Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Orofaniel]

How many days had passed since the chief has fallen? Lugnush couldn’t remember. As a matter of fact, he didn't really bother to count either. The most important thing was that the Chief was slaughtered, and that there would be a new, and hopefully better time, in Moria. He laughed in an evil way as he thought about the Chief and about the battle that Nazklash, him and the other Orcs had won. Even tough he was uncertain of when the event had taken place he could remember the battle itself as it was yesterday.

Nazklash had given them all straight orders that all of them had to "Shut their filthy mouths while waiting for that foul Orc." (Meaning the Chief, Turgrog) If not, Nazklash had threatened them all to kill them the same way as he would kill the Chief. I would be painful, that he had assured them. There was nothing but silence from then on.

Since Turgog had arrived later than planned the Orcs soon got annoyed and doubted that the plan would work. But then, finally the Chief arrived. He was then unknowing, of course, that he would die that same evening.

Turgrog walked down the Hall with some of his guards. He seemed a bit annoyed, and commanded one of his guards to bring food and something to drink. The guard was afraid and certainly didn't want to disobey the Chief so he hurried out from the Hall right away. What the Chief didn't know, (nor the guard for that matter) was that Turgrog had just saved his life - well, if Nazklash’s plan went smoothly; No one that obeyed the Chief or was in his league would survive. This evening was going to be their last.

Nazklash stepped into the Hall, while the Orcs were waiting right outside, trying not to make the slightest sound. "I can see you're back...." Nazklash started. Even thought the Orcs were waiting just outside with the doors closed, it was easy for them to hear Nazklash voice. "Yes, even a filthier Orc than you would notice that," answered the Chief sternly.

This answer was to great amusement for the eavesdroppers outside. They tried to cover up their laughter by hushing at each other. They knew that the Chief would regret that insult pretty soon.

Nazklash smiled in a mischievous way. "Now now..." he laughed. "Is that an insult?" Nazklash asked teasingly. "If so, don't you have anything better than that?!" Nazklash growled. "Not now, you filthy Orc. I'm hungry and you ought to know better than to tempt the Cheif," he said angrily.

"Oh, then I apologise..." Nazklash said in a polite manner, and raised his hand. "I better go, so that you can enjoy your meal then, eh?" Nazklash proposed. Now The Chief seemed calm, and Nazklash thought this was amusing. Who wouldn't?

Nazklash waked with stern steps out the Hall trying to hide the smile that appeared around his mouth. Right before the exit, he turned and growled: "You'll never see daylight, nor nightfall ever again, you foul Orc! This is the time where you regret all your insults, and die in pain!"

Before the Chief could reply or say anything at all, the Orcs that were waiting outside stormed the Hall. Lugnush was one of the first in the rows and he ran towards the guards that were still too shocked to do anything. He killed one of the guards with his axe. The head rolled on the floor. Before Lugnush could look up, a guard has seized his axe and was now coming straight towards Lugnush. Luckily the guard missed him, and turned his back on Lugnush. He should never have done that because Lugnush was fast and hewed him in the back. The cry of pain roared in the great Hall.

"Do NOT kill the Chief! Take him alive!!!!!" Nazklash cried. He saw that the Chief had managed to escape and that he was running towards the stairs. "TAKE HIM!" Nazklash cried and pointed at some of the Orcs. "TAKE HIM!"

Shortly after, the Chief was handed over to Nazklash. He wasn't harmed, just as Nazklash wanted it. Meanwhile all the guards had been killed, or some of them may have escaped.

"Any last wishes?" Nazklash asked the chief innocently. He has been tied up and they had thrown him on the floor. He was lying in a circle of revengeful Orcs. There was absolutely no way out. The Orcs laughed at Nazklash little remark, but stopped when the Chief spitted in Nazklash face.

Nazklash hit the Chief in his skull, just to show him that he was in charge, and that spitting Nazklash in the face wouldn't be the wisest thing to do.

"Well, well...I promised you to do this as painfully as I possibly could..." Nazklash started, while the other Orcs laughed evilly. Nazklash raised his hand to make them shut up. Silence fell again before Nazklash continue; "We've decided to cut you....piece....by...piece....." Nazklash said teasingly, walking closer to the Chief, trying to look him in the eyes. "And, my fellow Orcs here have found a very merry " Nazklash didn't finish the sentence before the Orcs were growling;” CHOP CHOP CHOP!" Then they all laughed.

The Chief seemed scared after these words because he tried to escape. The ropes around his ankles and hands were soon tied all over again. "I hope you managed to do this properly this time then..." Nazklash growled at the Orc that had failed at tying the Chief up properly last time.

"Okay, as for the chopping...well, we've decided that each Orc will have the pleasure of cutting one piece each...from YOUR body, if I didn't make myself clear earlier..." Nazklash said and laughed at his own joke. The Orcs that surrounded the Chief seemed very pleased by this arrangement.

And then the chopping began. Nazklash was so decant to let Lugnush cut a piece from the Chief's body first. Lugnush went straight towards the head, but Nazklash told him to stop. "We'll not take the head first...he won't be able to watch his one limbs be cut off, if you do that. The whole point is that our Chief here is going to suffer....pain..great pain!" Nazklash suggested innocently. "Start with a finger...or an ear for example..." One of the Orcs in the crowd suggested.

Lugnush thought this was a rather good idea and went for one f the ear.

The rest is history. The Ors didn't quit know if the Chief died because of the great pain or if he died as a result of the great loss of blood.

**


Moments after they had thrown out the loose limbs, and got rid of the rest, Uzgash entered the Hall. First he seemed a bit disappointed that he'd missed the whole slaughter, but was cheered up when the Orcs gathered around him and told him everything in detail.

Uzgash had frankly forgotten what he was supposed to tell Nazklash, but when he remembered it, Nazklash looked worried. Dwarves had been too close...

When Lugnush again woke up from the day dreaming, Uzgash was poking him on his shoulder. "What do you want?" Lugnush asked. He felt annoyed by Uzgash suddenly interruptions and demanded to get an answer quick. "What?" he asked once again.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori came wearily up from the mines where he had been helping the others, wiping a worn rag across his face in an attempt to remove some of the dust from his eyes. As he crossed bridge, he couldn’t help walking a little faster than he had before, not looking down. It isn’t that I’m afraid…of course not…why, we have no idea if there even is anything to be afeared of in that deep, yawning chasm of darkness whose bottom is so shrouded in depth that no one would even hear you hit it if some being leapt out and grabbed you…

He shuddered, stopping his thoughts hastily as he came to the end of the bridge. Fool of a dwarf, he chuckled slightly to himself, shaking his head. Why, they had been here for years now: surely anything that terrible would have surfaced by now? The orcs had been driven off into hiding in some deep, dark place that the warrior didn’t like to trouble himself about, and had barely been seen over the last few weeks. Balin had optimistically declared them gone.

