Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Pyroclastic]

Deep in the caverns of Khazad Dum, Uzgash sat in his office cave, the ruins of his supper before him. The great orc chief sighed as he leaned back against the cavern wall, contented. He reached up to scratch his head, "Donk!" His hand hit the iron helmet he wore and bounced off of it with a resounding noise. Uzgash glared at himself. He felt so stupid. Almost as stupid as Turgrog, or Nazklash. Orcs like them made him ashamed to an orc in Moria. In the outside world, orcs had to be sharp, swift and strong. These Moria Orcs were softies, they would never survive in the wilds. Uzgash longed for his old band of minions, and the freedom to raid whenever and wherever he wished. Uzgash didn’t think much of Nazklash. He would just use him because he was easily disposable. Lugnush, he didn’t even bear mentioning. Except…hmmm, Uzgash thought about Lugnush for a moment. He might be useful after all. His rivalry with Nazklash could be a great advantage.

Uzgash snorted as he remembered that he had a ‘meeting’ to attend later that day regarding plans for the revolt. He was not looking forward to it. "Meetings, what useless things," he thought to himself. "Here’s the plan: kill Turgrog. Allow mayhem to spread. Nazklash takes the blame. He and Lugnush fight for power…" In the middle of his thoughts, Uzgash suddenly got bored. He found that he just didn’t care anymore. He picked up a bone left over from supper and flung it across the cave, just to hear it shatter against the opposing wall. Moria was so dull! He was a warrior, not a politician. This all reminded him of Gondor, where you could raid anywhere you pleased, because it would take three weeks for the men of Gondor to decide who was responsible for seeking out the raiders. Plans for the revolt faded from his mind as he remembered his glory days of fighting and pillaging, now there was the life for an orc!

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik gave a deep, guttural roar and charged the nearest of their silvan adversaries. The elf let loose his bowstring, and his arrow embeded itself into the ground at Alrik's feet. Obviously the pointy-ear intended that he should come no closer. Such a warning was lost on the old dwarf, who merely gave a thunderous bout of laughter before ploughing into the elf.

"Use your arrows on me, would you, you yellow-bellied pointy-ear?!" He roared before planting one of his stony fists into the elf's belly. His opponent doubled over as air wooshed out of his lungs.
His opponent recovered quickly, though. Before Alrik had the chance to pound his face, the elf lashed out with his stringy arm, catching the dwarf on the cheek. The blow was more powerfull than he would have expected from an elf, but in his time Alrik had taken far worse punishment. His cheek stung angrily, but he forgot about it when he realised the audible crunch the elf's knuckles made at contacting his face. He grinned.

"My face has been attacked by things far mightier than your reedy fist, coward."

Before his adversary could come up with a suitably nonchalant rebuke, Alrik smacked his fist into the pointy-ears chin. The elfs eyelids drooped and he sunk to the ground, knocked out cold.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the skirmish was over, the elves not being able to match dwarfish toughness or strength in a fistfight. Regrettably, it had not gone on long enough for weapons to be used in earnest. A pitty. He would have dearly liked to test the strenght of his axe-arm, and if testing involved dissemboweling a few elves, well, so much the better. Still, he supposed he woud get a chance to make that test soon enough.

"Durin's folk! For the kingdom to be reclaimed, do not waste any more time! We have showed these so-called warriors a thing or two to remember the people of Dain by!"

He regognized the voice of the king's kinsman, Flori Bronzeshield, and gave a thunderous roar of approval. As one, the dwarf party turned from the elves, marching deeper into the underbelly of the dark forest, hurling insult's and abuse at their would-be captors left behind.

[Imladris]

[b] Balin [b]

The elvish circle broke before the dwarves as they rushed into the depths of the forest, leaving bruised and unconscious elves in their wake. Balin turned, and shouted, “Tell your flower crowned King Thranduil that’s thanks for the last time the dwarves passed through his dreary forest!” With a loud laugh, he turned and followed the dwarves through the forest. “Slow it down, lads!” he called. “Old Mirkwood has a knack at taking the strength out of one. Besides, wouldn’t want this to look like a retreat when we beat them fair and square, but they’ll probably say they won.”

Taking his place at the head of the column, besides Ori, Floria, and Alrik, Balin said, “There, Flori, I told you I wouldn’t create trouble.” He flashed them a smug smile and then broke out into a dwarvish marching tune.

They tramped through the forest for several days, passing as quickly as they could underneath the murky darkness. At night, there were always two dwarves on guard, though they only saw glowing green eyes flicker and glow in the darkness. On the third day, when they saw thick, sticky spider strands clinging languidly to the rough bark. Balin shuddered and eyed Ori and Oin nervously. They merrily buttoned their lips and increased the pace.

He once thought he saw a slim, slightly glowing body, vanish between the trees, but he couldn’t be sure. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard, but then decided that the elf, if that is what it was, was nothing. He could not bring them all single handedly to Thranduil’s halls.

Suddenly, Balin paused and said, “I thought that we’d be through the forest by now.” Behind him, Mali gave a satisfied snort.

“In other words, we’re lost,” Ori said with a sigh.

Balin bit his lip, peered up into the branches and said, “Yes we are.”

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb
Thorgeleb smiled sadly as Balin's words reached his ears. Yes, he thought, they were indeed lost. With all their bluster, they were pitiable, in their own pathetic way.

He sighed. They'd end up going in circles, or providing breakfast for the spiders. And then he'd be late for his wedding. Not good.

He swung his heels idly while the dwarves argued below.

Lîs

Lîs had stayed on the fringe of the group ever since she and Balin had had their encounter. She was feeling very chagrined about the whole thing, and tried to behave more like a responsible older soldier and not a rascally young one. The trouble was, she was young. Jewellry was her first passion, of course; but she also liked mischief. If only she could have clobbered somebody besides Balin. Anybody besides Balin.

Round and round her thoughts went, making her feel more and more alienated from the group. She wandered the perimeter of the group again, looking outward, restless. She put more and more distance between her and the group, til she barely had them in sight. Then she stopped. No good wandering off and getting lost, she thought; even though Balin had gotten them lost, at least they were all lost together... She stood in the dark and listened to bits of the argument that came her way.

"There's no sense going on if we don't know where we're going."

"Let's backtrack, then."

"How will we do that if we don't know which way is back and which way is forward!"

The argument went on. Lîn stood under a large tree trying not to worry. The darkness closed in around her, and she imagined webs, and spider-feet. She looked up at the branches above her, and saw a faint glimmer; two faint glimmers. A pair of eyes! she realised with a nasty start. She shrank against the tree, clutching the handle of her axe. But she looked again; and saw heels swinging and kicking in sheer boredom. An elvish face looked down from the tree.

It took several deep breaths before her fear subsided enough that she could whisper, "Why, hello, Silver Eagle. How pleasant to find you here."

Thorgeleb whispered back, "Hello, and well-met, Opal Setter. It would seem that your illustrious leader has gotten lost."

Lîn replied with a wry nod, and the elf smiled. "I don't suppose he'd consider asking for directions, " Thorgeleb said.

"It's not a dwarvish strong point," agreed Lîn.

"Well, I am glad you are an axe-wielder and not an archer; you mistook me for a spider, did you not?"

Lîn smiled, and waved her axe at him. He smiled back.

The argument between Balin and Flori continued, and they listened, the elf's eyes twinkling merrily in the darkness.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

"Now that was a fight." Flói was gushing before Nali. Did you see the way I felled Thorgeleb like a tree? Serves him right for daring to challenge the helm I wrought."

"The first time one encounters combat is quite memorable."

"Will you tell me your first experience in combat?"

Nali smiled, and remained silent.

