. Gold and glory could drive him almost anywhere, sadly. Of course, he wouldn’t let it drive him to his death.

[piosenniel]

Saraphim’s post

Early in the morning, Narin awoke to the sound of a knock on the door of his home. Narin pulled himself out of bed, grumbling at his intruder, despite the fact that it was nearly time for him to wake anyway. He grumbled his way over to the door and pulled it open. In front of him stood a young Dwarf, with barely an inch of a beard.

“Yes? What is it?” Narin said with a tangible air of annoyance.

“Well, Sir,” stuttered the youth, “I was asked by the Lord Balin, sir, to deliver this message to you, sir.“ He held out a letter, which Narin took.

“Thank you, young one. But for the love of stone and mortar, next time, deliver your messages later in the morning.” Narin said, examining the envelope.

The boy bowed nervously and ran off. Narin shook his head after him and closed the door. Back in his home, He set the letter, unopened, on his table, then proceeded to wash and dress for the day. He then sat down, and over a cup of tea, read the letter.


Dear Narin,
I, Balin invite you to partake in an expedition of honor, glory, and riches. I only ask you to visit me with a band of other Dwarves near King Dain's hall. There is some travel involved, and quite a bit of fighting, and... possibly injuries on one level or another... but the reward fully compensates the trials you face. And then some! If you would please visit me at mid-day, I would be much obliged.
Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

Hmmm, Thought Narin. Perhaps it is time to take a short leave from this Mountain.

The thought of riches and rewards further stimulated Narin’s thought, and before he had finished his tea, he had decided to accompany Balin on whatever hair-brained plot he might have.

Mid-day, however, was tantalizingly far away. So, to occupy his time, Narin set off to his forge, which lay deeper into the mountain. Few others were out and about, none of which Narin knew, or cared to know. He reached his forge and began to clean the place, canceling all the orders that had been made and generally preparing for a long trip.

Lastly, Narin took his axes from the wall. One was his, and one had been his brother’s.

He hooked his onto his belt, but looked at the runes of the other, which spelled out his brother’s name.

“Whatever mischief Balin gets me into, You’ll be in it with me, Ranir.” He said, hooking it onto his belt as well.

[piosenniel]

Gird's post

It was late morning in Dale and Erebor, but Frar Silentshield had just woken up. He had been late the night before, from a hunting trip. Late because they had shot a buck, at dusk, and they were a ways away from the mountain. By the time he got back, he was then very tired from cutting it up and hauling it back. They hadn't actually made it back until just before the dawn.

He looked around and saw the sunlight streaming in a long cut window throught the mountain. It was going to be a fine day indeed, he thought. He walked into the main hall, and looked around, still feeling a bit groggy. He was just going to try and find himself some food,(for he did enjoy his meals) when his younger brother, Fror, ran up to him.

"Frar, Frar! There’s a letter for you. Balin, son of Fundin, has been granted permission by the King to take some Dwarves to try and reclaim Moria! Oh... and he wants you to come!" Frar looked at his brotherfor a second, then asked, "Do you always read my mail?" Fror smiled a sheepish smile and turned away, embarassed. Frar chuckled, and looked at the letter.

~*~

Dear Frar,

I, Balin invite you to partake in an expedition of honor, glory, and riches. I only ask you to visit me with a band of other Dwarves near King Dain's hall. There is some travel involved, and quite a bit of fighting, and... possibly injuries on one level or another... but the reward fully compensates the trials you face. And then some! If you would please visit me at mid-day, I would be much obliged.

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

~*~

Frar stood there, thinking for a minute or two thinking about it. This was his chance! His chance for his adventure and glory! It was...

"Everyone thinks it's complete lunacy." Frar looked over to see Fror there again, looking over his shoulder. "Lunacy?! Hah! they would have said the same thing about Thorin and company retaking Erebor, and where would we be if he hadn't decided to take up this quest? Well, we certainly wouldn't be here." Fror was filled with a new vigour, and dreams of starting something amazing, a whole new colony, and starting the fires of Khazad-Dum once again.

"Does this mean you're leaving?" "You know... I do beleive it does, Fror" Frar looked at his brother for a second, and then said, "Oh! it's almost midday now! I must get my things together. Worry not brother, I will come to see you before I go!"

Frar turned and ran back into his room, and quickly and excitedly grabbed his weapons, armor and gear. He quickly ran towards Dain’s hall, and thought as he ran, yes, I suppose I must do this. Even if we are not successfull, and are all mercilessly killed, I will regret it for the rest of my life if they do succeed, and I will have missed the chance of my life. As he got closer to the hall, he saw a group of Dwarves around who he recognized as Balin. "Wait!" cried Frar.

"You'll not be getting far in Moria without me!"

[piosenniel]

Nilpaurion Felagund's post

"A letter for you, Flói!" a messenger cried at the threshold of the Dwarf's dwelling.

Flói peeped through his door, with a look of annoyance. Why can't these people just leave me in peace. Opening his door, his hand shot out to grab the letter. He quickly closed the door, and shouted.

"Thank you! Now leave me alone!"

At the flap of the envelope was written:

A message of Balin son of Fundin to Flói son of Rói.

"And what would that uppish Dwarf want to have to do with me?" he said to himself, as he lifted the flap.

Dear Flói,

I, Balin invite you to partake in an expedition of honor, glory, and riches. I only ask you to visit me with a band of other Dwarves near King Dain's hall. There is some travel involved, and quite a bit of fighting, and...possibly injuries on one level or another...but the reward fully compensates the trials you face. And then some! If you would please visit me at mid-day, I would be much obliged.

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

"Hmmm..." thought the Dwarf in his chamber, as pensively reread the missive. "Khazad-dûm...the only place in Middle-earth where mithril is found. Mithril!" He rushed to his old books about the realm of Dwarrowdelf, written by his ancestors who fled there during the sinking of Beleriand.

"If the mithril found there is as much as it says here, I'll be extremely rich!"

That was Flói, in all dealings. He forgets his antipathy toward all others when a great fortune is involved. As he packed his bags, his mind was thinking of the wonderful things his hands could craft once in possession of the fabled treasure, oblivious to the danger to himself...

[piosenniel]

Taralphiel's post

Maron heard clattering at the storefront of his smithy, where he last saw his Uncle. Grumbling heavily, he wiped his dirty brow with his workman’s glove and stepped out from behind an anvil. In one hand he still carried a smoldering length of steel, which was to be made into a long axe for a customer. Coming to himself, he quickly set it down in the water barrel. Shuffling through the room, he saw his Uncle with a great beaming smile on his face, holding an opened letter. Maron raised his eyebrows.

‘What have you got there, Uncle?’

‘Oh, a letter for you! It says you are to go back to the Great Halls and help with cleaning the place out! How wonderful! I should like to come too!’

Maron snatched the letter from his Uncle and eyed him ‘Don’t be daft Uncle. Noone’s gone back in years!’ He peered at the letter, and almost knocked a whole shelf down.

‘Bless me! They are going back! This is some thing!’ he rested his free hand on the front bench and grinned.

‘That axe I made for Balin not too long ago must have impressed him enough to consider me! I shall show them my handling is as good as my making!’

His Uncle laughed heartily at that, and it took Maron a while to get him quiet. Moving back to his workshop, he began taking down some of his finest works from their holders. Running his hands over them, he said to himself, ‘I said I would save these for when I thought my great works were to be done! Now I see my time has arrived!’ He lifted an axe and let it glint in the firelight ‘Maron Sandbrace, one of the Company to restore the Great Halls! I quite like that title!’