“Sometimes even the most craven beings know when to stop!” he had announced wisely to the other dwarves. Flori raised an eyebrow slightly even though he was alone – he wasn’t sure Balin was completely sure even in his own mind, but there had been something very heartening about hearing their Lord speak so solidly. And ‘Lord’ he was now, not just a lord of Erebor, but the master of Moria, and wielder of Durin’s axe. “Not that you’d suspect it had gone to his head at all,” murmured Flori to himself with a grin.

“Oh, now that is unkind, Flori Bronzeshield.”

Despite all his fine thoughts about not being afraid, Flori couldn’t help it: he jumped. The speaker chuckled slightly and Flori turned hotly to see his brother sitting at the edge of the abyss, swinging his legs slightly. Instantly Flori’s brotherly instincts leapt up and he nearly jumped forward to pull his younger brother away from the depths. Instead, approaching, he replied, “What is?”

“’Not that you’d suspect it had gone to his head at all’,” Ori gave a passable imitation then raised his bushy brows at his brother. “Oh, the sarcasm…”

“How do you know who I was talking about?” Flori replied guiltily. Ori grinned mischievously back, his eyes glinting.

“I don’t.”

“Then how do you know that I was being sarcastic?” the older dwarf continued, a little suspiciously this time.

Again a nonchalant shrug and a toothy grin. “I don’t.”

“Then how can you say it was unkind when you don’t even know those two fundamental points of information?!” Flori exploded, gesturing wildly at his brother. The scribe laughed and Flori had to join in, before dropping down beside him and noticing the chunky, leather-bound red ledger sitting on his brother’s other side. He nodded his head towards it then rolled his eyes at Ori. “You don’t go anywhere without it, do you?” he asked, jokingly.

Ori shrugged, smiling, but his expression was still serious. “It’s important. For future generations – they need to know what happened.”

“You make it sound like some sort of accident is going to happen!” Flori laughed, then stopped suddenly, biting his lip as he realised what he had just said. The silence afterwards hung in the great cavern for a few moments more than was comfortable, with all its hidden implications. Like something dire is going to happen to us…

“Anyway, it certainly gets you out of work,” Flori continued quickly, changing the subject, then added in a singsong, teasing voice, “ski-ver…”

“Shut up!” the other dwarf replied, shoving his brother. Footsteps nearby made them both look up to see Balin, Lord of Moria, come down the stairs. Even in the darkness Flori could see the older dwarf’s eyes glinting slightly. There was something a little manic about his expression recently, and Ori had confided to him that he had found Balin wandering the corridors at night, poking into nooks and crannies and muttering to himself. He had not admitted it, of course, but nonetheless, Flori was no longer completely sure where he stood with the dwarf who had been such a close friend.

“Good day, Lord Balin. How goes it with you?” he inquired politely, rising.

[Imladris]

“Not well,” Balin replied with a smile that faded quickly. He sighed. “I have looked everywhere for it, Flori…and I cannot find it. It eludes my grasp it would feign rest unknown in the darkest cavern than to glitter upon a dwarf’s finger.”

Flori eyed Ori and cleared his throat.

“I am going to look into the Mirror mere,” Balin said, with a sigh. “I have not yet looked into the Mirror.”

Where could it be? I have looked everywhere, looked in every known cave, searched in every fissure, sought amongst the rubble for it. But it was not there. Did it still dwell there? He approached Mirror mere and kneeled beside the water.

The Mirror did not show his own unworthy reflection, but revealed the mountains, snow still sparkling upon their peaks. The crown of Durin rippled in the dark water. The seven stars glimmered faintly within the depths, as if it was lit with starlight.

What had the dwarves awoken in Moria’s depths? Had Durin’s bane died? Or had it left the bowels of the mountain? Balin shook his head. His own dwarves had made great progress, except for the orc skirmishes that continued to annoy them. He figured that the Great Gate would always lie in a bed of rubble.

Balin wondered if Ori had continued to send messages to King Dain. Balin himself wrote the words, deciding to leave out the continued annoyance of the orcs, but he could not help but wonder if Ori would add his own messages at the end of the notes. Would these messages, if he did indeed write them, sour his honey-sweetened words? It wasn’t as if progress had been going badly. It had been going on quite well, but darkness yet lingered within the passages. Doom seemed to lurk in the caverns. Contentious were ripe among the dwarves. And the Ring continued to elusively haunt his memory.

He leaned down and brushed the dark water with his lips. There was a silent sigh, a hidden whisper. Death crept within the dale. An orc drew an arrow to his ear and with a silent leer, loosed the string. The arrow flew and drove itself into Balin’s heart.

[The Perky Ent]

It was cold. A dark chill and a hidden presence loomed over the camping dwarves. Balin had been gone for quite some time. The dwarves were very quite. The silence stabbed Nali like a knife. "Where is he!" Nali said making an echo through the caves. A small chunk of the ceiling collasped and landed inches from Nali's feet. Theh dwarves were in shock.

"Nali what are you doing! Take it outside!" one dwarf said as he stared Nali down. "The fresh air would do you good! Why don't you go take a trip to mirro-mere. You might even find a ring of power!" Ori said before laughing very loudly. "Honestly! Balin is obsessed with those rings!" And then something crosed Nali's mind. Finding a rind of power. Surely it's worth is ten fold of mithril. "Yes, I think fresh air would do me good" Nali said walking twords Mirro-Mere. As soon as the dwarves were out of sight, Nali ran.

In a very short time Nali reached Mirro-Mere. "where is that Balin? i need to make sure he doesn't know what i'm doing!" And then he saw him. His hand dipping in the pool. Balin was dead. Nali didn't know what to do. He had been shot by an orc arrow in the heart. Suddenly, Nali saw an arrow land beside his feet. "Rats! Missed! Unlike that other dwarf!" an orc said as he ran off twords the Silver lodes.

Nali ran back to the camp twice as fast as he came to mirro-mere. He was panting so hard he could've died. "What is it Nali?" Ori said in a honey tone. "It's Balin! He's...He's...He's dead!" The dwarves were in shock. In a split second, Ori got up and said, "Where did you find him, Nali?" "In Mirro-mere. He was shot in the heart by an orc arrow." At once Ori ran, and the other dwarves followed.

When they all came, they were in shock. At once, Ori pulled the arrow out of Balin. "They will pay for this! Where did they go!" "They went down the Silver lodes!" At this, the dwarves drew their swords. "What are we waiting for? Let's get em! FOR BALIN!" bellowed one of the dwarves.

And into the night, the orcs charged to the silver lodes, leaving Balin's body. Surely, Nali thought, there would be blood tonight.

[Saraphim]

Narin sat restlessly at the gate, itching to join the fighting that was taking place below along the river. Only an order prevented him, a half-thought from Ori to remain and gaurd the entrance.

Out of boredom more than anything else, Narin walked the short way to Mirrormere to retrieve Balin's body, which had been left by the others in thier thirst for revenge. He trusted to his ears to hear any orc that would be foolish enough to approach the gate, and to the hope that they would alll have joined the fighting anyway.