[Imladris]

“Well this is a fine, sizzling frying pan we’re in,” Flori snapped. “I may not have actually been here when you and Ori and the others were in Mirkwood, but Ori told me plenty about it and it’s not good! Balin, we could die out here!”

Balin brushed the comment aside and retorted, “Nonsense. The chances of dying are not great…at least I’d imagine they’re not. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Mali to compute the odds for you. And while you’re at it, why don’t you call a meeting.”

Flori, bursting with unprintable comments, swung on his heal and made his way to the dwarves who were clustered together in nervous groups. Balin counted them, and noticed that Lîn was missing. With a frown that broke his forehead into gnarled creases, he went some ways away from the general assembly of dwarves and called, “Lîn! Lîs!”

There was a snapping of twigs and she appeared, dead leaves clinging to her false beard. He stared at her for a moment: her eyes flicked from his own to the ground and back again as she edged away from him. Balin stroked his beard. What is the matter with her? It’s as if she’s avoiding me. A sudden grin flashed on his face and he said, “Lînsie! Are you still worried about that punch?”

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” she said, “I would never purposely show you disrespect!”

“I know, Lînsie,” he said, as they walked back to the camp together. They walked in silence for a few moments before he said, “You do know we’re lost, don’t you? But a few expert calculations from the expertise of Mali should hopefully set us straight again.:

Lînsie nodded, but her lips buttoned into a thin line. Balin sighed. “Yes, I know you probably think we shouldn’t have gone through Mirkwood, but it had to be done.”

Her cocked an eyebrow at that and said, “It’s bad business quarrelling with prospective employers.”

“The elves know we have the best jewel setters and cutters this side of the mountain,” Balin retorted. “If they wish to loose quality because of a quarrel caused over a stupid formality, it’s not our fault.”

“It’s still bad business,” she protested.

By this time they had reached the other dwarves and Balin cried, “As you all probably know by now, we’re lost, but we may be able to find our way through. However, I’d like to hear your opinion about how to go about doing that before I make any drastic decisions.”

[The Perky Ent]

The pleasant talks were all too short
and because we weren't hiding in a fort,
we went all out, and i called one a wort.
they fired their slim clean arrows,
and I wish i was far off in the Barrows,
but all of a sudden the fighting stopped
and then we stood with our axes dropped.
And we agreed on a way to get us through
the forests of Mirkwood, wet with dew.
The through the green we staggered as we walked
and all the way, nothing but talk,
But then the forest grabbed our minds
and on our schedule we were behind,
for we were lost.
And so now we wander
alone and sad
but something tells me we will soon be glad

[Carlas]

It was dark in the deep hall where many of the orcs stood crowded together. Even the torches did not give enough light for any man to see more than a few meters in every direction, but the orcs of Moria were used to the dark. Their large eyes probed the crowd, catching even the faintest ray of light.

Most of the orcs stood, grumbling about how coming had been a waste of time or fighting amongst themselves as always. It was nearly impossible to have a large group of orcs and not have any fighting, especially while the Chief and his more loyal soldiers were days away, on the other side of Moria. Most had thought it quite strange that he had left, he had always preferred to remain down at this end, but after awhile most just dismissed it and took advantage of the opportunity to do what they pleased. It had been quite chaotic for the past couple of days, but Gorzag had done his job and everyone, or mostly everyone had shown up for the meeting.

Nazklash stood silently against the wall, looking out over the group. He was excited to show the others what an exceptional leader he would be, and how he would not keep them all in here to rot away, but have them go around attacking villages and really have some fun. He could just imagine himself before a cheering group of orcs, yet…he was a little worried. Many of the larger orcs had never looked kindly upon him, they had more than once tried to kill him, but he had always been able to trick them into thinking he had run one way, while he had really gone another. This time though, if they did not want to follow him, there would be too many for him to get away.

Lugnush walked over and looked down at Nazklash, telling him it was time they should start. Nazklash nodded and the two walked over to the front of the company, and climbed up onto a large stone that had fallen from the wall. Nazklash smiled to himself as he got up and looked over the large group before raising his hands and shouting out into the great hall.

“Orcs of Moria!” He bellowed loudly. The room slowly became silent as the orcs looked over, curious to see why such a small orc was standing before them. “ We’ve been stuck ‘ere in this ‘ole for way too long, sent to keep watch out for trespassers that’ll never come! Why? Cause ‘a the Chief. He sits around all day and doesn’t do nothin, an makes us run around doing his bidding! He’s no good, and we ‘ave to get rid of him!”

A large orc near the front starting laughing a deep throaty laugh. He was covered in scars and gashes and even though he was laughing, he did not seem amused. “An you think yer the one to lead us, eh? What makes ya think we’ll follow you!”

Nazklash glared down at the orc. “Ya think you can lead? Leaders need to ‘ave brains, unlike the most of you! You couldn’t lead a group from one end of this hall to the other!” The orc below growled loudly and started to push through the orcs infront of him, but was stopped by a much taller orc. This orc wasn’t covered in scars like the other, but he looked just as tough and maybe even stronger.

“If yer so much smarter than the rest ‘o us, what’re yer plans for killing the Chief?” Nazklash smiled, barring his large, pointed teeth. “The plans simple really, but if ya don’t do it right, all of ya will be dead when the chief gets ‘is hands on you! But if ya follow me, we won’t ‘ave to stay in this dump any longer!” Nazklash looked out over the group as the orcs started to talk amongst themselves.

[Saraphim]

"Oi! Balin!" said Narin loudly, causing the entire company to turn to him. "I don't see that there's anything to discuss. Aughtn't we simply retrace our steps and look for the path again? We gave those pointy-eared elven girlies something to think about, and I don't think the'll be back without reinforcements, which I don't see happening before we get out of this accursed forest."

Some of the dwarves murmered in agreement, especially at the phrase accursed forest, and bgan to argue once more among themselves and with Balin, but not all.

One whispered something to his friend that sounded slightly like unenlightened warmonger. Narin elbowed his way over to him, lifted him up by the collar, and said:

"Do you like the look of my face, laddie?"

The young dwarf looked at the scarred and bruised face of Narin and shooked his head violently.

"That is simply too bad. Because if I ever catch you talking about me, or any one of your elders like that again, I will make your nose even more off center than mine."

He dropped the unfortunate dwarf in a clang of chain mail, and turned around. Narin knew, beneath his blazing temper, that he would have to pay for his actions, but his anger was assauged a bit to know that the uppity dwarf was still quivering.

[Melisil]

"Oi! Balin!" called Narin loudly, causing several Dwarfs, including Loni, to look over at him, "I don't see that there's anything to discuss. Aughtn't we simply retrace our steps and look for the path again? We gave those pointy-eared elven girlies something to think about, and I don't think the'll be back without reinforcements, which I don't see happening before we get out of this accursed forest."

"I agree," Loni stated, "We ought to turn back. But we won't! We must keep going onward. If those pointy eared, yellow skinned, chicken livered, girly Elfs see us turning back- well, I for one would not like to be around them then. Oh how their pretty little ego's would be raised, if you all see. It won't be right to turn back, even if it is 'smart'. Those tree-hoppers are everywhere, if you know." he turned to Narin, "Narin lad, I agree with what your saying 'n all, but I cannot afford my honour by those pale-faced lizards mocking us in their turf.

Once we're in Moria, on the other hand," he continued, a large grin spreading across is face, "Then, I would like to invite these wrinklin' Elfs over. But not 'ere Narin. All we have to do is let them come."

A couple Dwarfs nodded in agreement, while others retalied with their own arguments. Narin's face was unreadable. Loni pulled him over to the side, "No 'ard feelings at me disagreeing and all, right?"