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:12 AM January 19, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[piosenniel]

Mark 12_30's post

Her father entered, and she looked up from her worktable, wreathed in smoke from her little forge-fire in the kiln-like firepit not far from her side. He waved a sealed letter, eyes sparkling. "Letter for you, Lîs. From Balin." Her father put the letter on the table, but his bushy eyebrows stuck out at her, and he fidgeted as he waited.

She sighed, knowing that her father was hoping it was a marriage proposal. She was on a nodding aquaintance only with Balin, and her father always jumped to ridiculous conclusions. He was worse than mother.

"I'll get to it in a minute, father." She bent once again over her work-- a delicate bracelet, commissioned by one of Thranduil's courtiers for his fiancee. The opal she had been setting had cracked from the heat, and now she was preparing another one. She hated setting opals, but so did everyone else, and the work commanded a high price.

Her father fidgeted and fussed, bustling about, and finally snorted. "Have pity on your father's grey beard. Open the letter, Lîs-lassie, before I burst with curiosity!"

"Father, I don't know why Balin would be writing to me, but I assure you, it's not for the reasons you are guessing." She continued working, worried about the opal, and her father fidgeted some more until she said, "Please open it, Father, and read it to me."

He pounced on the letter, and devoured it silently. Surprise, disappointment, pride, hope, and glee washed over his face by turns.

"What does it say, father?"

"Lîs-lassie, you've been invited to rebuild Moria," he said. "They're putting together an expedition with Dain's permission. Risky business. Well, he won't go without a good group of fellows. You'll have the pick of the lot, my girl. I imagine he'll be bringing the best in the kingdom. Of course, they'll all be quite interested in you. Wonderful opportunity. You'll--"

"Father, please, " Lîs said mildly. "Would you like to write back to him, and tell him I accept?"

She could see that her father was torn between hope and sorrow, and she looked him in the eye, and measured the moment.

"I'll go, father, " she said, quietly. "But not because of the other dwarves. I will go to find and fashion the Truesilver."

He nodded. "All right, girl. I'll write the letter, Lîs-lassie, and proudly too," he said.

"Thank you, father," she said, and with tightened lips and troubled eyes returned to the bracelet. This time the opal did not crack.

[piosenniel]

Aylwen's post

Malí Silverfist remained cooped up in her workroom, sitting calmly at her desk, which was filled with neat piles of parchment. The dwarf was barely visible above the stacks, but over the tops of the ‘Input’ pile Malí’s frizzy auburn hair could almost be seen. She was frantically scribbling down calculations, adding this to that and placing any finished papers in the ‘Output’ stack with a satisfied glint in her dark hazel eyes. This was how Malí Silverfist spent most of her days – sitting in the cluttered (but neat) room approving or disapproving transactions or admitting revenues into the King’s treasury. It was how Malí preferred to spend her days, for Malí loved the preciseness of a good equation, so unlike the rest of the world.

A knock came at the door, and Malí looked up from her papers for the first time in hours, it seemed. The dwarf stood from her table (but was hardly any taller standing up) and looked at the door, a question in her eyes as the knocking returned. She stalked over and opened the door, revealing one of the messengers in the service of King Dain. Malí sighed, looking at the messenger coldly as she asked him of his business.

“I’ve come with a message for Malí Silverfist, from Balin son of Fundin,” the messenger replied curtly, ignoring Malí’s cold stare and unkind eyes. Malí accepted the folded piece of parchment from the messenger and shooed him away, not bothering a word of gratitude as she let him go off on his business. Then Malí returned to her seat and impatiently opened the message. Her hastiness was due mostly for her hatred for falling behind schedule, or having anything distract her from her figures and calculations and work. But when she opened her message, the contents proved to be quite intriguing.

Dear Malí Silverfist,

I, Balin invite you to partake in an expedition of honor, glory, and riches. I only ask you to visit me with a band of other Dwarves near King Dain's hall. There is some travel involved, and quite a bit of fighting, and...possibly injuries on one level or another...but the reward fully compensates the trials you face. And then some! If you would please visit me at mid-day, I would be much obliged.

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

Malí stared at the letter, reading it several times before raising a bushy auburn eyebrow in surprise and distaste for the idea. Yet, somewhere in her eyes there was a hint of pride in the headstrong fearlessness of her folk, and pride in herself for being so invited to help in some way. In any other case, Malí had no idea why Balin would be inviting her upon such a journey, when all Malí could do was strategize, enforce practicality and, well…add. But Malí was not one to give up an opportunity to show off her greatness, and thus Malí was not about to let Balin down (even if the other Dwarf was not the reason for Malí’s motivation).

And so, Malí Silverfist pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment and began to scribble down a reply in her strong, angular handwriting. When she was finished, she scrambled (or as close as Dwarves come to doing so) to the door and looked out and down the hall, where the messenger was still trotting slowly to wherever his next destination was.

"Oy, Messenger!" Malí shouted down the hall with a strong, firm tone floating out in her voice. The Dwarf turned around, and seemed exasperated and slightly frustrated that Malí had been the one to call his title out. Despite, the messenger jogged slowly down the hall back toward Malí, and when he reached her, Malí handed him the folded parchment that contained her reply. "Take these directly to Balin son of Fundin; place them in the hands of none but Balin. If I find out you have done otherwise, your family will pay, literally." Malí threatened. The Messenger nodded and went off on the task given him, and Malí grinned in a satisfied manner as she watched him go.

[piosenniel]

Carlas' post

The sun rose slowly, bathing the Misty Mountains in a soft light. The air was crisp and cool, and the sky was clear, no clouds for miles, and the Misty Mountains stood tall and proud in the morning light, but none of this could be seen from within the deeps of Moria.

Inside the old mine it was dark and damp. Moria, once filled with dwarves and beauty, were now cold and wet with cobwebs all across the walls and ceiling. The tunnels, where precious stones and jewels were once mined, were now empty and lifeless. The halls, where dwarves had once danced and sang, were silent. None now dwelled in the deep mines and shafts of Moria, none except the orcs who had taken it years ago for their own.

The orcs of Moria now prowled in the deep halls, watching and waiting for any that would dare to enter in their domain. They had come to Moria years before, and would not let anyone take it back from them, so they always had eyes watching even in the darkest of tunnels.

“Why we have to sit ‘ere all day? It’s not like anyone’s going to come down ‘ere anyways. No fool would dare enter Moria now!” Nazklâsh turned his grotesque face to the other orcs crouching beside him. He had always hated having to sit and watch for intruders, when there never was any intruders, thinking it was pointless and a waste of his time. He yearned for a fight, for a battle, to feel his weapon in his hand as he cut deep into another’s chest. He hated staying in the mines and waiting for beings that never came, he wanted to go attack the villages and cities around the mountains.

“Ah, something’ll come Nazklâsh, one of these days, then we’ll fight, and have our way with ‘em.” The orc sitting beside him said as he pulled himself up into a deep crouch. He was larger than Nazklâsh, but that never bothered him, he knew he could out-maneuver those lugs any day. The orc smiled, with the thought of a battle, his dark, slimy teeth reflecting the only bit of light coming from a window high up in the large room. “The chief said we take no prisoners, if anything comes in here, they’re ours.”

“If.” Nazklâsh muttered through his clenched teeth. “If anything comes in ‘ere.”

[piosenniel]

Mercy of the Valar's post

“Why we have to sit ‘ere all day? It’s not like anyone’s going to come down ‘ere anyways. No fool would dare enter Moria now!” Said Nazklâsh turning to his companions with a look that Wazkûl knew well, for he felt it himself.

Blood lust was a funny thing. Craving the feel of blade to armor or even better, to bare skin. To smirk as your victim collapses in pain as you finish him off, miserable creature. It made Wazkûl shiver with pleasure at the thought as he felt his way into a crotch in the wall, running his blackened finger down the side of his dwarf blade.