Balin lay as Nali had found him, with an wound to the heart and a hand dangling into the water. Narin self-consciously closed his dead commander's eyes before attempting to maneuver the corpse on to his shoulder. It was difficult, as Balin had been a heavy-set dwarf, and his body was already beggining to stiffen.

As Narin slowly stood, he saw blood drip from the arrow-wound in Balin's chest, and fall into Mirrormere.

Narin froze. He watched helplessly as the droplets hung suspended on the surface for a moment, then dissolved into the water. He couldn't say whether it was balsphemy or a tribute to Balin, but he resolved not to mention it to anyone.

Hefting Balin onto his shoulder, Narin's thoughts wandered elsewhere. As he reached the gate again and set Balin's corpse carefully down, Narin remembered a sword that he had hoped to finish. It was missing something, perhaps a gem.

He could ask Lin to set it for him, but he had rarely spoken to her since thier last fight, the one in which had knocked her beard off. He shifted nervously when he thought of her, and of the fact that he still owed her his life. Narin blushed and took of his helm to scratch his head.

Come on now, Narin, He thought to himself, You've never been interested much in them before, why should now be any different? Besides, she's a proffesional, and definitly hasn't shown any interest in you...

Narin stood up suddenly, the noise of returning (and by the sounds of it, victorious) dwarves reaching his ears.

[Amanaduial the archer]

An awkward silence had descended between the two brothers as Balin left. His footsteps down the corridor were the only sound to be heard until eventually they died away. Ori opened his mouth to say something, then stopped. Flori sighed.

"Look, I'll...I'll go after him. Try to reason with him," he said.

"Aye. I'm not sure he should be left so when he is like this..." Ori trailed off, biting his lip as he realised how his words had come out. Flori laid a hand on his brother's arm and replied simply, "Aye."

Setting off down towards the Mirrormere at a stroll, Flori whistled an old dwarven folk tune absently through his teeth, one he had heard ever since he could remember about Durin and his kingdon, before he broke into soft, low singing.

"The world was young,
The mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dales;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw-"

A ragged, drawn-in gasp, followed by a splash and the sound of something dropping onto the ground made Flori stop his singing and a sudden premonition of what could have happened flew through his mind. His heart plummeted and, pulling out his axe, he rounded the corner at a run to see a terrible sight.

The dwarven body lay on the ground surrounded by a small, stunned group of dwarves. One, Nali, stumbled away, shouting shakily that he would go and alert the others, but Flori paid little heed to him. By Balin's side sat Narin, and Flori saw that the dwarf had closed their Lord's eyes. Dropping to his knees at Balin's other side, Flori gazed helplessly at his friend and leader's face. All the things he had left unsaid and all those spiteful thoughts...foolish dwarf! Did you never compliment him? His work was not all so bad was it?!

Tears came to Flori's eyes, making them moist but not dropping down his cheeks and he dragged in a great, sorrowful sigh, simply staring at his friend, unable to speak. Out of one of the corridors came the other dwarves, and gasps and cries of shock and sorrow followed as they saw their friend. Flori crossed his friend's arms carefully, then stood, looking at the others with a burning anger in his eyes.

"They will pay for this! Where did they go!" Ori cried, and Flori saw tears in his sensitive brother's eyes.

"They went down the Silver lodes!" answered Nali, pulling out his axe. In a second weapons had appeared in all of the dwarf's hands.

"Well what are we waiting for?" Flori roared back, his fury red hot as he gestured at his dead friend. "They killed our friend, companion and Lord. Lord Balin of Moria lies dead - let all orc-kind beware, for this night....this night, revenge shall flow with blood!"

A cry of approval greeted this and, led by the furious Flori, the dwarven-warriors charged towards the River Silverlode, their axes thirsty for orc-blood...

[Taralphiel]

Maron

Maron trudged over the cold rocks and closed his eyes. He thought of the sight of true-silver and its gleaming in the rock. He marveled over how it pulsed through the black dark of the stone with a pale glint and what a fine thing it would be to heat and mould it. But the cold snapping of the night and the misery surrounding his head soon brought his eyes back open.

"It all makes me wonder" he mumbled. He kicked absently at a pebble. Balin had been slain, and a great bitter sorrow had swept over, only overpowered by the want for revenge. He still looked at his axe absently, not even bothering to clean it of the orc flesh. He was not alone in his misery, he knew.

It made him feel smaller on this journey than ever. When things became so bleak, he had little idea of what to do. Maron was no strong leader, and commanded no respect. All he could do was lend an axe and an arm to swing it when needed. And he would keep that up as long as he could. Till his arms refused to budge or his whole body.

He pushed himself to keep up with the group, and keep his wits about him and fight with his whole strength. Then he began thinking of those they had lost

"Aye, 'tis all I can give" he thought to himself again, not noticing he was talking aloud.

[The Perky Ent]

The dwarfs charged down the silver lodes, chasing after the orc. After a short period of time, they could see him on the horizon. "There he is! For Balin!" screamed Floi as the dwarfs sped twords their enemy. The orc did not bother to run. He stood there, on his knees, laughing. The dwarves caught up to him almost immediatly.

"You killed our friend, you foul pathetic spawn of filth. You gave us a pain that can never be filled! You will die!" shouted Ori as he lifted his ax to the orc's head. There was silence. The other dwarves stood, watching to see what Ori would do. Ori was having trouble desiding weather to chop off the orcs head or torture him painfully. After a few moments, the orc begane to laugh. "What's so funny? You think it's funny to die?" shouted Ori in a rage. "That's what's funny!" the orc said, coughing. "What's funny is that's the question you should ask yourselves!" and at once, the orc screamed. Instantly, a horde of 50 orcs charged out of no where at the dwarves. Ori gave a screem before he kicked the kneeing orc in the face, snapping his neck. The orc was dead, but the matter was not over.

"Get ready men!" shouted Maron. "And women!"said Lînsie. "FOR BALIN!" Nali screamed as he charged into the field of orcs. The others followed. A battle pursued. The rage of the loss of Balin had filled their hearts with strength. In no time what-so-ever, the orcs were all slain. Except for one. The dwarves formed a circle around him. He had his leg cut off, but he wasn't dead. As the dwarves moved closer, the orc tried to find a form of protection, to no avail. As the dwarves aimed their axes on the orc, he shouted "...this is not the end...he was not the last, as am i...". And as he finished, the dwarves swong at him in unison.

As the dwarves walked back to Balin, Nali stopped to look at the orc who had killed Balin. The orc was perfectly preserved, with his head firmly behind his spinal cord. Nali started to sing:

A orc we followed to the lodes,
and sliced as if disecting todes.
And now we wait til doom shall come
through the light of flame and echo of drum.
We will move on thoughout our life
...but you orc...will be cut down by knife...

and Nali took his ax and chopped the orc in two. Nali broke down into tears. The loss of a dwarf was a hard burden on him. A fellow dwarf helped him up, and he walked back to Mirro-Mere

[Imladris]

Ori wiped his face. Orc blood stained it and he could almost taste its vileness. Flori stood beside him and Ori said, “Fifty orcs slain.” He laughed and added, “And Balin dead as well. We never should have let him out alone. They must have known he was the leader of us.”

