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 ]