“Ah, something’ll come Nazklâsh, one of these days, then we’ll fight, and have our way with ‘em.” Wazkûl said. Have our way with them. Wazkûl smiled, the bloodstains on his teeth reflected the strained rays of light from the sickly mountain sun that somehow had squirmed into the cool, dark, dankness of Moria,“The chief said we take no prisoners, if anything comes in here, they’re ours.”

"If." Nazklâsh said in a skeptical tone, "If anything comes in 'ere,"

Wazkûl snarled and gnashed his teeth. The worm Nazklâsh was getting on his nerves. The smaller orc, glared at him through narrowed eyes. Nazklâsh knew that Wazkûl's hulking body could crush him in an instant, and his hands could strangle the life out of him. But Wazkûl knew, himself, that Nazklâsh could slip away into the dark, nimble as sunlight, and come down upon him and slit his throat with a silent blade. They both were at each other's mercies.

The other orcs grunted about them. One called Kârtuz slammed his scimitar against one of the old crumbling walls in boredom.

"Be quiet, slug," Spit Wazkûl, "We dont't want the Cheif to hear any of that. You don't you head on a pike, do you? Or find yourself at the mercy of his whip?"

Those were the two ulitmate things that he feared. Though he refused to admit it, Wazkûl was terrified of the Chief. But the one thing that scared him more was the great darkness that lay in the deepest pits of Moria. The firey being. Him.

[piosenniel]

Orofaniel's post

The darkness soon crept over the mines, and the cold wind made the Orcs shiver. It was always cold and goofy down there, but at night it was even worse. It was the same with the darkness; it always was quite dark, but it grew even darker as night came. The shadows came lurking as spies in the cold night, making things unpleasant for each and every one of them. Lugnûsh was standing guard at the entrance of one of the halls.

He, himself thought it was quite unnecessary to do so, since the rest of the gates were well protected. And he also thought ill of it since he didn’t believe any attack would come right now. Then again, if the chief had said that there should be guards, then he was probably right. Lugnûsh usually didn’t pay much attention to others and what they commanded him to do, because he was his own master, and he didn’t like anyone to make decisions for him. The times he was set as a guard though, he tried not to protest. He had done that once, and it hadn’t been exactly pleasant. Painful, nasty and terrifying are better words to use if you’re going to describe the awful event.

Luckily there were no other Orcs close by, and so they wouldn’t notice if he took a short nap. He seated himself against the wall, closing the one eye he still had. He soon felt asleep and didn’t take notice of the shadow that was coming closer…steadily.

“What in the name of…?”

Lugnûsh jumped in surprise over hearing the voice. He opened his eye and saw that Nazklash was standing over him with an angry look in his face. “What are you doing Lugnûsh?” Nazklash growled angrily and dragged him up. “Get up, you filthy…...and lazy, Orc!” He shouted. Lugnûsh didn’t have much time to get up on his feet.

“You should be standing guard, not sleeping!” Nazklash said again as his eyes pierced through Lugnûsh's body. “I’m sorry friend, but I do think I have to report this to the Chief.” He continued; he had now calmed down and was talking slowly.

Lugnûsh seized his arm as he turned. “I doubt you’ll do that!” He said harshly and looked Nazklash in the eyes. “You know what the chief will do with me, don’t ya?” Lugnûsh growled. Nazklash gave a short laugh.

“Aye…I do.” He said shortly and started to walk towards the door that would lead him through the hall and into a hallway. From there, there would only be some short time of walking and it would lead him directly to the Chief. “B-but…don’t you want me a-alive?” Lugnûsh asked, almost begging. Nazklash laughed again, and took a breath. “Okay then.” He said finally. “I’ll not report the lazy Lugnûsh this time then…” he said and laughed evilly while he snorted. "You dumb Orc...." He said and laughed even louder. "I wouldn't really have reported you to the chief...He's no right to be the chief anyway.." He continued. Lugnûsh didn't quite understand. He had been teasing him the whole time? Yes, he had indeed. He had never even considered the thought of reporting Lugnûsh to the Chief. "Why not?" Lugnûsh asked while he seemed awfully surprised by the very nasty joke. "Because...I was once reported to the chief and it was nasty." He growled and laughed again. Lugnûsh tried to play along, so he gave a short and rather fake laugh. he was origianlly quite annoyed with Nazklash, and what Lugnûsh thought was a very cuel joke. "I'll get him, when he least expects it..." He thought and snorted. "He'll pay."

“I’m tired,” Nazklash said a moment later. “I’m going off to sleep for a while, so get your filthy fingers off me!” He growled when he noticed that Lugnûsh still had a tight grip on his arm.

Nazklash went away while Lugnûsh remained behind. There was not going to be much rest for Lugnûsh’s one eye that night...

[piosenniel]

Pyroclastic's post

Uzgash could hear the rumble even from his location three caverns over. The orc captain followed a small, round orc through the depths of Moria, the Dwarven caves of old.

"Grashnegg found him in the there sleeping yesterday, he’s just woken up today," the orc said, "Who knows how long he’s been in there." The orc scampered ahead of Uzgash, eager to show the captain of the orcs their new find. As they approached the small cavern at the end of the corridor, Uzgash slowed his pace with caution. The Mines of Moria were a refuge of many creatures great in strength and evil. The cavern walls shook, and the shattering of stone could be heard. Several high pitched shrieks sounded through the corridor. "There you go Grashnegg, that’s what that’s what happens when you mistake a troll for a pet rat." Uzgash heard a voice from the next cavern up. The unseen orc laughed at his own joke, and was quickly joined by the other orcs in the cave. The harsh laughter did nothing to improve the monster’s temper, and the walls shook again as it banged into them, causing more falling rock, and an abrupt end to the orcish laughter.

The orc minions cleared the away from the cavern entrance as Uzgash entered the cave. Before him stood a hideous sight, a cave troll. The monster stood a good twenty-five feet high, and it seemed frustrated by the constant pain of banging it’s head on the roof of the cave. About six orcs milled at it’s feet, looking absurdly tiny. A single orc was the size of the troll’s toe. Uzgash glanced back toward the entrance of the troll’s cavern, "How did he ever fit through?" He wondered to himself.

"Grashnegg," Uzgash yelled, "you've found us a troll!" Uzgash smirked to himself, this would be a blow for Captain Turgrog. He growled as he thought of Turgrog, captain of the west gate. Uzgash carried a deep hatred towards Turgrog, and Turgrog felt the same about Uzgash. Uzgash resented Turgrog’s position as west gate captain, while he merely captained a portion of the deeper caverns.

"Captain Uzgash," a small orc Uzgash recognized as being from Turgrog’s troop interrupted his thoughts, looking anxiously up at him. "The chief wants a word with you in his cave."

Uzgash glared at the little orc. "You can tell your chief, if he wants to speak with me, he can come find me himself. I am not a snaga to do his bidding."

The orc cringed away in fear as he weekly protested, "The chief said it was important."

Uzgash bent down to the orc’s eye level and sneered in his face. "Whatever it is that Turgrog wants, he can go down and ask the Fiery One for. He’ll give him what he deserves!" He laughed at his own joke, and launched a well aimed kick at the orc’s hastily retreating backside.

Uzgash took another long look at his new troll. It’s looks reminded him of Turgrog, ugly, flat faced, and disproportioned. Their attitudes also bore resemblance, both creatures were whiny and stupid. Such an occurrence deserved recognition. "We’ll call him Grog!" He declared. The cheers of the orcs were drowned out by Grog’s howl of amusement, as he entertained himself by picking up and waving a shrieking orc through the air.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin gazed around at the dwarves that gathered around him with a proud smile upon his face. His brown eyes twinkled merrily and his fingers twitched eagerly as he waited for all the dwarves to gather ‘round. Lîs was there as well, her false beard firmly in place. Balin made a mental note to call her Lîn in the presence of the other dwarves.