“There was nothing we could do about it,” said Flori, pain and guilt creasing his face. “We didn’t know how many there were.”

“Or how many there still are,” said Ori. He fell silent, remembering Balin, blood gushing from the heart. His face lifeless. He had heard that the dead looked asleep. Not so with Balin. The dead do not sleep…they are just there. A mangled corpse, bereft of warmth, deprived of life, a thing to be buried in the ground. Not so with Balin. They would lay him in a stone tomb under a shaft of pure light. Linsie and others would carve in dwarven runes Balin, son of Fundin lord of Moria. Ori laughed. When had he ever been lord of Moria? In spirit yes, but in reality the dark had ruled it. Minions of the deep held Khazad-dum within their filthy, bloody palms and the dwarves had been like children trying to take a coveted possession from a king.

Alas sorrow has come to Moria for yestreday being the tenth of Novembre lord of Moria fell in Dimrill Dale. He went alone to look in Mirror mere. An orc shot him from behind a stone. We slew the orc, but many more…up from east up the Silverlode.

Ori turned the journal and let Flori read it, who shook his head and said, “Ori -- Oin found the raven…or the remains of it. His limbs were torn from him, his flesh eaten raw. It was a cruel death.”

Ori sighed and murmured, “So Dain has had no word from us for these last three months. We must leave this place at once. Flori, we must assemble the dwarves and leave here as quickly as we can.”

[Melisil]

As Lóni saw Balin's dead body, he, more readily then ever, joined his fellow Dwarfs in getting revenge for Balin. He faught as well as he could, killing, well, he wasn't sure the number. As they finished, Loni's rage, settled. He became quiet, as he usually did after a fight. He pondered over the events in his mind.

He thought of Balin, Rest well Balin, you've done good. You should have had a longer life. And of the Orc killings they went to do. Orcs... what pitiful creatures you are. You deserved death. You deserve death. We will do our best to bring it. Ha! I suppose it's only the same as you want for us, you couldn't have been surprised at us wanting to kill you. Of 'course, it's not usually like us, as Dwarfs, to sink to your level. The balance to that of 'course, is that it is like us, the noble Dwarf kind, to get revenge for the death of a comrade. Oh, Orcs! Why did you have to fight? If it hadn't been for you, many of your kind would be alive (which isn't really that good, I suppose) and our own, Balin, would not have yet fallen. Oh, bother you Orcs!

Lóni rose as the rest of the Dwarfs headed back. He followed quickly, but still thinking of all sorts.

[mark12_30]

Lînsie walked slowly back to stand beside Oin and Narin, leaving the orc-corpses behind her. Her axe was notched, her arrows were spent, her limbs ached, and the smouldering anger within her was giving way to grief.

The dwarves waited, rumbling. Who would lead them now? What would they do next? Some asked these questions; some gave various answers.

Lînsie didn't care. She wiped her axe on the grass, and tried to wipe the orc-blood off of her armor. Her beard was full of it. With an exclaimation of disgust, she yanked the beard off and flung it behind her toward the field of slain orcs. And then she stepped back beside Narin, and sat down and began to weep.

[The Perky Ent]

"They know. They must know. They will come again Ori! Can't you see it? We must leave before we are devoured by orcs!" Nali said as he dipped a cloth in Mirro-mere and cleaned his ax. "No Nali. It is perilous, but we will survive them. This casualty shall not stop us." Ori said as Nali ripped his cloth in two and gave a piece to Ori, who in turn dipped it in the water and began to clean. The sky was darkening as the dwarves were gathered together closely.

"Well, we can't leave the bodies." Nali said as if the statement was 100% correct. "No, there is nothing we can do about the corpses." Ori said, giving a great yawn. "Can't we just throw them in the river?" Nali said. "No. If there's orcs camped on the Silver Lodes, they'll see the bodies and come for us." Ori said. "Well then we can burn them!" Nali said as if a torch was already in hand. "No good. That's worse than throwing them in the river. The smoke will make every orc in the area come. We must leave them." Ori said as if it ended the conversation. "Then bury them!" Nali said before he was interjected by Ori. "No! Even if we bury them, do you expect that 50 orc families will fail to notice their family dead!?! It's too late. There's nothing we can do! The only thing we can do is pray for how long it goes before we're noticed." Ori said as he handed back the cloth to Nali and walked away. With this new advice, Nali was panicing.

After a while, Ori took a deep breath and said, "Well dwarves, we can't just leave him here. Let's find a tomb."

[Saraphim]

The company was in turmoil. All of Narin's comrades were either confused, terrified, or angry.

Narin was all three. Balin was dead, they had fifty dead orcs to give thier position away with, and to top it all off, he had a beardless dwarf-maiden sitting next to him weeping.

Some tiny vestige of kindness told him to console her, and after a brief struggle with the rest of his mind, it won out. Narin sat down awkwardly next to Lin.

"Er, Linsie? Are you all right?" Narin cursed himself inwardly for calling her by her nickname.

She didn't say anything, but continued crying. Narin remembered something that he hoped would make her stop. Reaching into a pocket, he produced a large, uncut, green gem and handed it to her.

"H-here," he said nervously, stuttering like he had not done since he was a young dwarf, " I, I thought, you might, perhaps like this."

Narin was mostly afraid of getting hit in the nose again, but forced himself to remain where he was.

How I've changed since leaving Erebor, he thought.

[Orofaniel]

Uzgash


Uzgash leaned over and prodded Lugnush with his ax. Lugnush, the name suited the orc, he really was a lug. "Eh?" Lugnush grunted, "What do you want?"

"What do I want?" Uzgash said, "I want everything. I want the filthy, noisy, stupid dwarves out of Moria, and I want Nazklash dead. He’s become rather full of himself lately, ruling the orcs and all that. Claiming glory for the Chief Dwarf’s death. Pha! Jerky is all he’s good for, and there’s not even enough of him to bother with that!"

Lugnush looked up at Uzgash and was glad, at last they would get rid of the absurd little Nazklash. He really had gotten annoying lately, lording about as he did. Reminded him of old Turgrog…Lugnush had been there for Turgrog’s death, now he would be there for Nazklash’s death. "Nazklash has become lazy in his power. We can easily get rid of him, the orcs will rally to me." Lugnush promised Uzgash.

Uzgash already knew this, and was counting on it. He was ready with a plan. "I’m leading a company to the gates. Nazklash also has plans for victory in the entrance way, but he will not live to see them fulfilled. He and his troops will be rallying in the armory, myself and my company will meet you and them there. We will surround Nazklash, and you will announce his death and your new command. I will provide the troops, and you will provide the death. Is that clear?"

Lugnush could only nod his agreement. He was ecstatic, finally he would even the scores upon that twerpy little upstart of an orc. A slow smirk twisted across his ugly face. Tonight would be a night to remember.