[Orofaniel]

The meeting had finally begun. Lugnush had been careful not to stand too near Nazklash, in case the whole meeting would turn into one big fight, and Nazklash would let it all go out on him. However, until now, it had gone pretty good. Of course some of the Orcs were eager to know why Nazklash had the guts to stand against the Chief. They also wanted to know how Nazklash was planning to kill him.

While some of the Orcs were questioning Nazklash, Lugnush used the opportunity to ask Uzgash, who was standing next to him, whether he had a good plan. Uzgash grumbled something about that he didn't really care how the Chief was killed, nor by whom he was killed; "..As long as he's outta 'ere, with his head apart from 'is body, I don't care whom kills 'im.." he muttered, sounding a bit pleased over his comment. Lugnush nodded and laughed as evilly as he possibly could. It sounded horrible, so he stopped after a few moments. His one eye then moved towards Nazklash, who was still being questioned by some of the other Orcs.

"What do you reckon' he's up too?" Lugnush asked Uzgash, as he noticed that also Uzgash was trying to pay attention to what Nazklash and the others said. "I mean, he ought to 'ave some sort of plan....don't ya think?" Lugnush continued, still not moving his eye away from Nazklash. He didn't want to miss any of his moves...

"I 'unno...and as I said, I don't really care...just get it ova with it.." Uzgash said, now seeming a bit irritated.

Suddenly there seemed to be a roar in the front there, Nazklash had been pushed into an unpleasant position where the Orcs were standing around him, forming a circle. " 'ey!" Lugnush cried and walked up. The Orcs surrounding Nazklash turned around and looked at him. "What?!?" The biggest Orc growled.

"Is there a problem?" Lugnush asked walking yet another step nearer Nazklash and the other Orcs.

"No, no problems.." Nazklash muttered, seeming afraid to say something wrong. Nazklash’s attitude was highly uncommon, and it all pointed to one direction; he was scared. He'd probably said something stupid which had made the other Orcs angry or annoyed. "Yes, in fact there is a problem!" The big Orc said and turned to Nazklash, looking at him angrily. "He won't tell us who’s going to kill the Chief!" another Orc said and stepped forwards, also he seemed angry.

"All in it's time you filthy Orc!" Nazklash growled. Nazklash didn't seem to be afraid anymore, just angry and humiliated. How did those filthy Orcs dear threaten him? Lugnush thought, even thought he knew this probably wasn’t the case…at all. "But we want to know NOW!" The Orcs growled back. This made Nazklash even more angry and stout hearted so he punched one of the Orcs in the face. The first blood drop had been spilt...

The meeting had turned to that point where the next comment would be significant for whether the Orcs would cooperate and would succeed killing the Chief, or if the whole meeting would end up like a huge blood bath.

It didn't take long before Nazklash drew his breath to say something. It was amazing how he could have punched down one of the Orcs without getting punched back, Lugnush thought. This symbolized his greatness and the huge influence and power he possessed.

When Nazklash heard some murmuring in the left corner, he narrowed his eyes. "If all of you nasty Orcs in the corner there could shut your filthy Orc mouths, it would be much easier for me to talk!!!!" Nazklash cried as spitted in that direction, just to show how disgusting he thought they were. The Orcs in the corner started to blame one an other for the talking, so it didn't get quiet right away. This was when Lugnush had to make his way through the crowd and break one of the Orc's arms. That was when the silence fell, finally.

"Well, well..." Nazklash started. He was back to his normal; confident, strong and harsh, even though his physical form is rather small compared to some of the other Orcs.

"As for the killing of the Chief, I do have an Orc in mind though..." Nazklash finally announced, laughing in his own cruel way. The Orcs settled down a bit and waited.

[Imladris]

Oranor, 2989

What a beastly time we’re having, to put it lightly. Lost in murky Mirkwood, an elf at our heals who could lead us straight except that Balin is too proud to ask for directions. So we’re just sitting here…waiting…waiting for Balin to think up some clever plan…waiting…waiting…for the spiders to smell our tender flesh. I hope that some sense at least will find its way into Balin’s mind. I know that I should not speak of this in the journal (thank Eru that most dwarves cannot read the elvish hand), but I don’t think it was wise venturing into Mirkwood. One would have thought that he would have learned from past experiences…

Oranor, 2989 -- Later

Of all the blasted things I’ve heard this week -- nay this day, I swear that this is the worst of them all. Balin has decided to let three dwarves “scout” Mirkwood as if this dratted forest is scout-able. They’ll more than likely run into a spider’s web or loose themselves and die of starvation under the trees -- but that would never happen because some monstrous creature will nab them first.

Orithil, 2989

I’m still trying to decide whether I should scold Balin or celebrate. The three dwarves did scout and yes they did get captured. But they weren’t rescued by us, but by Lînsie and her elf customer. Now there is a dwarf that has some sense. He’s not looking for arguments but is anxious to keep the peace -- even though her reason is strictly business. If it hadn’t been for them, they’d be being digested in a spawn of Ungolient’s stomach right about now. Balin, for honor’s duty, refused to ask the elf for directions. At least he managed a stiff sort of thank you, but still…

Orbelain, 2989

It’s been a bit odd…strange, ghostly voices have been echoing around us, or shouting insults at us depending on its mood. I don’t know why I think this, but I suspect that the elf has something to do with it. Balin probably knows this as well, which is why he is following the voice.

Orgilion, 2989

We made it out of Mirkwood…finally. Sent the raven to King Dain to tell him the news.

Oranor, 2989

It rained today, making our cram somewhat soggy and thus more chewable…but it was as if we were eating paste, which is still better than starving. Loni and Frar went hunting and managed to catch a relatively plump hare which did brighten up the dank evening. Nali sung songs about the fire. I am concerned about Nali -- he seems so strange at times. Sometimes a strange light comes into his eyes…once he seemed to totter back towards Erebor, but, with great force of will, he came back to us. I do not doubt his bravery as he was highly spoken of back in the Lonely Mountain.

[a period of about a month was soiled by the rain]

Ormenel, 2989

We are finally here. A dead silence hangs in the air and Nali and Floi reported signs of orcs near the Great Gates. We plan to enter them by dawn. Broad steps, carved from the mountain’s rock, leads up to the gate. They are crumbling from age and weather and harmful insects…I fear that Khazad-dum has already crumbled beyond repair.

[Amanaduial the archer]

"We have news, your Majesty!"

The great double doors at the far end of Dain's stone hall flew open dramatically as a flustered courtier burst in, a scroll crumpled in one upheld fist. Dain, seated on his throne at the other end of the hall, surrounded by three advisors, rose immediately, his bushy brows lowering and meeting in the middle like a malevolent caterpillar. His hands gripped the arms of his throne as he glared icily at this intruder upon the ceremony of his courtroom.

"What is the meaning of this impudence?!" he bellowed. Courtiers quailed.The advisors each made the well informed choice to discreetly take a few steps backwards. Nearly one hundred disapproving glares settled on the dishevelled individual at the end of the hall, framed stoutly in the arch of the huge doors. But the dwarf didn't seem put down; he gave the scroll another wave as he continued.

"But your majesty - this news is from the company of Balin!"

Immediately Dain's countenance changed as his eyebrows shot up, azure eyes wide in surprise. Around the courtoom, a murmur rippled like wildfire, and even the advisors exchanged shocked looks; it had been over two months since the last word from Ori. Dain had to raise his voice over the rest as he beckoned the dwarf hastily, clearing his throat which at first had not yielded any words.

"Well, come on then, man! Tell me - no, tell all of us what they say!" he implored, settling back in his seat. The courtier paused nervously, then faced the courtroom, half turned to the king but allowing all to hear, before he cleared his throat and smoothed the scroll, holding it ceremoniously in front of him. As he began to speak, his deep voice reverberated solemnly around the stone walls, the nervousness swallowed in the accoustics.