King Dain stood beside him: a frown creased his face, and his lips were buttoned tightly. His shoulders hunched as he surveyed the dwarves that had been gathered and he turned to Balin, his eyes pleading. Balin flashed an assured smile towards him: the king was worrying over nothing. If they found the Dwarven Ring of Power -- Balin gasped at the thought. Their failing race would be strong again.

He saw Alrik Stonebeard, his white beard tightly plaited and stuffed into his belt. Striding towards him, Balin bowed and said, “I am honored that you have cared to join us in our mighty quest.”

Alrik merely nodded and Balin turned away. Ori, with Flori, stood a little off to the side. Ori was downcast: his eyes were fixed on the ground and his hands hung listlessly at his side. A wavering shade of doubt passed over Balin, and his bushy brows bunched in a troubled frown. Maybe Ori and King Dain were right: that they should leave Moria alone under its evil shadow. Setting his jaw firmly, he shoved the thought from his mind and addressed himself to the dwarves.

“Fellow Countrymen!” he cried. “The Lonely Mountain, though prosperous and our home of many years, is a narrow place! It does not compare to Khazad-dum. While the ring of hammers is to be heard within the Lonely Mountain, it does not echo within Moria’s mighty halls. No veins of True-silver are hidden in the walls of the Lonely Mountain! Too long has Moria lain empty….too long has the Second Hall been bereft of song; too long has the East Gate lain useless; too long has the Endless Stair not been climbed! It was once ours and once again we will make it a mighty kingdom of the Dwarves! We leave tomorrow at dawn!”

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:36 PM January 19, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[mark12_30]

Taking a deep breath, Lîs started with her best gutteral roar deep in her throat, and let it climb to a growling baritone shout. "The True-silver awaits our return! The radiant lamps will shine through the columns of Dwarrowdelf again!" Around her, growlings and rumblings surged and crescendoed, and she shook her axe, laughing triumphantly. And deep within her eyes, a fire burned as if the very lamps of Khazad-Dum were reflected in them.

True-silver. All her life she had heard of it; she had read of it; she had asked about it. She had never worked with it, for True-silver never breaks and never needs repair. All that there was had been crafted.

But in the very bottom of her knapsack beneath her jeweller's tools, rested a book; the ink on the last page had barely dried. Into that book she had copied everything that she could learn about Mithril; mining it, refining it, forging it, shaping it, tempering it, bringing it to a perfect polish and luster. She was weary, her hand ached and her eyes didn't focus very well, but all that would pass. She had her tools, she had everything she needed except her little jeweller's kiln. Someone would make one for her when they arrived.

Still shaking her axe, she roared some more, glad that they would not leave til the dawn. She might even get some sleep before then.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik lifted his axe and cheered with a guttural roar. Long had he waited for this day! Today, the dwarfs would take their first step, the step that would lead back up the stairs to greatness!.

With his minds eyes he pictured the mighty hold, once more in dwarfen hands. Countless lamps illuminated the halls as if stars glowing in the night beneath the mountains. The ringing of hammers on anvils echoed through the vast halls in which pillars carved to resemble great trees jutted out, supporting the roof that seemed to stretch on forever.
And, with the Mithríl once more in their posession, the dwarfs would be mighty indeed. Mighty armies clad in armour wich no blade could pierce, armed with weapons wich made mockery of even the finest armour would purge the lands of their enemies.

It felt as if his heart was on fire, burning hotter and brighter than in any a forge ever devised. Thoughts of the bright lamps, vast halls and motherlodes of Mithríl lying under the mountain flittered through his head, and he had to fight down the urge to sing.

At last, the day had come!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 1:45 PM January 20, 2004: Message edited by: Will Witfoot ]

[Saraphim]

Narin stood with his arms crossed, listening to the talk. He had felt his heart quake for a moment when he had learned of their destination. Moria was a place of legend, something to be mentioned in a song, or a grisly tale (true or not). It was not something to be taken lightly, this expedition to retake the lost halls of his forefathers.

For a moment, he doubted his choice.

Then he heard the words that strengthened his heart. True-silver. It was nonexistent in the Lonely Mountain, seen only in the ancient weapons and armor of the very wealthy. He longed to forge the light, shimmering metal into axes and swords, to make impenetrable helms and unstoppable arrows.

The desire to go flared inside him hotter than before. He roared along with his new comrades, eagerly anticipating the new home, and a new life.

A sudden worry, however, cut slowly through his joy. He heard another Dwarf speak, and heard the passion in his voice when he talked of Mithril. He knew from looking at him that he was a smith as well, though Narin did not know him by sight.

Narin quickly cooled his anger. There was no room for it this early into the expedition. His anger was unfounded, and, besides, there were, most likely, more than two metal smiths in the group. Narin eyed everyone suspiciously, but none stood out in his mind as much as the one who had spoken first.

Ah, well. He thought, Dwarrowdelf is a large place, by all accounts. Soon enough the demand for Mithril will be too great for any of us to handle alone.

But it still galled him to have competition, before they had even left.

[The Perky Ent]

Hopping up and down with exciement, Nali started singing drinking songs as if he was at a pub. Some dwarfs gazed at him, amazed that there was no fear in him.

"If I could glimps the hardest of steels,
life would be as sweet as honey on the tastiest of meals.
A light so strong the spine will chill,
the everlasting treasure of Moria's mithril.
A group of travelers ordered by King Dain,
will break the heart of Durin's Bane.
And from the ashes of man and elf,
shall arise the city of Dwarrow-delf"

chanted Nali as the other dwarfs started singing their own tunes.

Taking a good look at his caravan, he though to himself that the voyage would be more than somewhat interesting. Nali spend the rest of the time at the meeting meeting everyone their. One person, Lin, looked strangly pecular. More than ofter, Balin was winking to him. After a breif chat with Balin, Nali grinned and sat down, as if to say "I'll sit here all night and when the time comes, i'll be first in line!"

While Nali was sitting he pondered what the venture would be like after they reclaim Moria. Would he stay in Moria as special servant to the king, or if he would just move back to Erebor and be the richest man of all! But then, Mithril doesn't sprout out of the groud. You have to mine and refine it. "...Seeing as how i'll have first claim..." Nali muttered under his breath as if he was dividing up the riches at that very spot. Although he didn't realize it, it wouldn't be that easy!

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 9:08 PM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: The Perky Ent ]

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

"What are all these Dwarves doing here?" Flói wondered as he looked around. "Are they all going with us? Why?"

He walked to the middle of the room, bumping the elbow of one old Dwarf. With a snork, he went on.

As Balin rose to speak, he uttered another snork, this one of contempt. But as he listened to the speech, visions arose from his heart: the majesty of Khazad-dûm restored, as a bulwark against Sauron's might. He will be part of history, all because Balin saw beyond his acerbic attitude and noticed the skill he had.

Or it seems to him. He never bothered to know that there some here more skilled in craft than he is.

Maybe I should treat him with respect. After all, he will bring us to treasures greater than any of us in this hall could fathom.

"It was once ours and once again we will make it a mighty kingdom of the Dwarves! We leave tomorrow at dawn!" Balin concluded his speech, and many a Dwarf cried Moria! Flói was elated. He will be part of history.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:40 AM January 23, 2004: Message edited by: Nilpaurion Felagund ]

[Gird]

Frar

Frar cheered and whooped loudly as Balin spoke, almost making it hard for Balin to speak. Frar was very excited to be here, on the verge of a very fine adventure indeed. Just what he had been looking for. He looked around at the other dwarves that had gathered. They were all warriors and smithies, Frar could tell, by what they were wearing, and the marks on their hands and faces. Excellent, this would be a great party. But then Frar thought about his other interest.Who is going to cook?! he thought, there's probably not a cook in the whole lot of them!...