[Orofaniel]

“Do ye think we’d actually succeed?” Lugnush asked curiously, yet carefully. He didn’t want to upset Uzgash by showing his lack of trust in the mission. Well, actually Lugnush thought this was a rather good plan. Uzgash had explained to him how they were going to kill Nazklash; it seemed to easy, almost like killing a defend less Orc with his hands on his back. Nazklash would almost see his own head rolling on the floor, if that was eve possible. Lugnush laughed while thinking about this. “A surrounded Orc, is a dead Orc, Lugnush.” Uzgash stated.

"Don’t you see?” Uzgash replied, sounding a bit harsh. Lugnush expected that Uzgash way to reply was only supposed to emphasize how easy it really was. Lugnush nodded, while Uzgash continued; “You see, the best thing about this plan is that Nazklash has no idea what we’re planning whatsoever. It’ll come like a big surprise! It is unexpected…”

Lugnush liked the idea that Nazklash didn’t have the slightest idea that they were planning his death. “…at least if no one is eaves dropping… Right here…Right now.” Uzgash muttered in a low voice. It sounded like he didn’t want anyone else to hear what he said. “Yeah, we better watch out,” Lugnush said, without meaning it, when he saw that Uzgash was on his guard, looking back and forth.

“Everything will go as planned…I’m tellin’ you,” Uzgash said finally and sneered.

Lugnush gave a smile. He was full of energy and was could ony imagine what it would be like to kill Nazklash off and take his place. It seemed so unreal, yet they were close. But then the doubt struck him, a thought was probably more like it; why had Uzgash proposed him to take over for Nazklash?

What did Uzgash get out from all of this? Lugnush considered the possibilities, but none of them seemed reasonable. Well, at least none of those he could think of. “What’s in if fer ye?” Lugnush asked Uzgash, trying to sound a bit naive, Yet again he didn’t want Uzgash to get the impression that Lugnush wouldn’t follow him; because Lugnush would follow Uzgash, there was really no doubt about that. However, Uzgash didn’t look too surprised over this question, but asked Lugnush if he could repeat it.

“You know what I said!” Lugnush growled, but lowered his voice as soon as he saw the expression in Uzgash’s face. Who could blame Lugnush for being a bit suspicious? Uzgash was no ordinary Orc, he was Uzgash the Iron Helmed; an Orc captain.

It was like Uzgash had read Lugnush’s mind; “Well, you know…I’m already a Captain, and you’re…nothin’…” h said and smiled. Lugnush wasn’t too pleased with that answer and Uzgash noticed that.

“What I mean is; you have no an opportunity to become someone, you can be a Chief. I’m already a Captain, so I’m not that interested….yet. You see, when both of us are powerful Orcs in Moria, we can rule this filthy place as we like. I can become the second Chief later on maybe…” Uzgash smirked. Lugnush thought it sounded reasonable and quote fair, and was suddenly not affected by Uzgash comment anymore; The one saying that he “nothin’ while he, himself was a Captain. “If there really is such a thing as two Chiefs,” Uzgash added and laughed. Lugnush laughed as well.

The two Orcs were then interrupted by another Orc. He ran into the Hall, calling for Uzgash. “What is it now?!?” Uzgash growled. You could tell by his voice and the expression in his face, not to mention his body language, that he was annoyed. “We need some help ‘ere..” The Orc muttered. “With what?” Uzgash asked, now seeming even more annoyed.

“You better see fer yourself,” the Orc replied. This had to pretty bad, Lugnush figured. Uzgash sighed and growled;” I’ll be there in a minute!”

The Orc didn’t seem to move, he just stood there. Uzgash looked at him and narrowed his eyes; “Well…Shoot!!!” Uzgash cried. His voice was harsh and the Hall roared. The Orc seemed surprised by this, but hurried off. He probably didn’t want to make Uzgash more upset than he already was. Lugnush thought that was understandable.

“I better run…” Uzgash sighed. “I wonder what those filthy Orcs have done now. I better fix it quick…Anyway, just follow the plan, and it’ll run smoothly. ..I’m tellin’ ya.” Uzgash said and laughed. Lugnush nodded to confirm that this was a deal. They were set and ready…

[Imladris]

Ori, with Flori beside him, watched as six of the dwarves placed Balin stiff corpse in a solid stone tomb. His white beard had been braided, resplendent rings bedecked his fingers, his hands crossed an axe that rested on his chest, and a golden crown encircled his brows.

Flori cleared his throat and in the dwarvish language that only their race knew, he gave an eulogy over their fallen leader. He spoke softly, retelling Balin’s brave deeds and his part in the retaking of Erebor from the vile Worm Smaug. As Flori’s voice grew in passion and admiration, Ori slipped into mists of memory. The times in the coal mountains when they had been nothing but blackened weary dwarves, with no hope of ever re-possessing Erebor and the piles of wealth within. He had always been cheerful then, confident that one day they would come back into their own. And they had, with Gandalf’s and Bilbo’s help. A smile glimmered on Ori’s face at the thought of them.

Flori nudged him, signaling that he had finished. Ori bent down and kissed Balin’s clammy forehead. “That your reign would have been happier and longer, my friend,“ he whispered. With a gesture, the tomb was sealed with a slab of stone. The words, BALIN FUNDINUL UZBAD KHAZADDÚMU were carved deeply in the smooth surface.

Ori straightened, cleared his throat, and said, “As you all know, the threat of the orcs has increased. We must leave now while we have the chance before this spawn of Moria become too great for our feeble force.” Ori sagged, his cheeks drooped, and he sighed, fancying he heard the shrill cackles of orcs.

[mark12_30]

Sniffling a little, she wiped her tears with the back of her grimy hand, and leaned over to look at Narin's palm.

"A beryl, " she murmured.

She looked up at Narin, and said, "Balin was fond of beryls." And she burst into tears again.

Narin's shoulders slumped. But then before he closed his hand around the gem, she reached up and took it.

"Thank you. I'll make a Mithril setting for it, in his memory."

She returned to weeping in earnest, and Narin sat fidgeting next to her, trying to think of something else to say. He failed, which may have been the best thing he could have done.

[Taralphiel]

Maron

Standing and listening to the eulogy, young Maron felt more empty than ever in his life. Springing forward and chasing after orcs had served to let the bitterness and rage well up and spill out, and his axe was a testament to that. Now thoroughly chipped and stained inky black, he looked at it and sighed.

'Why am I even here' he thought bleakly to himself as the eulogy ended. He knew not, and doubted now that their leader was dead that he ever would know.

He stood and saw Lin weeping, and at all the others not knowing what words would fit. And he knew that as one of the clumsiest of them all, he would do less than good. He turned thumbed at his axe.

'Needs a good sharpening' he thought to himself again 'As do our spirits. This is a loss to suffer. But what shall we do now? Im the least of people to know that. I shall have to see what comes out of all of this...'