29 Ormenel 2989

From the company of Lord Balin son of Fundin to King Dain Ironfoot of Erebor.

"Yes, yes, get on with it..." Dain muttered impatiently. The courtier gave him a nervous glance, then continued. Dain settled back and let the words flow over him, closing his eyes, his fingertips pressed together in front of his bearded face.

My Lord and King Dain,

We have made it to the gates of Moria! The great kingdom, and all the treasures within now lie within our grasp, the grasp of our company and hence of Erebor, for this kingdom will once again be reigned over by the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain.

Ori keeps track of all of this in his diary - a large, leather bound journal. He is the one to chronicle our progress and when we return, you can see all that we achieved, for he seems to write in the minutest detail. Until then, my King, I shall not report every detail to you, for other things must take presidence at the moment: in the morning, we intend to cross through the Great Gates, resplendid in their ancient glory, and the image of what they will become under our rule!

May your anvils resound and your fields be plentiful.

Ever your servant,

Balin, son of Fundin.

Dain smiled to himself, opening his eyes as the narrator finished with a slight flourish on Balin's name. A sigh rippled around the room and once more the murmuring of the courtiers swelled up as each imagined what they would tell their grandchildren - imagine, that they were there when the arrival of the great Balin to Moria was announced! But the reader was not finished yet, it seemed, for he cleared his throat and began to speak again, over the rest.

"No, that is not all - your majesty," he added, hastily, with a nervous glance at Dain. "There is more, although it is in a different hand-"

Dain sat up slightly. "A different hand?" he inquired sharply. "Flowing, elegant?"

"Indeed, majesty," the dwarven courtier replied, surprised, as he glanced down at the scroll, then he cast a more appraising look at it. "My, it is fine indeed - and if it doesn't seem to be written in elvish runes!" He cleared his throat, peering at the letter as he opened his mouth to interpret the runes to the room in general, but Dain stopped him, rising sharply again with speed far beyond his age.

"No. No, I think that this part may be for myself," the King replied, stepping forward slightly. The courtier looked slightly put out, but covered it quickly as he nodded, slightly puzzled, and handed the scroll over to his King, bowing. Swelling visibly with pride, he sauntered back through the hall to his place, standing beside the rest. The dwarves tried to cover their excitement, but those closest began whispering to him excitedly, and others joined in, while the narrator bathed in their attention as others even began to leave their places to come closer.

But Dain didn't even seem to notice as he scanned Ori's smooth elvish script. He had expected the whole letter to be from his young friend and correspondant, but now he saw why Ori had chosen to write afterwards, and in a more secretive form. The young dwarf had always written well in elvish runes as well as dwarven, and even seemed to prefer them, whilst Dain had taken an interest in languages when younger, finding them useful for both politics and trading with other nations, as well as being something to occupy his sharp mind. These things went together well and made for a perfect way for the pair to communicate more mysteriously without the aid of anything as obviously secretive as an actual created code or cipher. As Dain scanned the letter, he realised why Ori had chosen to write like this, latching onto odd words and phrases.

Decrepit....

...the Great Gates are crumbling and worn...

I know not how we will manage to breach the gates if anything does indeed reside within, for the high walls (unusually high for a kingdom of our people) are dotted with holes....and I fear something...does reside within...

...I fear Khazad-dum may already be crumbled beyong repair...

Dain sighed slightly and turned quickly to face his chaotic courtroom. "Fetch me that raven!" he bellowed. "And clear this room!"

[The Perky Ent]

They spiders, they all should die,
as they captured and tried to kill me like a fly!
But i escaped, and now were gone,
and soon we'll be near the riches i faun.
Out of the forest we traved to
the Misty Mountains, white and blue.
And up the steps we go,
and surely we will find great woe
but until then i will trod on my tip toe

[Carlas]

The great hall had become silent as the orcs stood silently, waiting to hear what Nazklash had planned. Many of them still had doubts about Nazklash, he was so much smaller than other orcs but his stare was hard and firm, and none at that moment dared to make a sound.

Nazklash once again took his place on the large boulder facing the crowd of orcs and stood as tall as his small back would permit. He stared out over the large group and smiled a hideous smile that could hardly be seen in the dim lighting of the hall. Nazklash had always known he could lead the armies in Moria better than the chief, or perhaps anyone, but he had never imagined that he would one day actually be standing infront of the orcs like this, with their full attention. Everything had happened so fast that he had hardly even had the chance for it all to sink in, but now was not the time to think on such things, he had to get the meeting going again.

“You all know tha the chief has gone off with some of his best, and most loyal soldiers. There’s no way that we could beat ‘em in a normal fight, even with all of us ‘ere, their some of the strongest and smartest orcs in Moria. What we need to do, if we want any chance a winning, we need to surprise ‘em, so they don’t have a chance to prepare ‘emselves…”

Just before Nazklash could utter the next word, he heard a loud grunt coming from one of the orcs near the front. He looked down and saw a relatively small orc with only his left eye with which to see and almost half his index finger cut off. “An how do we do that?” The orc asked loudly, so that everyone else could hear. “They’ll know something’s wrong if they come here and they can’t find noone cause we’re all hiding ready to fight. An there’s no way to travel in these halls without those other orcs hearing us coming.”

“I know that! You just wait ‘til I finish talking before you start askin’ questions that already ‘ave answers!” Nazklash snapped at the orc sharply. The orc shut his mouth quickly and looked to the side, annoyed but not willing to argue again.

Nazklash watched the orc for a moment before looking back over the group. He scowled and started to speak, but with more authority then before. “The chief should be comin’ back tonight, so we don’t ‘ave long to get ready, so you better pay attention and no more interruptions unless it’s somthin thats actually important.” He looked around at the faces of the orcs in the group and continued on once he knew everyone understood. “There’s a large passage only about a half hours march away and it’s the only way for ‘em to get from there to ‘ere unless they want it to take another 3 days. The passage is filled with lots of columns and rocks that ‘ave fallen from the walls. We can wait there for ‘em to come and all of ‘em to be in there, then we can attack ‘em from above, behind, and infront, trap ‘em completely”

Nazklash saw many orcs in the crowd smile darkly as they realized that the plan could actually work, if done right, but they also knew that one slip up could cost them a lot. Nazklash continued on. “Now we don’t have much time, you can either stay ‘ere , or come with me and finally be able to kill the chief! But anyone who does stay ‘ere will be killed the moment we get back.” He paused. “So, if you’re comin, get your armor and start preparing to fight!”

The large mass of orcs immediately started to move in two different directions. The larger group started to head to where their armor was kept, and a much smaller group started to leave the hall. Nazklash watched the group carefully before walking over to Lugnush. “Go around and head ‘em off, kill ‘em.” Lugnush smiled his hideous, twisted smile before gathering some orcs quickly and heading off down a smaller passage. Nazklash watched as the last orc was swallowed by the darkness of the passageway before he went to see how the other orcs were coming along.

[Imladris]

The sun flashed between the mountain crags as it rose into the sky, pushing the grey dusk before it. Below, in the dwarves’ camp, a thin rabbit rotated upon a make-shift spit. Herbs were rubbed into the flesh and the aroma was tantalizing. Loni was busy frying some sausages in a skillet one of the dwarves had thought to bring along, while Flori, Ori, and Balin were holding a sort of counsel among themselves.

“We should send some dwarves to scout,” Flori said glancing at the high walls.

“I don’t think that’s really necessary,” said Balin, his eyebrows squinting in the sun. “Besides, it would be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” asked Ori. “They would be in stealth, while the whole of us could well enough catch the attention of anything that might be lurking in the dark caverns of Moria.”

Balin nodded, and said, “Yes…there is that. But consider it this way: three dwarves are much more easily surprised, routed, and slain than the rest of us combined. I think we would have a better chance if we attacked at once.”