Even more perfect! Besides fighting and adventuring, Frar's favorite thing was cooking, (and eating of course) and he had started thinking of all the foods he would prepare, as he was (no doubt about it) probably the best cook among them. Oh, this is just turning out to be the perfect day! he thought with a smile.

As songs broke out among the dwarves, Frar had the thought to dance, but then told himself otherwise. Instead, he pulled out his lute, that he had remembered in his hurry to pack with his stuff, and began to play along with the songs. And he sang along in his baritone voice.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:51 AM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: Gird ]

[Taralphiel]

Maron joined in the chorus or cheering and roaring as it rose up in the crowd. His glittering axe was above his head, and his smile was that of an excited child.

His parting at home had been a strange one. Walking from his smithy, he saw a pack laid out neatly before him. All manner of things were laid inside, and he smiled as he saw his Uncle slowly moved into the room.

'Thank ye Uncle, but I can pack my own...'

'You think I would let ye on such a journey without me! Ye are thickskulled Maron Sandbrace!'

Maron almost doubled over in laughter. It had taken him the good part of an hour to convince his white bearded Uncle to stay put, and more to leave the smithy itself.

'Ye shall come back Maron, and with True-silver?'

'Aye' he had said with a grin 'And ye had better not keel over before I do!' he chuckled, and with a warm embrace, headed for the meeting place...

The memory of True-silver brought him back to the present. 'Moria! Mines of True-silver! What fortune awaits us! I could run out now if I had no sense!'

As the crowd slowly dispersed to do other things before their departure, Maron heard his stomach grumble. With a sheepish grin, he sat down on a felled tree, and taking an apple from his pack, he indulged in a quick snack. All the while through his mind buzzed the great smithy's of Khazad-dum.

'Aye, a great journey ahead. And a glory to behold' he thought to himself happily.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:24 AM January 21, 2004: Message edited by: Taralphiel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori, despite the feeling of foreboding which wouldn't quite go away, joined in with the rest of the dwarves as, at the end of Dain's speech, they cheered wildly. He grinned at the dwarf who had started it, and grinned at him. The dwarf looked slightly surprised and something like panic seemed to flit across his features before he scowled fiercely. Flori blinked and looked away towards Balin, who, not noticing his friend's gaze, had a small secret smile screted behind his beard as he too watched the fierce looking dwarf, who, shaking his axe fiercely, gave another roar of anticipation.

Flori looked to his brother, standing beside him, and raised his eyebrows an almost inperceptible fraction. Ori shrugged slightly. "'Haven't been acquainted - I believe the name is...Lîn, maybe?" his brother hazarded a guess and Flori replied with a shrug of his own, nodding slightly in recognition of the name.

"The jeweller?" The older brother remembered seeing some work under that name or one very similar. "Stands to reason then that-"

He stopped, turning his head towards the sound of a voice, strong and tuneful, with the slightly bawdy edge of an Inn-song, although Flori didn't recognise the words. He soon found out why as, listening to words, he was impressed to realise that the singer was making up the words on the spot. The other began to stamp their feet and whistle along, clapping and whooping, and the 'passers-by' (mainly the result of the gossip resulting from Balin's boldness towards Dain and his grant of a quest to Moria) joined in, caught up in the excitement of it, and Flori was no exception.

When the song finished, it was greeted with applause and the dwarves began to disperse. The singer, however, who Flori recognised now his face was turned towards him, paused, speaking briefly to Balin. As Flori passed him he inclined his head to one side appreciatively, clapping the other on the back. "You out to get together with my brother - Nali, is it? Two minstrels on one expedition, dear me!" He mimed rolling his eyes skywards making some of the others, now in the high spirits of anticipation, laugh appreciatively. Nali himself grinned, obviously gratified at the compliment.

As he drifted from the group though, the keen, excited mood couldn't completely push away his worries, and they hng around balefully at the back of his mind, eyeing the cheerfullness with disdain; Nali's song had awakened more than just excitement with it's words of a rising of a new Dwarrow-delf; it had stirred unease within Flori's heart about the so-called Durin's bane.

Chirpily humming and whistling the tune of the Nali's song through his teeth to spite these feelings, Flori started towards the edge of the hall, grinning and patting his soon-to-be companions on the back, exchanging snippets of conversations, not wanting to drag others down with the edging darkness inside. But he couldn't help wondering: did they not feel it too? He needed the consultance of an old ally for now, and not just that; he wanted the words and advice of one who had seen Moria's perils. King Dain may be opposed to the expedition, but it was not too late for Flori to talk to him.

[Melisil]

Loni heard Balin's words and laughed merrily. Maybe this wouldn't be quite such a terrible thing. Just the thought of mithril! Oh, it made him wanting to go as soon as he could.

Loni studied the other dwarfs after a hearty cheer. He knew the names of a few of them, but not all.

The Dwarf saw a fellow Dwarf take out a lute, and many of the others were singing. Loni laughed along with them; No, he wasn't the best singer of the group, but he knew a few songs wich he added to the others.

Moria! he could hardly get the thought out of his mind! Moria, and mithril! Ah, the riches! The Glory! Loni dwelt on thoughts like this for a few minutes before bringing himself back to the present moment. Looking over to Balin to see what his expression was like, he saw only a few dwarfs surrounding him, but he couldn't see Balin himself. Loni shrugged it off and finally noticed the groups of Dwarves now gathered round th area.

Many Dwarves had showed up who Loni suspected were not going, but had no intention of missing out on news like this either! As the few songs ended though, many of the crowd continued on their way. Loni stepped up to the dwarf who had been singing an inn-like song.

"So, exited about this journey of Balin's?" Loni laughed, sitting down next to him. He extended his arm out for him, "The names Loni Stormlegs. I live up there." he said, pointing to near the base of the mountian, "And you are?"

[Orual]

Óin grumbled as Balin delivered his speech. What idealism, what boneheaded irrational wishful thinking. Such absurdity was one thing when they were younger, but now...he was far too old for this.

The other dwarves congregated in the hall were cheering and laughing and singing their fool heads off, as though this was a fine adventure, a fine sport. Some young dwarf who he didn't recognize shouted some some nonsense about how the True-Silver awaited their return, and Nali started singing what sounded like a pub-song. He sighed in irritation. Did they not realize that this wouldn't be a game? That this wouldn't be a joke? To be sure, if he didn't feel obliged to stay with Balin, he wouldn't be going.

While the newly created company sang and danced and generally celebrated being the best and brightest (for that was surely what Óin had thought when Thorin had asked him to be a part of that adventure), Óin hung at the fringes of the assembly, watching and listening. A couple of the dwarves looked minimally promising, but not up to the calibre of his old company. He still missed Thorin now and then, and he and Glóin still sat and talked about everything--about Thorin, and Fili and Kili, and good old Bilbo Baggins. Hard as it had been, it was an experience he'd never forget.

He took out his pipe as Nali finished his song. There was no lack of enthusiasm in this group, that was certain. He saw a thrill in the eyes of his soon-to-be companions that he remembered feeling, a certain air of arrogance and immortality, a swagger distinctive to those who were sure of the moral rightness of their mission. He remembered that.