[Melisil]

The general mood around the Dwarfs was horrible. Lóni hated it. A thought struck him. Well, as well as one of his thoughts could (they were terribly jumbled). The Dwarf stood up, looking around at his other Dwarfs, he addressed them all, "Dwarfs all! My kinsmen all here! You all know how terribly horrible we feel. Balin dead, Orcs almost everywhere. But why should we give in? Why?" Lóni looked around at the Dwarfs again. They were listening, but only for the sake of listening. "Dwarfs! I propose we have a celebration to-night!!"

Almost all of the Dwarfs looked up at him, confusion and wearyness etched on their faces. Lóni continued, "Yes, a celebration. We can make it a celebration of Balin's life, and of our lives. God knows that we need something special to happen. Please, let us do this." he implored.

"Lóni, sit down." came one Dwarfs reply, "We shouldn't have a celebration."

Lóni looked at the Dwarf, Lóni knew that he was just as weary as him, "And why not? Why not? We need this, we do. At least it'd be better then this horrible gloom. I can assure you, I can, that we will not survive this time, if we are in such horrible spirits as this. Please, my fellow Dwarfs, I implore you. Please. And if you can't do this out of your own spirits," he added, "can you try to have a celebration, to left all our spirits, for Balin? For me?" Lóni swallowed. He couldn't read the other Dwarfs expressions, but he hoped that they would agree. Lóni may not have been completely in his senses then, but he had it etched in his mind that they should have a party. On the other hand, he wouldn't do much if they didn't go along with it either. I hope. he thought to himself in a thought-whisper, as he scanned the faces of the Dwarfs.

[Imladris]

“Orcs, Ori!” Oin shouted, bursting into the Chamber of Records. His face was white and he panted. “They are gathering around the gates like flies to fruit,” he added. “I’ve barred the gates.”

Ori nodded, and shot a glance at Flori. The orcs had done well killing Balin. The fire that usually burned in the heart of the dwarves was low, nothing but embers in the wake of Balin’s death. That did not bode well with Ori. Dispirited dwarves could be easily vanquished. “We can still hold Moria,” Ori said. “But we must fight bravely, not letting our grief weaken our arm. Station yourselves at the Bridge,” he ordered, picking up his journal and picking through the leaves. “Linsie and Mali, you do not have to go if you do not wish to,” he added.

Finding the empty page he wrote:

We have barred the gates from the scurrilous orcs. I fear that at the death of Balin, they have rallied themselves together to attack us. We can hold them long if they do not attack us in an orderly fashion. But even if they burst through the gates, they cannot hope to cross the bridge without a great loss of their own. If they do break through the gate, I expect we will die a horrible death and maybe even suffer for a time in their cruel hands. However, we can always escape towards Hollin if we cannot defeat them at the Gates.

[mark12_30]

With a snort, Lînsie wondered why she was suddenly considered delicate and vulnerable. had she not fought well til now? Had she not accounted for her share of orcs?

Ori did not see the scowl that she sent his way, and it was just as well. Perhaps I should go out on to the hillside and fetch my false beard, she thought, fingering the edge of her axe.

She looked at the page Ori was writing on, and scowled. "How do we know that the Hollin gate is free? There could be just as many enemies there as here. Is it wise to plan a retreat when we don't know whether the road is safe?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori grinned briefly, seeing Lin scowl darkly at his brother's last comment.

"Don't take it personally, lass," he murmured by her ear, grinning. Lin spun around, a wry smile on her lips, then a faraway look came into her eyes, and a certain sadness. Flori cursed himself for his carelessness as he suddenly realised what she was thinking about - Balin always called her lass...

"Do it for him, Lin. Hold Moria for Balin," he replied to her thoughts, then turned to Oin, standing by his brother, snapping into battle mode. "Oin, how many were there?"

The dwarf shook his head, pale-faced before his eyes returned to Flori's. "Maybe...fifty were in sight. But there were more coming - there could be hundreds, even thousands!" There was an edge of panic in the dwarf's voice. Flori swore and rubbed his beard with a hand, fighting the panic that was rising within him.

"How do we know that the Hollin gate is free? There could be just as many enemies there as here. Is it wise to plan a retreat when we don't know whether the road is safe?"Lin interjected. Flori nodded to her.

"Good point - Oin, could you go and check whether it is free? But...be careful down there. I don't think we can afford any more losses..."

[mark12_30]

Her eyes narrowing, Lînsie considered Oin. "You want him to go alone?"

"We can't spare any warriors, " replied Flori. "We need all our strength to hold the Gates."

"Apparently, I am not needed at the gates, since Ori said I didn't have to fight there, " Lînsie replied in a steely-cold voice. "I may as well be useful somehow."

Ori looked angry, but Flori looked at Oin. "She has a point. About not sending you alone, I mean."

[Imladris]

Ori stared at Oin, Flori, and Linsie. They had a point -- Orcs could crawl within the caverns, other unknown evils lurk in the dark. With a wave of his hand he said, “Fine…do as you will.”

He left Oin and Linsie in the chamber, and went to the Bridge. Distantly he could hear the orcs cackle, the dull banging upon the gates and they tried to force them open. The Dwarves were scattered behind rocks…waiting for the orcs to burst through like vile water through a flimsy dam.

He drummed his fingers against the wood of his short, stocky bow. His quiver was full of plenty of arrows. He hoped that the way to Hollin would be clear, so that they could escape that way. Maybe they could drop by the Shire and visit good old Bilbo again since they would be on the right side of the mountain. He sighed and notched an arrow to the string.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali's mind was having a frenzy. Orcs, gates, bridges, death. It was all too much. The gates were barred and all of his preferable choices were crushed. He now must hid behind a rock and fight to his death. Far off, he could hear the orcs coming.

"Well Ori, you've been a great pal...to the end." Nali said as his palms sweated as he gripped his ax so tight a troll would scream. "now i'll have none of that talk Nali! This will not be our end. If the worst coems, we can retreat into Eriador."

And as Nali drew a breath, a hoard of orcs came and flowed into the area right in front of the rocks. "Where are they!?!" one of the orcs said. Their position was sound. It would be a perfect suprise attack. But looking at the size of the massive horde, Nali drew a deep breath, which the orcs heard. They crashed into the rocks like water on a shore. The battle had started

[Orual]

"She has a point. About not sending you alone, I mean."

Óin looked indignant. "I can handle myself alone!" he announced, slinging his axe proudly over his shoulder. "I need no assistance."

He looked towards the path to the Gate, and suppressed the urge to shudder. He could handle himself. He needed...a really, really strong ale. Flori was looking at him, waiting for him to continue.

"If I need help, Lin going with me will not..." He paused so his voice wouldn't break. "If more than one person is needed, two won't..."

He coughed violently. "I'll go! I'll go. The rest of you decide who else will come. I will fulfill my duty for Balin."

I couldn't help him, but maybe I can help the others, he thought as he took a deep breath and started for the Gate.

[mark12_30]

Lînsie watched him go, and shouldered her axe. She let Oin get almot out of sight, and then nodded at Flori and headed after Oin.

"Watch yourself," Flori said.

"I'll be busy watching Oin, " she growled, and quickened her pace. Oin disappeared into the passageway west with Lînsie trailing him.