Flori glanced at Ori and then said softly, “I think you’re making a mistake, Balin.”

“We have what…fourteen dwarves? Say that three were either slain or injured if they were attacked. That would bring the number down to eleven making our force even weaker if there be enemies to fight, which I highly doubt.”

Flori shrugged, and said, “As our leader, we must abide with what you say.”

There was a short pause before Ori said, “I’m going to have a bit of breakfast.”

“After everyone is done eating we will attack or merely enter the Mines, depending on what fortune has placed in our way,” said Balin with a smile.
~~~~~~~
Packs slung across their backs, axes newly sharpened gripped firmly in their hands, the dwarves marched towards the Great Gates. The air was very still, shadows mottled the crumbling steps. Balin decided to consider the stillness as result of empty caverns of Moria rather than as a warning about what may be waiting for them in the dark shadows.

The Gates were in a sad state of disrepair. They sagged upon their tarnished hinges and the rotten wood of the gates was warped from sun, wind, and snow. Balin gazed upon them, mentally determining that the Gates should be among the first things to be fixed once they were settled in Dwarrowdelf.

There was a soft whistle, and crude arrow, fletched with black feathers, arched from the ramparts of the walls, and landed with a shrill ping against Balin’s helmet.

[Taralphiel]

Maron Sandbrace

"My boots are itching to be off" he grumbled to himself.

Maron was not the tallest of the company, and in the middle of the fray he could see very little. But the mountain looming over him was enough to send a rush through his blood and put a grin on his face.

"We're so close! Let us be off soon!"

Overall Maron had still not done justice on the trip. He sat with a sullen expression while they were in Mirkwood, and did not need to bother raising his axe in the talk with those Elf-folk. Truth be told he had spoken to very few, save maybe Oin, and that had been before the start of their journey.

'Well, I was not here to be jester, nor center of a party" he thought "I am here for True Silver, as are all that came here. I wont forget that..."

His mind caught up, he landed square into the back of the dwarf in front of him. With a mutter of apology, he did not look up to see some of the dwarves were on edge. It seemed something had happened up front. He heard the whizz of an arrow and gulped...

[mark12_30]

She didn't even look up; she took her battle-axe in one hand, snugged the chinstrap of her helmet, and resettled the pack on her back. Then she stepped forward beside Ori, and that was when she looked. But the opponents were not yet showing themselves. She wondered how many there were. Then she glanced at the arrow that had pinged off of Balin's hellmet. An orc-arrow. She had expected nothing else.

She glanced to her right and left. Fourteen dwarves. She tried not to be pessimistic; but who knew how many enemies lay in wait ahead? She glanced at Balin, and gripped the handle of her axe with both hands.

[Saraphim]

The unmistakable sound of an arrow reached Narin's ears. He had been stuffing his face with sausages. (A major staple of food on the entire journey, thanks to the foresight of Loni. )

The offending arrow bounced off of Balin's helm, and Narin's first wild thought was that elves were out to destroy all of Balin's respective headgear. Then logic took over and he realized that elves would not come near Moria if thier scented hair oils depended on it.

"Orcs," he said needlessly, and unhooked his axes. Everyone else was on alert, eyes scanning the pockmarked walls of the old city frantically, attempting to find the bowman.

Narin found Loni behind a rock with a few others, some of whom had bows of thier own drawn.

"Well, Loni, it looks like we might actually see some fighting after all," He sighed, "I had been hoping the bloody goblins would leave us be, but as it stands..." He did not have to finsh the sentence. Loni nodded grimly.

"Look at it this way," Narin said, "If we win this, Moria and all its spoils are ours,"

[Pyroclastic]

Uzgash watched the orcs mass toward the armor chambers. He knew he should be excited and enthused about the impending ambush, but it all seemed so petty now. He had gone to the meeting in full armor, anticipating that there might be some trouble, but for the most part it had been fairly peaceful. Now the orcs were trouping out, on their way to the massacre. Uzgash had had enough. So many squabbles, and he had allowed himself to get sucked into one at last. No. This was not how he was going to live his life, always sneaking around, never actually doing anything. That was the behavior of a stinking Elf. No, that would not be him. He picked up his axe, a double headed one he had taken from a hidden Moria Armory, and began walking. He was leaving Moria for good. This was it, the end of Moria at last. The captain almost smiled.

As he approached the gates Uzgash’s mood deteriorated quickly. Where were the guards? He heard an orcish shriek, followed by a deep "ARRAGHHH! Take that!" Dwarves! Uzgash slowly peered around the gate, taking survey of the battle. A small band of Dwarves was being beaten back by the Moria guards. The guards were ill prepared however, and had become separated into scattered small groups. Uzgash stepped out of the Moria Gate and leered down at the Dwarves below. At last! Some real fighting! Now this was life for an orc!

[Orual]

Óin had been lost in thought for a long while since they had parted with the Elves. A sick feeling had been rising in him, some sort of foreboding. It was not his previous grumpiness or obstinance. It was something different entirely.

He watched the other Dwarves as they carried on their way, and the sick feeling grew stronger. Nothing good would come of this trip. He thought of his young nephew, Gimli, and wondered what he was doing. If he'd only stayed home, he might know.

Caught in the middle of these thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard an arrow whiz by Balin's head. Orcs, he thought, his heart dropping to the toes of his thick, sturdy boots. He heard his thought echoed by Narin.

"If we win this, Moria and all its spoils are ours," Narin cried, and Óin groaned, but it was half-hearted.

"If we lose, all our toil was for nothing," he added in an undertone. The comfort he usually derived from his moaning and peevishness was gone. He clutched the hilt of his axe tightly. Now for it, he supposed...

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik was nearly quivering with excitement as they neared the gates of the ancient citadel, but held his composure. What would the beardlings, let alone the more elderly dwarfs of the lot, think if they saw him give way to such impulses? They would laugh like drains.

In one hand he grasped his great axe, using its shaft as a walking stick of sorts. His bag was slung on his back and he was wearing his full suite of armour. On his head was perched the winged helmet, incorporating the terrifying war-mask he had made as a gesture of respect to all those ancient dwarfs who had fallen in the long years of war that had slowly eaten away at the dwarf race.
Suddenly there was a metallic ping a little to his left. Turning his head he saw an arrow rebound from Balin's helmet. He saw one of the young 'uns pick it up, and noticed the black feathers that had been used for the arrow flights. He did not need the collective cry of 'Orcs!' to tell him what they faced in the depths.

He reached up and pulled down the mask. It was made of the finest steel, polished to shine like a mirror, and carved in the likeness of a roaring, guttural stone statue. His beard flowed from beneath it like a white river, the gold and bronze rings gleaming in the late sunlight.
He gripped his axe with both hands, brandishing it aloft as a challenge to their hidden agressors.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!". The guttural roar rang from his throat. Atlast, a real fight!

[The Perky Ent]

Orcs flew out from the mountain like snow on a mountain. It was all very poetic to Nali. So poetic, that Nali almost didn't want to pull out his ax and fight. But duty calls. The dark night blinded some orcs from Nali's eyes, and if it wasn't for the "Look out!" cry from Ori, Nali would be a forgotton name.

Just as Ori had screamed, a large fat orc jumped from behind Nali. In a swift movement, Nali brandished his ax and sliced the orc literaly in two, while he was still in mid-air. The two pieces of orc body plumited from the air as a fountain of blood gushed from the twisted body. "At last! This is what i wanted to see on my ax!" Nali said as more orcs ran to the battle.

At this point, all the dwarves were involved in their fight. As another orc ran at Nali, Nali stood without moving. As the orc was inches from his face, Nali pulled out his faithful club and wacked the orc across the face, killing him. "Two!" Nali said as he heard echoes from the others. "4" "1" "7" "6" "2" It looked like the other dwarves were having sucess.