He shrugged irritably. Well, excitement or no, leaving at dawn did not appeal to him in the least. He went and got a mug of ale and found himself a seat to watch the rest of the celebrations, and maybe rest himself a little before it all started.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí was slightly surprised to have been invited on such a mission. Part of her shock was fueled by her distaste for the idea of leaving all her papers and comfortable worktable. Another part of her argued that although the comfort and predictability of her office was indeed safe and good, it provided no new opportunities. This mission, while Malí remained her practical, skeptical and slightly pessimistic self, would provide new opportunities and chances akin to that of the ones her father had when moving from the Iron Hills to the Lonely Mountain. Why shouldn't Malí follow in her father's footsteps, and be the first accountant and statistician loyally bonded to the reinstated Moria?

Malí did not participate in the joyous celebrations, thinking it impractical to be so excited about a journey that has not yet even started. It seemed to Malí like applying an equation when it has not been solved. In any case, Malí remained ambivalent as songs were sung and danced were danced, and Malí stayed so as not to reveal her distaste for the festivities. She wanted to go back to her workroom and pack the things she would need, and she began to calculate in her mind how much time she would have to rest before the morning.

Malí noted that it seemed she was the only female in the group. Of course, it was incredibly difficult even for her to know whether anyone else was female, but from first impressions and glances it seemed that there were no other females. Malí didn't feel as proud as she had once felt, for she suddenly thought about how much work it would be to keep such an idealistic Dwarf such as Balin calm and patient for the practical side to every obstacle. The hardest work wouldn't be settling in to a new home and work environment - it would be getting there with the sometimes boisterous and impatient males about her.

The festivities lasted longer than Malí had expected, and before too long Malí excused herself and returned to her workroom to gather up her things. Blank papers were neatly packed, as were two or three dozen writing utensils, along with basic papers and forms that might be copied and used in the new Moria. Malí had everything packed and went to bed, going to sleep early as any practical dwarf would do if they had to wake up at dawn the next morning.

[Imladris]

Ori

Ori’s spirits swelled, then ebbed back into uneasiness at Balin‘s speech. The dwarves roared fiercely, some laughter was sprinkled throughout; a dwarf that Ori recognized as Nali began to sing a song that had the lusty air of a tavern tune. The words were different and Ori, with a brief half smile, realized that a dwarf after his own heart was among them.

Slipping quietly away from the celebration, Ori slowly made his way toward the Lonely Mountain. With a murmured greeting to the guards, he passed through the gates and though the winding passages into his room. Shutting the door, he began to pack. An extra hood, warm clothes, some blankets, mining tools, and a bit of food. Ori smiled wryly at the cram as he stuffed it into his sack.

He picked up a leather bound book filled with soft white empty pages. It would be a journal for the dwarves to tell of their journey and of their lives in Moria. He held it for a moment, brushing his hand against the dark leather and smelling the new pages before he tucked it in a separate sack: it was made of green velvet with a golden tassel that sparkled in the light of dying sun.

Crimson streamers stretched across the dusky sky while an orange glow glimmered upon the edge of the mountains. A soft pink stole from the golden orb that slowly sunk behind the craggy peaks. His brown eyes wide, a little smile about his lips, a small frown on his brow, Ori watched the sunset, but then took his flute and began to pipe a haunting melody, a last farewell to the Mountain.

[Pyroclastic]

As the dwarves packed for their journey, the unknown foes in Moria went about business as usual. Uzgash sat in a hidden cavern, listening to the reports of his spies. Kartuz, from the hated Turgrog’s command, had just arrived with his latest information. "Turgrog’s forces are ripe for revolt," he said, "all are tired of his unfairness and excessive punishment. They only lack a leader for such a revolt. Many orcs still fear him enough that unless a strong leader takes command of the situation, they will remain silent."

Uzgash sat back, digesting this information. He had know that if he simply bided his time, Turgrog’s forces would turn against him. Such a perfect opportunity never occurred by accident. Indeed, it was now Uzgash’s time for domination or Moria.

"Is there an orc who would take such command and do well with it?" Uzgash ask his spy.

"Nazklash, he would seize such an opportunity like a fallen sword," said Kartuz, "Nazklash has a lust for power that could be very useful in this situation."

BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Uzgash and Kartuz looked about in alarm as the cavern walls shook, and loose rock began to crash to the floor around them. "Back to your ranks!" Uzgash ordered Kartuz. What’s Grog up to now? Uzgash wondered to himself.

Uzgash made haste to Grog’s cavern. As he got closer, the noise got louder. He could hear orcs shouting and screaming, the cracking and breaking of stone, and Grog’s trollish laughter.

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

Uzgash rounded the corner and stopped, just looking at the melee of orcs. "Get it away from him!" One orc shouted at all of the others, "We’ve got to stop him!" Orcs ran uselessly about the entrance to Grog’s cavern. Uzgash pushed his way through the orcs to see what was going on. He looked cautiously around the doorway of the cavern at Grog. Grog sat on the floor and looked out at all of the orcs scrambling about, smiling stupidly. Uzgash squinted, trying to get a good look at the object in Grog’s hand. Grog waved it about cheerfully, sending the orcs screaming in retreat. He held a large, oddly shaped wooden club with one end wrapped in leather. Oh, no thought Uzgash, they didn’t. Grog brought the club crashing down.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

"Who gave the troll a drum?" Uzgash bellowed. "Who In Moria would be so stupid! I will rip his limbs off and feed them to the troll, and cast his remaining body down for the Fiery One! Who did this?" Uzgash yanked a lit torch from off of the wall and held it up, looking for the orc to blame. The orcs murmured and shrank back. Grog giggled and shook the drumstick in the air. "You three," Uzgash pointed at the three unfortunate orcs closest to the doorway, "get that thing away from him!" The three orcs scurried into Grog’s cave. "You two," he selected another pair of hapless orcs, "distract Grog from his drumming. Throw rocks, yell, scream, sing, whatever it takes to get him to drop the drumstick. GO!"

One orc began picking up cave fragments and hurling them against the back wall behind Grog, causing the troll to turn around and look at the crashing behind him. This made him loosen his grip on the club, and another orc made a brave scramble up the troll’s arm and began shoving the club out of his hand, while his friend grabbed the other end of the club and pulled it. "Ooourg?" Grog said, turning to look at the orcs crawling on him. "Gahh, oooga!" He got excited, the orcs wanted to play with him!

Grog glanced down at the ground and noticed Uzgash standing there. "Ugash!" He yelled in happy surprise, "Ugash!" Uzgash looked around for explanation. An orc pointed to the guy next to him. "Grashnegg here has been training Grog to speak." Grashnegg quivered. "He thought it would be, fun." The orc sneered. Grashnegg attempted to smile, and failed. "Did you also think it would be fun to teach the troll to play a drum?" Uzgash inquired. Grashnegg just stood there, shaking.

"Ugash!" BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! Grog began beating the drum again, much to the orcs in the cavern’s dismay. The orc on Grog’s arm flew off into space, smashing against a wall and slumping onto the floor. The one who had been pulling on the other end of the club fared no better, getting smashed into the drum and bouncing off onto the ground. BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM! Two orcs lunged forward in an unknown attempt to do something, BOOM! Grog brought the drumstick crashing down onto his giant drum, and the two orcs were flung back by the sheer force of the sound wave. At that moment, Uzgash saw the futility of this war. It was useless, no orc could hope to calm the troll while he was having so much fun.

"Retreat!" Uzgash yelled into the cavern, "Retreat!" The orcs gratefully fled the vicinity of the troll. "We’ll just have to wait for him to sleep." Uzgash said. "Now, where is the little pig Grashnegg?"

[The Perky Ent]

After being complemented on his improvised song, Nali though, "If they liked that, let's see how they'll like this!". And when there was a moment when the dwarves stopped roaring (which only came around a little) Nali started singing:

In Dwarrowdelf, a city old,
there is riches beyond jewels or gold,
No diamonds of light or silver there are,
but riches beyond the seas and afar,
riches so great they cannot be made
and no dwarf in middle earth can be paid,
to give but a shard of their powerful gift,
a site that would give even elves a lift!
Mithril they call it though not many have seen,
a metal so fair, sturdy and keen,
hidden in the walls of a dark, old place,
yet stronger than mightest of Sauron's mace,
We'll find it, we will, though facing perils,
like old Bilbo and the dwarves who hid in barrels,
From Khazad-dum to Zirag-zil,
we will be the lords of Moria's mithril.