The darkness was thick, as it was everywhere in Moria when the candles and lamps were not lit. Oin carried a small flame. He would need it, Lînsie thought. They both would.

Oin paused and looked back at her. "All right, then, " he said.

Lînsie thought she heard gratefulness in his voice. It would have been a long dark journey to take alone. She nodded, and shifted her axe. They marched westward, glad for the little flicker of Oin's lamp. Flori had given him eight days worth of oil, if they kept the flame quite low.

[Saraphim]

The tiny flame of Oin's candle flickered in the darkness, and Narin had to make his decision quickly, or it would be made for him.

"Agh!" he exclaimed loudly, "Bugger it all!" and went jogging after Oin, and, more importantly, Lin.

Catching up to the pair proved to be difficult. The pattern of deep pockmarks in the floor had no rhyme or reason, and many times threatened to swallow the poor dwarf.

When he finally reached them, he was short of breath and pathetic-looking, but attempted to put on a brave and important face.

Oin and Lin looked at him like he was a fool. He was, of course, but didn't realize it.

"I... I heard," he panted, "That you were going... to the West Gate. I... I'll come too... O...orcs." he finished lamely.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Orual's post - Óin


Óin grunted as Lîn caught up with him. "Bloody troublesome dwarf," he called irritably, "when I say I can do it myself, I mean I can do it myself!"

"Now isn't the time for hard-headedness, Óin, though I know it's difficult for you to be anything but obstinate," Lîn retorted.

"Now also isn't the time for lasses to be meddling in the affairs of experienced adventurers," Óin shot back. If Lîn was surprised that he knew she was a woman, she did not show it.

"An 'experienced adventurer' would know that there is strength in numbers."

"Two isn't a big enough number."

"It's better than one."

"Fine!" Óin cried, flinging his arms into the air. "But when we both get killed, don't come crying to me." Lîn raised an eyebrow, and Óin started off.

The path got darker, and darker, and darker, until Óin could hardly see his own hands before his face. The Gate was getting close. "Nervous, lass?" he asked, trying to keep his own voice steady.

"No." He couldn't tell whether or not Lîn was lying. Honestly, he didn't care--even a lie was more comforting than if she had admitted to fear. He needed a steady hand.

He heard something rustling. Was that water? He reached out a foot and touched it experimentally to the ground, or what he thought was the ground. He stumbled when his foot did not hit floor, but water.

"Steady!" Lîn caught him under his arms before he could crash to the ground. "Steady!"

Óin was breathing hard as he righted himself. Something was not right. What was this water? What was in the water, more importantly? Not orcs, probably. Some animal? Fish? No, too big for a fish--

"Óin!" He heard Lîn's scream, but not in time. By the time he turned around and saw the monstrosity that had risen out of the depths, he knew it was too late.

"Run!" he ordered, trying to obey his own command, but not possessing the strength or speed to accomplish it. He felt a tentacle wrap around his ankle. "Run! Tell the others! Run!"

His head slammed hard against the floor as the tentacle dragged him, but he heard Lîn's retreating footsteps. "Tell Gloin--"

Hopefully Lîn had heard him, but it was too late to deliver a message. He died with his brother's name on his lips.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik fingered the haft of his axe morosely. The low spirits of the whole company was evident from their shuffling gait and bleak expressions, not that he blamed them. He himself had never felt his spirit to be in such a low ebb, and suddenly he felt all the years of his long life weighing him down. He felt very, very old.
Without much heart he took up position at the bridge, resolving to defend it to the bitter end. It was a strong position, the narrow passage that lead across the deep chasm yawning before his feet effectively nullifying whatever numbers the enemy had to bear on them, and making fighting extremely hazardous for those on the bridge itself. At least they might be able to send many of the beasts to their black maker, but their chances of salvation looked slim.

He set down his axe and unslung the two throwing hatchets he had made during their stay in Khazâd-Dum. The spawn of Morgoth would have to pay a high price for passage.

He cast his eyes over the great hall, possibly for the last time. The magnitude of the work on everything, the pillars, walls, even the defensive bridge in front of him still moved him even after all the time they had spent in this place, the home of their ancestors. He took in all the painstaking detail in even the most mundane of features of stonework, and felt some vestige of pride and strength returning to him. If he was to fall here, to protect this place with his life, so be it. He had lived long enough. His wife had died of old age, he had done and achieved a lot in his life and had a part in shaping the history of his race. They all had.
Softly at first, but with increasing resonance, he began to sing an ancient battle-hymn of the dwarves. Soon the entire hall was echoing with words as old as the mountains themselves.

He looked around at his remaining companions.

"For Balin! For Khazâd-Dum! For the dwarves!". He cried. As the words left his lips, he felt the last vestiges of self-defeat draining out of him.

He had lived the kind of live he wanted. Now he wanted to find the kind of death he had allways craved.

[mark12_30]

Oin and Lînsie looked up to see Narin, huffing and rather red-faced, approaching. Lînsie tried not to smile... and failed. Suddenly, a death-and-glory mission didn't seem so bad.

She saw Oin looking at her, at Narin, and back at her, and realised she had no beard anymore to hide her blush. She turned to Narin as he stared muttering at the floor, and spoke to Oin.

"Well Master Oin, you are the eldest, and the wisest. You know the way and we do not. Lead on."

Oin nodded, and turned westward. "You might have stayed in the halls."

Lînsie and Narin exchanged glances, and both gained courage from each other. "Aye, we could have, " said Narin.

"For myself, " Lînsie said, "I'm glad to have such a quarrelsome dwarf along-- that is, if he quarrels with orcs instead of with us."

"That I will," said Narin. "That I will, lass. You can be sure of it. You can count on me."

Oin led the way, and the darkness hid his smile.

'**************

Three long marches and four brief skirmishes later, they faced the Doors of Durin. They stood studying them from a hiding place.

"There must be guards, " Oin said. "Where are the guards?"

Narin shrugged. "Perhaps they do not guard this side."

"Something must watch here, " said Oin. "I wonder if the tales are true."

"What tales?"

"Of a terror which guards the sunken stream, " he replied. "Nonetheless, it seems quiet here. And after all this dark, I want a bit of fresh air, and starlight, if I can get it." He stalked to the Doors of Durin, and gently thrust them open. The swung noiselessly outward. To their surprise, it was dawn outside, and although no sun came in-- it was still east of the mountains, shining into Balin's chamber-- still, the brightness of the dalylight dazzled their eyes, and the fresh air was enchanting.

Linsie and Narin wanted more of it. They stalked towards the door, watching each other's backs, axes raised. Nothing moved. Cautiously, they stood in the doorway, breathing the west wind.

Narin started. "Ware! Ware-- orcs!"

Behind them in the blackness, the shadows came to life.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori started to call after Nali, taking a few running steps after him and starting to call his name at Narin's disappearing back.