"Ori, what is your count?" Nali asked looking for Ori. "Ori? Ori?!?" Ori was nowhere to be seen. After a minute of looking, it appeared that an orc had pinned his down. Without a second of hesitation, Nali thew his ax, which planted in the back of the orcs head. As Nali removed his ax, he found Ori, lying. Eyes closed, but still beathing. "Ori!" Ori woke up. "Nali? Nali is that you? Don't worry i'm fine....he just....suprised me!" Nali gave a smile. "Well then, i guess we're even now!" "Guess so!" "Common, there's orcs to kill.

And as Ori got up, they re-joined the battle before the gate.

[Orofaniel]

Lugnush liked the thought of a real Orc battle, and ran off to gather some Orcs that were ready to kill. "’urry!" Lugnush cried trying to sounds a bit bossy. It worked because the Orcs were now storming towards him. "Let's make it painful..." One of them said evilly. The others laughed brutally while thinking about this. "Let’s break their filthy necks, and then lets...chop 'em! All of 'em!" He continued, now seeming proud over his own proposal. Lugnush didn't think this was a bad suggestion either so he decided that this was the way they were going to do it.

"Let’s do just that," Lugnush said, while he felt a sudden satisfaction.

"Take your weapons…. and only use 'em for killin'.." Lugnush said finally, trying to sound funny. The others growled and picked up their weapons. "..and, we'll do it as this Orc 'ere said earlier.." Lugnush continued pointing at the Orc that come with the brilliant suggestion. "Aye!" They replied in choir. "Then march on you filthy Orcs!" Lugnush commanded. He felt powerful and this delightened him. The Orcs were soon walking while humming merrily; ”Chop chop chop..”

It didn't take long to kill the Orcs that had turned their backs on Nazklash. Much blood had been spilt from both sides, but none that Lugnush had set out to kill had survived, which was a good sign indeed.

When it was finished, Lugnush ordered some of the remaining Orcs to clean up the mess; the rest of them followed Lugnush back to Nazklash. On the way over to Nazklash they were shouting about victory and about the extraordinary battle. Never had Lugnush been prouder; here he was leading the great warriors of the battle into the hall. They were under his command - or they were, until Nazklash told them to "sod off".

"It's done," Lugnush said smiling at Nazklash. Nazklash however, didn't seem as happy as Lugnush would have thought, but it didn't really matter. "Good...good..." Nazklash said now, nodding sternly.

[Imladris]

Ori drove his axe blade into the belly of an orc. Black blood, with a dead bluish tint to it, spilled from his insides, staining the shining silver blade. What looked like large twisted worms began to seep from his torn stomach and Ori averted eyes to the orc’s face.

His eyes were a sickly yellow, the black pupil a diamond shape. His fingers, adorned with talon-like nails, scrabbled at his belly, pushing the worms back in. Blood specked foam dripped from his yellowed fangs as he barred them at Ori, his limbs gathering for a final spring like the wargs at the Lonely Mountain would prepare to tear the throats of men. Ori shuddered and, with a quick swing, lopped the orc’s head from his neck.

The orcs were tumbling from the broken gates and sprinting across the rocks. Balin, with a mighty roar, swung his axe right and left. Orcs fell beneath his arm like wheat felling before a farmer’s sickle.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí was terrified. She had her hand axes, but she didn't know how to use them! Of course she scolded herself, reminding herself that it was her decision to go along on the adventure. Still, Malí didn't know what to do and watched, jaw dropped, as the other dwarves attacked the orcs.

In her mind Malí calculated how many orcs there were, and at the rate the other dwarves were fighting how long it would take for all the orcs to be taken care of. Too long, Malí decided, and did her best with her axes. She clumsily chopped and hacked randomly, hitting air most of the time. On a rare and joyously surprised occasion she would nick an orc, perhaps give a small flesh wound, but Malí was unable to deliver fatal blows to any orc. I wish I could be more of a help around here... Malí thought frantically as she hopped away in time to avoid a crazed orc.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik met the slash of an orc scimitar with the blade of his axe. Spark's flew as steel forged by the finest craftsmen in the world collided with the black iron the spawn of Morgoth used for their ill-made weapons. The two enemies glared at each other with a savage wrath, red orbs of evil matching the dwarf's steel-blue eyes for hatred.
With a mighty roar Alrik pushed aside the orcs weapon, exploiting the gap in his opponents guard and caving in his head with his axe-blade. Without pause he charged his next chosen target.

In the brief moment that separated one kill from the next, he looked around to see how his comrades were doing. The carnage was utter, entrails and blood making the very face of the mountain slippery as a riverbed. The dwarves, driven by years of hatred, had formed a vedge of steel which broke through the orc mob time and again like a ship crashing through the waves. Even the beardlings were proving their mettle, and he could see no-one in need of his help. Then he glanced to his right.
The lassie, Malí, was barely holding her own against a large orc armed with a wicked-looking mace. Acting without pause, Alrik began to hack his way towards the young dwarf maiden.

An orc jumped onto his path, wielding a crude axe and screaming incoherent challenges in its evil tongue. Alrik sidestepped slightly, moving away from the point of impact, and chopped through the back of his opponents knee, hamstringing it. As the creature toppled to its knees he chopped downwards, splitting its spine lengthwise. The orc flopped wildly in a final burst of energy and slipped to the ground.

Before he could resume his charge towards young Malí's opponent, he felt something barge into himself and his axe was sent slipping from his grasp. A weight fell upon him and he could smell the fetid breath of his assailant. Grappling with the orc, he tried to desperately reach for his blade.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Certainly the fear on Malí's face was evident when a huge orc came fumbling towards her. However, the look of relief and appreciation soon took over as Alrik so kindly stepped over to intervene. This look was also replaced by another as Alrik became lodged underneath an orc with his weapon cast away from his grasp. Malí thought quickly, debating inwardly whether running would be a good thing to do at a time like this.

Instead, Malí cried out as menacingly as she could and dove for Alrik's weapon. She raised the ax up over Alrik and his assailant, and when Alrik was not in her view and all she would see was the back of the orc, Malí slammed down the ax and lodged it deep into the orc's back. The thing squirmed for a moment, and then fell limp on top of Alrik. Malí helped the dwarf shove the orc off him, and helped Alrik to his feet. For once, I did something right besides solving an equation! Malí thought.

Alrik smiled momentarily and withdrew his ax from the large orc. "Thank ye, lassie." He said, patting Malí's shoulder. Dazed, Malí replied, "No, thank you!" Malí was glad to be alive, more than anything else.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Having heard the sound of arms clashing from the gates of Moria, Flói rushed to his comrades' aid. Orcs poured out from the gate, in an attempt to drive them back from the gates. Not a chance. He grasped his axe tighter.

The Orcs seemed to avoid him, going instead for his companions. He stood in the midst of the battle a little miffed. An Orc passed close by.

"Hey!" he shouted to the Orc, "get your ugly face in here!"

The Orc turned to his direction, and saw the gleam in Flói's axe. He faltered, and started to run. The Dwarf gave chase.

As they approached Durin's stone, he felt that his prey was not alone. Out of the rocks a troll jumped suddenly. Flói had narrowly missed the bulk of the monster bearing him down to the ground. With his foe slow to get up, Flói raised his axe, and, with all his might, clove its head asunder. Black blood gushed from the severed neck, and he was glad. Then he heard a sound that resembled the wind rushing, and felt a sharp pain in his chest . He turned around.

The Orc had a bow in hand, and an arrow had been loosed upon him. Flói fell silently to the ground, his eyes last looking upon Mirror Mere.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik grasped his fathers axe once more and scanned his surroundings for a suitable target. There were plenty of those to go around, certainly, but he really should not leave the lass, Malí, alone. He made a snap decision.