All the dwarves stood silent. No one moved. It was as if time had frozen still and yet he still breathed. Suddenly, from none other than King Dain, a slow clapping sound echoed through the halls. Suddenly, all the dwarves started to clap. It was if they were transported to an erupting volcanoe. Nali blushed as one by one the dwarves patted him on his back.

It took about a minute before the clapping died down, but eventually the dwarves started talking among themselves again. It seamed that his song had set a standard that none of the dwarves could master. Balin approached Nali and said with a suprized tone, "where did you learn to do that?" Nali's face grew more red than the fires of Orodruin. "I've been idle for a while and taught myself things like it." Nali said

"There's more?" Balin said, his face growing pale. "Well, I can cook, and come to think of it, I'm not bad with armour and weapons. Ever since I was little, my parents always incouraged me learning things, so I spent years at a time learning from masters of their trade. Although i'll never amount to be as good as them, i've seamed to merge some of my crafts together, giving my work an original flare." Nali spoke.

Once again, Balin stood still. After taking a short breath he said, "Well, this will be an interesting quest!" And with that, he walked off to mingle with the other dwarves.

Nali liked being the center of attention, and if he wanted that again, he'd have to do something truly splendid. Muttering under his breath, Nali said, "I'll have to find something to top that...now let me see..."

[Saraphim]

Narin stood off to the side, his insides boiling happily in anticipation. He wanted to join in the celebrations, but there was no one he even remotely knew. He listened appreciatively to a young dwarf singing intriguing songs, but what Narin really wanted was a good pint. He turned to leave the hall, but came face to face with King Dain. Narin stifled a growl and bowed low.

Narin could tell that Dain did not recognize him, and that aggravated him further.

“Good day, my King,” said Narin, and pushed through the other dwarves in an effort to get away.

He could feel some of the others look at him in confusion. Why would he be so short and rude to the king? After all, Dain was allowing this mission to Moria out of goodwill toward Balin.

Narin did not care. Let them wonder, he thought. No one needs to know my business anyway.

He left the room and headed toward the nearest pub. He would need a good stiff drink. Chances were he would not get another for quite a while.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:39 PM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: Saraphim ]

[Gird]

Frar looked around after the Dwarf had finished his song, and realized that many of the other Dwarves were leaving. He thought that it would be a good idea to go now too. He needed to say goodbye to his brother and sister, and also, he had not packed nearly enough of what he needed for such a trip. What was i thinking anyways? Did I honestly think that we'd be leaving right away? Frar laughed to himself.

Frar then put his lute back in with his stuff, and headed back to his quarters. He was glad that he had time to pack up properly, and to say goodbye to his family better. The only bad thing, was that he wasn't sure how he would ever be able to get up at dawn. I'll just get Fror to wake me up, thought Frar, he's always up early.

He thought about how he'd miss his brother, and his sister. "Oh well, I'm bound to make some great friends and companions over this journey" he said to himself.

..and he resolved right then and there to do that after he was done packing.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:08 AM January 25, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori entered the Great Hall, the throne room where Dain sat for councils, and where he often came in his own time, for a place to think. Flori's feet echoed around the room as he entered carefully onto the stone floor, but Dain did not turn immediately. He was not sitting as he usually did to think, in the large, elaborate throne, but instead was standing, apparently looking up at one of the stained glass windows, set far up on the high roofed hall.

"My lord," Flori bowed, touching his knee to the ground as he came down, before rising slowly. Dain gave a small sigh and now turned around. His blue eyes were sorrowful and gleamed even more brightly than usual. In one hand he fingered a chain around his neck that Flori did not recognise, on which hung a small, elaborate silver key. The king watched his friend for a moment, then gave another great sigh, turning again to look up; not at the stained glass window as Flori had thought, but at a glass cabinet in front of it. Curious and unnerved by the King's silence, Flori came forward a few steps and, when Dain did not object, he continued to approach until he was just behind Dain. He laid a hand tenatively on his shoulder and followed his gaze without speaking, to rest on the axe in the case. It was bright red all over, both the handle and the blade, but otherwise was not particularly remarkable, certainly not compared to the axe the king used for ceremonies and for battle. But on the very edge of the blade there was a sort of crust of dried liquid, black and gleaming, like tar but...evil.

"The blood of an orc," Dain murmured. "A very powerful one as well. The orc that slew my father, and Thror, the last bearer of one of the Seven; the master of Khazad-dum."

"Azog." Flori's voice was quiet. He knew the stories, told with pride and sadness, with sorrow but strength; the story of how Thror, old, poor and desperate, had left his family and followers and gone to Moria, befuddled with it's tales, and had entered proudly...never to come out alive; how his body had been thrown out to his companion Nar, with that terrible name branded on his forehead; and how in the War of the Orcs and the Dwarves, Dain had faced him down, following him to the very gates of Moria and hewing off his head....

The tales made Dain a living legend, and like a legend it had seemed to the young Flori and Ori when they were told the stories in front of fires - unreal and distant. But now, as he stood behind his friend, staring at the very weapon that Dain had wielded against that terrible foe, Flori understood the king's reluctance, as if a veil had been ripped from his eyes and at last he could see clearly, wondering why he hadn't before. He understood.

"Dain..." Flori wasn't sure what he was about to say, how he could fit into words what he wanted to say; that he had yo go, he had promised one of his best friends that he would go...that he couldn't leave his brother...that Moria should be reclaimed, and that they could do it, truly...

"No, Flori." The King's voice was firm, and tears glistened in his eyes, and he cut off Flori's trailing whisper, shaking his head. His voice became more gentle and he turned to the younger. "No...Flori, you gave your word to Balin. You gave your word to a friend that you would follow him. But do you think it is not too late to break it? 'Twould be no dishonour to you."

"It would, Dain, you know it woul-"

"It would not, Flori Bronzeshield!" The king's angry shout took Flori by surprise and he stepped back involuntarily. But the anger in Dain's eyes died as quickly as it had come and he sighed deeply, hanging his head. A long moment passed and Flori wondered if he should speak, when Dain himself did.

"I told Thrain, the father of my generation, that he would not enter the gates of Moria. It was I who stopped him, I who told him of the shadow that lurked there." He raised his head, looking Flori in the eye. "How can I let you go when I know what is there?"

Flori met his gaze. "You cannot stop us. We must. And we shall defeat that shadow, whatever it was."

Dain regarded his friend for a long moment, before a small smile cracked his face and he put a heavy hand on his friend's shoulder. Flori returned the smile and the older dwarf pulled him towards him, embracing his friend tightly.

"Take care of them, Flori Bronzeshield. All of them."

As Flori left the chamber, Dain followed him with his eyes. He had not said all he had wanted to, of Balin's foolishness and Narin's wish for revenge, of the jealousy and derision that would rise, the seperations that would make their journey all the harder; but it was enough. For now, it was enough.

Suddenly feeling his full age, Dain gave another great sigh and crossed slowly to his throne, slumping into it, his hands across his eyes.

[mark12_30]

Lîs/ Lîn

Several pairs of eyes followed the approach of a grizzled old dwarf. He leaned over the seated and snoring Lîn and growled, "You'll get a crick in your neck, Lîn-Laddie, and rue it in the morning."

"Ugh..." was followed by a cough and a low growl. Lîn rubbed his neck and stretched. The grizzled old dwarf rolled up his cloak, and dropped it on the ground. Those watching were amused to see Lîn roll sideways and put his head on the old fellow's cloak. With a satisfied sigh, the old fellow sat down. "Ive been sent to bring you your breakfast, Lîn-Laddie. Balin and his troops will not be leaving without ye, I'll see to that."

Lîn smiled, and began to snore. Balin exchanged a wink with the grizzled old dwarf, who nodded back curtly, and scowled at the others til they looked politely away. They had all said their share of farewells, and family bonds were family bonds. If the old fellow wanted to watch over his son during their last night as a family, that was his business.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:31 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Melisil]

Loni stood watching for a while. After the dwarf who was singing finished his second song, Loni gave him brief applause before leaving the other dwarves and heading to his temporary room.

After recieving his message from Balin by Dwarin, Loni had packed a rather large pile of things into his pack, travelled down to King Dain's hall, told them he was there, and claimed a room. The room he had claimed was by now fairly full of the different odds and ends of wich he had brought with him.

Loni looked around his room. "Ah! I don't want to be carrying all this up and down mountains!" the dwarf exclaimed upon entering; And so, he began to sort out which things to keep and which to leave behind.

After about fifteen minutes work(he wasn't the most patient dwarf around), little progress had been made. Because of this, Loni stood up, dropped his 'keep' pile in a carrying sack, and the 'leave' pile onto his bed.

"There. Now that that's done, I will rejoin the others in their festivities!" he said, and so he did.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:02 PM January 26, 2004: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik cheered the lad that had comprised the song with the other members of the expedition. It sure did lift his old heart to see such enthusiasm towards the quest.

Bowing to his king and Balin he began to stride back towards the Lonely Mountain. A pint or three before going to bed would not hurt, now would it?
His mind was busy imagining all the wonders they could yet work with the craft of their ancestors at their posession, and his hands longed for Mithríl, to be able to forge the stuff into fine weapons and corcelets of armour.

It was a long time since he had felt so excited.

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Night Before the Departure

After he had left the king's hall, Flori had spent some time in his room, setting out what he would and wouldn't need. It seemed so strange, and a sense of ironic calm had come over the dwarf, however doom-laden; what would he want for the expedition which could be his last...?

After a while, the dwarf stood and stretched, stifling a yawn with his hand. Should be going to bed soon...'twill be a long day in front of us tomorrow-

He froze mid-thought and almost laughed aloud. It was his last night in Erebor and he intended to go to bed early?! He grinned wickedly and looked out into the darkening sky. At night, the Inns came alive...ach, sure, it wouldn't hurt...

~*~

Stumbling out of 'Durin's Anvil' some time later, followed by cheery, drunken shouts of "Go get em, Flori!" and "Spend your time well, m'boy! They won't stand a chance against you those stinkin...stinking...whassat?", along with various impromptu toasts, Flori grinned and gave a bow to the Inn's open door. The cheering and laughter which followed, muffled slightly after a few moments by the shutting of the door, pursued Flori down the road as he strolled down. He wasn't as drunk as he could be - didn't make a habit of getting drunk unless he had a really, really good reason to drown his sorrows - but he had certainly had enough to be...merry. Whistling a chirpy little tune, he walked nonchantly down the path, thumbs stuck in his belt.

Stopping and taking a deep, contented sigh, Flori looked back in amusement at the Inn...and his gaze was suddenly caught by the mountain, and he found himself looking at it as if for the first time.

This may sound ridiculous of course; Flori and his brother had lived in Erebor for years and he knew every nook and cranny of it...but when was the last time he had really looked at it? When was the last time he really saw the way it was now, the lights of the houses, Inns and forges lighting little spotlights or pinpricks of light around the mountain like fireflies? When had he last taken in the great sense of life around it? When had he last been awed by the way, over the undercurrents of life and merriment, the mountain was also alive, sleeping and calm and huge?

Must have been when you first came, he answered himself, remembering that day. He and Ori had been so awed by Erebor, by its great and beautiful vastness, by the way the dwarves had continued to build it up into a wonderful kingdom. They had been much younger then, of course, and it had seemed so incredibly exciting at the time; Ori, even the scribe, had described it as being because they were 'embarking on a new chapter of their lives'.

Flori smiled quietly to himself, thinking of the way his brother had been so serious and sensitive when they were young, against the way Flori himself had been bursting with all sorts of energy (for a dwarf). And yet they had remained as close as ever, thick as theives; another of the reasons Flori had to go to Moria. He wouldn't let his brother go into such danger by himself. And as he looked up on the vast mountain, remembering the excitement of seeing Erebor grow, he saw yet another reason; he could watch Moria grow as it was restored, watch youngsters like himself and Ori then, chatter excitedly, awed by the huge halls, the vast amounts of treasure, the wonder of the greatest dwarrow-delf ever...

"If I could glimps the hardest of steels,
life would be as sweet as honey on the tastiest of meals.
A light so...so...Bother, what was it so?"

The voice of one of the dwarves who would be embarking with Balin made Flori turn as the unsteady singing trailed off into speaking. Two of the stood there in fact: one of them Frar, the lute-player (Flori had noticed it stuck in the other's bag and thought to comment upon it later), and the other masked in shadow so Flori couldn't quite see his face. He grinned at them, then stretched his mind with effort back to Nali's song-words to the familiar tune, murmuring under his breath, his brow wrinkled.

"...strong" He ventured. Frar clicked his fingers. "Sounds about right! Strong...strong..."

"Strong, was it? Wasn't it so strong the..."

"Oh, I think so yes...Now so strong the...what shall what?"

After a few more seconds in befuddled concentration, the pair were suddenly rewarded as the other dwarf cried out loudly, "[i]...the spine will chill!"

"...the treasure...no, the everlasting treasure of Moria's mithril?!" Flori finished, triumphantly. They all gave a small cheer, feeling absurdly pleased with themselves, and looking back at the mountain in an air of drunken contentedness. Flori grinned to himself beneath his beard; a new chapter in the book of his life, and this chapter certainly had some very interesting characters...

[Orual]

Óin, his eyes still foggy with sleep, stumbled out of his house. It was far too early in the morning. Glóin had spent the evening with him, into the early hours, wishing him off with a nice supper, since the soon-to-be adventurer had left the celebrations early.

"It's no good going into an expedition with an attitude like yours, Óin," Glóin commented, taking his pipe out of his pack. "The beginning of an adventure...bother, where did I put that pipe...the beginning...ah, there it is...where was I?"

"The beginning of an adventure..." prompted Óin, a little grumpy still but willing to listen to his brother after a good supper.

"Oh, right. The beginning of an adventure is the mold by which the whole adventure is formed. You can be the ill-tempered old coot who everybody wishes had stayed home, or you can enjoy it. Just think of old Bilbo. He didn't want to go, either, but he developed a taste for it by the end. Remember those spiders?"

The brothers laughed nostalgically, and then Óin sighed. "This isn't the same sort of adventure at all," he said. "No there-and-back again, as Bilbo put it. This is there-and-stay-there."

"Then why go?" Glóin asked, leaning over the table. Óin remained silent. "If you really don't want to go, Balin would understand."

A sullen, closed-off look crept onto Óin's face. "Balin would understand, but I wouldn't forgive myself if something happened that maybe I could have prevented," he responded.

Glóin sighed. "Do what you must, Óin, but be truthful to yourself." He stood up, and walked over to his brother's chair. Óin stood up in turn, and Glóin embraced him. "Do what you must," he repeated.

Óin walked out into the waning starlight, and took a deep breath of the crisp pre-sunrise air. Now for it. Now for glory and honor.

He snorted. Now for a lot of walking, at least. Time to go see Moria.