"Stay with me!". He shouted so that she could hear him over the din of battle. Acting without a moments pause he shoulder-charged the nearest orc, sending it sprawling to the ground and proceeding to hack appart it's prone form. The lassie was right on his heels.
That was good. Now he could guard her, and he had someone to guard his back and shout a warning if a foe were to try and take him unawares.
Another orc came for him, trying to spear him with it's curved scimitar. Froth bubbled from the creatures lips, indicating a battle-frenzy bordering on madness.

He swung his axe in a horizontal arc, deflecting the blade from himself, and rammed the top of his axe-blade into his assailants face. The orc tottered backwards with blood pouring from it's broken nose. A powerful blow from Alrik's axe split the creature open from throat to groin.
He saw the much-depleted mob of orcs beginning to loose heart from the vantom slaughter wreaked upon them by the vengefull dwarves. The battle was still in the balance though, for if they gave their foe enough time to rally their troops and organize suitable resistance it was very likely that the dwarves would be the ones driven from Moria. The fight needed to be solved quickly.

He gave a deep, guttural roar through his war-mask, causing a couple of his opponents to flinch back. Deciding to make good use of this weakness Alrik charged.

[mark12_30]

Lîn pulled her axe free from her fourth dead orc, and suppressed a grunt of pride. Time later to celebrate when they had all survived the battle, she thought grimly.

She saw Oin off to one side, and Alrik off to the other, leaving piles of bodies around them. "Now don't be selfish, there's enough for us all, " she thought with a smile. Another orc charged her, but she sidestepped and swung, and black blood told her she had found her target. Five.

A little to her left stood Narin, who had done his share of damage. As she pulled her axe free, she saw that two-- no, three orcs were charging him at once. "Two more-- Too three-- augh, kill them!" she shouted. Alrik heard her. Turning across her body, Lîn swung at the nearest one. Narin killed the one in the middle. Alrik turned also, and while he did not have time to swing at the third orc, his roar made the third orc glance sideways, and his scimitar missed its target. "Gah!" Narin said as it thudded into his shield, and then the third orc swung again. Awkwardly, Lîn caught the blow on her sheld, and then swung one-handed at the orc's face. She missed, but the orc was after her now.

That was his mistake, for he had forgotten Alrik. The orc fell headless.

Narin grunted his thanks, but more were coming.

"Six, " Lîn said, hefting her now-bloody axe.

"You'll do, son, " Alrik shouted, and then they were busy again.

[Imladris]

A rasping horn echoed through the mountain crags: a horn whose cry bade what remained of the orcs back into the belly of Moria. Balin leaned on the head of his axe and wiped his brow. Corpses dotted the rocks in the bright sun of the dale. Flies crawled within the blood caked wounds while vultures, crows, and ravens, circled over head. Ori’s raven alighted upon one orc carrion and plucked at the mottled flesh, but spitted it out in disgust.

The dwarves themselves had gotten off fairly well. A scratch here and there, a gash upon some limb. Balin nodded with approval, but frowned when he saw a tattered blue rag flutter from behind a boulder. … it was Floi. The corpse of a troll at his feet. Balin praised the dead dwarf for the brave deed, and mourned that he had fallen. He was the first of the company.

They buried Flói under the grass beside Mirromere.

[Saraphim]

Narin bowed his head as Floi was put to rest. While this was mainly a gesture of respect to the brave dwarf, it also served the purpose of hiding Narin's red face.

I wil never live this down. He thought, grateful that his surrounding comrades could not hear his thoughts. But it doesn't matter if thay can or not. They all saw the jewel-setter save my life. I'm just glad my brother isn't here. He'd never let me forget it. Not that I will anyway.

With effort, he pulled himself out of his shame. Balin was saying something about Floi, and Narin thought it would be best to listen.

[Taralphiel]

Maron

Maron stood in a strange daze as he saw one of the company being laid to rest. His axe still hung in his hand, still covered in black blood and mud. He did not know how he had made it through that battle. The flurry simply sent his axe moving, and sliding through orc-flesh. He noticed a good cut on his arm, but other than that very little to show.

Looking to the side, he saw a dwarf looking downcast at all that had come about. About to say something, he thought he heard Balin calling everyone together, and thought it best to listen.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik stood next to the grave of one of their comrades, Flói, his helmet in hand out of respect to the young one. It was sad to see one of their number fall this early in the expedition, but the thought of avenging him, if turned to the right direction, could be a powerfull ally indeed.

"Our path to glory has allways been opened with the blood and sweat of our kind, and paved with the bones of our enemies."

The words he had heard spoken, and spoken himself on several occasions, brought back to his mind the deaths of many a comrade he had witnessed during his career as a warrior. It was credit to the experience gained in a hundred battles that he had survived. And to that Malí girl, ofcourse. The thought almost made him feel embarassed, but he was thankfull for the young dwarf. He had survived to see the Truesilver, unlike poor Flói burried next to the Mirrormere.

He turned from the young dwarfs grave and walked away to the rest of the group.

[Pyroclastic]

"Tuurhuun! Tuuhurruunn!" A deep horn sounded across the slopes leading up to the gates of Moria. Uzgash blew it in vain hope of calling any surviving orcs back to the caverns. Though the dwarves had been few they had been tough, and Uzgash doubted that any of the scanty Moria gate guard had lasted the short battle. Uzgash wiped his ax on the grass while he waited for stragglers. They would return to Moria and regroup, but Uzgash wasn’t inclined to slaughter the Dwarves just yet. He wanted to know why they were there. Why return to Moria after all of these years? And why in such small force? Uzgash didn’t like the appearance of this, not at all.

The orc captain surveyed the remnants of the battle grimly. He hadn’t known any of the orcs on guard, but he had lost Grog. Once the dwarves had recovered from their surprise they had attacked with furry, and Uzgash had sent two of the orcs to get Grog before he had thought the action through. The Troll just hadn’t been trained enough for battle. Beyond eyesight Uzgash could hear the Dwarves holding a ceremony for their fallen. He heard one of the little creatures reciting a poem in honor of the dead. Uzgash snorted. Why did the elves and dwarves feud when they had so much in common? Always rhyming, always thinking that they’re better than everyone else. Well, they weren’t. Now the dwarves had come to invade Moria. His Moria. Uzgash felt a sudden loyalty to the place from which he had stormed out of not four hours ago. A bunch of short, fat, clumsy oafs with scruffy beards were going to just go and boot him and his fellow orcs out their caverns? Nope, not while Uzgash was around. He looked down at Grog’s massive body, blood still oozed from the troll’s severed neck. Several feet away Grog’s head lay, his eyes open and looking to the sky. He looked confused, as though he did not yet understand what had happened. Uzgash glanced over towards the unseen dwarves, still mourning their companion. Who cared about a miserable dwarf? Grog, now he had been a trouper. He deserved as much as that stupid dwarf was getting.

Deep in Khazad Dum
Grog was with out gloom.
But Moria needed his might
And so he met his plight.
He ended his life in glory
There is honor in the gory.

Uzgash smiled. No dwarf could top that. His friend properly laid to rest, the captain turned to trudge back to the depths of Moria. There was work to be done.

[The Perky Ent]

During the ceremony, many dwarves carried tears as Floi was put to rest. After the end of the cememony, Nali stepped foward and began to recite:

A brave dwarf Floi was in life,
so let us rest our axes and knifes,
to remember this fine fellow,
and from the gates of Moria let us bellow
A dwarf has died for the duty of his party,
and we all wish that he would be tarty,
to his journey to the beyond, great and far,
from the rising sun to the setting star,
Floi's body has flickered, it cannot be remade,
but his spirit shall live on, though his body laid,
and he will live on, in the great dwarven halls,
and so he will dance with others in the celestial ball.

Many, Lin in particular, gave great emotion to this matter. In a slow, soft voice, Balin gave the dwarves of Erebor words of advice. "We all knew it would happen, though we didn't know who. Men, we all knew what we were getting into." Nali was in a panic. He always knew something like this would happen. His mind was in an uproar. "This was all a terrible mistake. I never should have come." And with that, Nali started his walk back to Erebor.

"Nali! Nali wait! Come Nali. We'll be safe once inside the mountain! Come now!" shouted Ori chasing after Nali. Nali stopped for a moment and then started to walk back. "Don't worry Nali, we'll protect you!"

[Carlas]

The orcs were now fully prepared to leave the hall and make their way to where they would confront the chief and his soldiers when Lugnush finally returned from killing the others. Lugnush nodded to Nazklash as he came up to him, telling him that everything had gone fine, and they were dead. Nazklash returned to the rock that he had been standing on before and called for the orc’s attention.

“Alright, let’s get moving! But keep quiet!” He called out over the group as they started to head for the tunnel that would take them to where they would face the chief. He noticed as he watched the orcs leaving that some actually seemed to be excited. Nazklash nodded contentedly, things were actually going just as he had planned. He had been a little nervous about this meeting, so many things could have gone wrong, all ending in his death, he had almost thought about calling off the whole thing. Now he could not even believe how well everything had gone…but the best was yet to come, it was time to get rid of the Chief.

Nazklash dropped down off the rock and followed behind the large mass of orcs, smiling his dark, cruel smile.

~*~

The orcs had now made it to the large passage, and were all in their positions. It had taken a bit of time before everyone understood where they had to go, and what to do as Nazklash could not yell the plans to everyone, but had to go from group to group telling the plans so the Chief and his men would not hear them.

Now everyone sat quietly out of sight, straining their ears for any noise that would tell them of the Chief’s arrival. No one was sure when exactly he had planned to be back, but they had thought he would come a bit sooner than this. Nazklash was worried that the orcs would become restless, but he had told them that they must be quiet, or it could get them all killed. He hoped his words would not be forgotten.

The orcs sat for a time, heeding Nazklash’s words to be silent. They were all now completely bent on killing the chief, he had tormented them all ever since he had come to Moria, but he had always had the strongest of the orcs protecting him. No one had ever dared to lead a revolt against the Chief until now, and the orcs were nothing less than excited to finally be able to do what they had dreamed of for years. Kill the chief.

Nazklash suddenly sat up straight. A noise, he had heard a noise, could it be? He noticed the other orcs starting to perk up as they heard the noise too. Nazklash nodded at the orcs as they looked at him to confirm what they heard. The steady beat of iron boots hitting the floor. He was here.

[Imladris]

Orgilion, 2989,

We drove out orcs from the great gate and guard room -- we slew many in the bright sun in the dale. Flói was killed by an arrow. He slew the great troll. We buried Flói in the grass near Mirror mere. Balin gave an eulogy, in which he praised Flói’s braveness. We lopped the troll’s head, and impaled it upon a steak, which marks his grave. Balin, I think, is quite upset with his death…I honestly believe he thought Moria was just abandoned, and that no danger lurked there. Now he thinks it is just a handful of orcs to be gotten rid of…I hope he doesn’t do anything foolish.

Oranor, 2989

We mourned a day for Flói and to give a chance to heal the other dwarves’ wounds. It was a good decision, even though it gives the orcs a chance to gather their troops together and to come up with a devilish plan to exterminate us. But, honestly, orcs are not the brightest of folk and they certainly aren’t the best tempered.

Orithil, 2989

The orcs of the North End have been driven away. We have taken the Twenty-first Hall of North end to dwell in. There is a shaft that the morning sun pours through. Rather fitting since Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Orgaladhad, 2989

Dwarves have been scouting the North End -- some have even dared to explore the other, unknown parts of Moria. We have discovered gold and Óin discovered Durin’s Axe; he wandered far into Moria, and was beset by an orc scout, who shot his helm.

Oraearon, 2989

Balin is now lord of Moria.

Ormenel, 2990

Some orcs have been bold enough to attack us, but to no avail. We are too strong for them…I wonder how many of them scurry in the empty mine shafts. I am full of misgiving…we are few, yet why do not the orcs (if there are more) do not combine their strength and attack us?

Oranor, 2990

We have found Truesilver and weapons that are well forged. We have begun again to mine mithril. Balin sent Óin to seek for the upper armories of Third Deep, Frar and Loni were ordered to go westwards, to explore the way to Hollin Gate, and to reopen the gate.

Orithil, 2990

We have been trying to repair the great gates, but the orcs bother us, and tear down our work in the night. When we fire upon them, they slink off into their caves, and return again when we tire of waiting for them to appear. They never attack in the daylight, naturally. They are smart enough for that.

Ormenel, 2990

I have sent letters to the King, describing our progress.

Oraearon, 2990

Balin has been missing for the last two days. Today, he finally appeared. His face was haggard, smeared with dirt. His eyes glinted with fever, and he rubbed his hands as if he was toying with a ring -- yet there was no ring. I suspect he was searching for the Ring of Power.

Orithil, 2990

Nali and myself were exploring certain passages today, when we heard strange rumbles within the deep. There was also a drum…but the noises ceased after a few minutes. It seemed to announce our incoming doom -- but Balin passes it off as delusional fancies. There are nothing but orcs down there, he says. But his eyes have a faraway look to them. I believe he would go down to the deepest depths to find the Dwarven Ring.

Rodyn, 2991

A mine tunnel collapsed today, nearly suffocating Alrik and Oin. Mali looked over the crumbled structure, did some figures, and said bluntly that if it had not been tampered with, it would never have collapsed. There is no traitor among us -- a denizen of the deep did it. Balin refuses to leave. He will not eat, and his beard is falling out. He will not cease his feverish search. I wonder if the Ring is still here.

Orgilion, 2992

We have finally given up repairing the great gate. Mali figures that we have already rebuilt it three times, so Balin ordered it to stop.

Orithil, 2993

Linsie has been discovered to be a female dwarf. The details are rather hazy…but as far as I can figure, Narin and she got into a dreadful row, and fists flew. He knocked her false beard off.

[mark12_30]

By the light of a small lamp, Lînsie squinted at the vein of Mithril that shone in the rock. The Mithril was so much brighter than the surrounding rock, it was sometimes hard to see the rock itself, and she moved the lamp often. Sometimes she worried that she would lose a precious peice of the Mithril down the endless pit to her left. She was balanced on a narrow ledge, so she had a rope around her waist. The updraft from the pit made the lamp flicker.

She chipped and fussed at the rock around the vein. The Mithril did not give way. When all the rock was removed from a vein of Mithril, the vein stood out like a thin tree-branch, or a strand of hair, and then it had to be cut. She had nine foot-long strands in the pouch that she carried under her jacket; a fair day's work. She was getting weary, but she hated stopping even to eat.

She cast a glance over her shoulder; Narin worked perhaps fifty feet away. He treated her differently ever since he had knocked her beard off.

So did Balin. Now openly paternal, he had a tendency to lecture her; but with all his endless searching his lectures were short and absent-minded. She wished his attentions had been something other than paternal. Her father was right, he would have made a good match. But Balin's desire was for something in the caverns far below.

Frowning, she moved the lamp again. Several of the dwarves had complimented her lately, their courtesy tinged with shyness. But something held them back; perhaps it was the skirmishes with the orcs; or the distant rumblings in the deep; or that she still wore her beard, even to dig.

For his part, Narin hadn't complimented her at all.