"Nar-"

"Flori, leave it." Ori surprised Flori and he turned around to him. But as soon as he saw his brother's expression, he understood - he had seen it in Narin as well; the blushes around Lin, his beryl present which, he knew, she kept with her alwats, the nudges and whispers from the other dwarves and Narin's blush that spoke as well as a confession. He grinned at his brother, then sighed a little - it left them wit three less fighters.

Slowly, he walked forward, standing by the closed door of the chamber down to the stairs and the bridge, the rest of the dwarves around him. He looked at their faces in turn, then nodded, satisfied at what he saw.

"We'll defend the door if possible - it's the smallest gap before the bridge and to take any one of us they would lose many of their own. We can fight well from there." He looked at them once more, then grinned at all of them, his blue eyes glittering darkly. "Alright lads - let's show the coddle-brained, wood-headed monsters how a dwarf of The Lonely Mountain fights!"

The other dwarves roared approval and, axe held high in the air with the rest of them, Flori wrenched open the door and flooded down it, fighting down the words that automatically felt they should come after the last word '...lets show 'em how to fight - and die..."

As they came to the entrance, the dwarves hit the first wave of orcs, taking them by surprise and hitting them from behind - because it was from behind, they didn't hit the more dispensable grunts first, but the higher, more powerful orcs. An immediate advantage, Flori thought with grim satisfaction as he swung his large axe with both hands. The first sweep cleanly took off the head of one orc and sank into the chest of another, but the next victim in it's path was ready and ducked around it. He was a swarthy individual, arrogant and full of himself, his rotting teeth set in a permanent sneer and one eye half closed by a wound as if winking salaciously. But he was quicker than Flori might have given him credit for - a rusty blade was out in a flash and as the dwarven warrior swung his axe again, it met with the blade, sparks flying.

The battle for the dwarrow-delf had begun.

[Imladris]

Ori positioned himself behind a rock, and drew his short, stocky, solid bow. He was better at using a bow to pierce the throats of orcs than an axe to hew them to pieces. He sighed, and aimed as the first of the orcs burst through the gates. The arrow whistled through the air, and found its mark. The orc toppled and what life remained in him was instantly trampled by his companions.

Some of the dwarves had bows, like Ori himself, while others were wading amonth them, hewing their heads, or any other appendage in immediate reach. The arrows in Ori's quiver were soon spent, and he reached for his axe. He gripped the handle and, jaw set, beard braided and tucked into his belt, he stepped from behind the rock and threw himself into the flood.

It raged about him, casting him where it would. He fought with all his strength, and the orcs fell beneath his arm. The sea swelled as another wave of orcs poured through the opening. Their leering faces were contorted with gruesome battle cries as they plunged through their fellow orcs, seeking for the dwarves, lusting for their blood.

Ori suddenly found himself next to Flori. His brother's blade was notched, stained with blood, and Flori himself was grim of face. He saw Ori, and flashed a small smile at him. Ori returned it and nodded before he continued to fight the tide. The tide that could not be stemmed.

His brother's words echoed in his mind: Alright lads - let's show the coddle-brained, wood-headed monsters how a dwarf of The Lonely Mountain fights! He nodded as he swiped an orc's head and watched it bounce away.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Turning with speed that belied his age and size, the speed that takes many dwarven enemies by surprise, usually fatally, Flori hacked viciously at the orc's head as it raised it's blade over Ori. The creature hit Ori with a flailing arm at it fell, dead, causing the dwarf to turn sharply, his weapon raised. Flori flashed a grin at his brother, winking briefly.

"Can't watch out for you all the time, little brother," he called over the noise, grinning. Ori raised an eyebrow and grinned back, before both turned back to their battles.

Amazingly, the dwarves were holding their own against the tide of orcs, but where the dwarves were clearly numbered at only a handful, really, the orcs seemed unending. Flori kept seeing them oozing like relentless, vile mould from doorways, corridors, coming across the bridge, even from the ceiling... The orc snipers were fatal and, despite Flori's warning earlier, the dwarves were venturing further out from the doorway. Some could even have got up the stairs, he realised with a sudden lurch; into the Chamber of Records even. They could be after Lin, Narin and Oin - if they came in such numbers, how would the three dwarves stand against so many?

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden shout of depraved glee and triumph from the orcs and he looked around with dread, trying to work out what had happened, despite all the warrior training that told him never to let his guard down; he had a feeling they had just lost an advantage. The orc behind him certainly thought so, and took full advantage of Flori's distraction; the next thing the dwarf knew was a searing, white hot pain in his left upper arm which, the intensity of which almost caused him to cry out. Spinning around a little muzzily, he faced his opponent...whose eyes suddenly crossed and rolled backwards before he fell forward, an arrow in the back of his head. Flori saw his brother staring at him, pale-faced, and the younger dwarf pointed his bow tip at Flori's arm.

"Brother...your arm is..." Flori looked down at the offending limb, staggering a very little from the dizziness which had suddenly set in. Through what seemed like someone else's eyes, he saw his arm distantly - or what was left of it. His arm now reached only down to his elbow, a bloody stump: below that, there was nothing. His chainmail did not cover all the way down his arms. Biting his lip desperately, he urged back the adrenaline of battle into his system, fighting down the sickness at seeing the stump where the rest of his arm, his hand even, should be, and he shook his head at his brother, who was coming towards him

"I'll deal with it, Ori - don't waste time!" he snapped, his voice overly brutal in an attempt to get rid of any tremor or pain out of it, for his brother's sake. Turning away from the younger dwarf's anguished expression, he looked across the bridge to see, with horror, the object of the orcs' delight. Two hulking, bent figures, standing a full twelve feet each, even hunched as they were. Around them, seemingly tiny figures danced nervously, holding the chains around the hulks' necks in an attempt to restrain them as they thrashed.

The beasts were like nothing Flori had ever seen, but he heard his brother murmur something beside him, under the cover of the rock, momentarily safe from the distracted orcs. "Cave trolls."

"What?"

"I've read about them," came the horrified reply, Ori's eyes wide and white. "They..." he trailed off, aparently unable to continue as he looked at his brother.

Flori looked back at the hulks and, much as he wanted to, he could not reassure his brother. The things were huger, almost the size of Oliphaunts, and Flori had never had to directly fight one of those. And there were two of these. They were huge, vicious looking, mottled creatures, the blood of the orcs who had got in their way staining their hands and chins. And they were evidently furious at the audacity of the ridiculous-looking orcs trying to control them - they could whip the largest aside with a hand. One protruding jaw filled with terrifyingly sharp teeth dropped as one troll threw back it's relatively small head, about the size of Flori's upper body, and bellowed furiously.

Flori found himself feeling suddenly weaker, but forced it away. The orcs filled bridge and the flat area between it and the stairs to the second hall: the dwarves contained a small area of it, and Flori was sure he had seen at least one of them fall. He had no time to dwell on what he had to do.

Standing, he bellowed, "Dwarves, retreat back! Up the stairs, now, go! Take down all who try to fight you!"

Whipping his good arm around, he hacked from beneath one orc it's legs, then brought down the axe with a sickening crunch upon it's spine.

"To the hall, dwarves of Moria!" he called again, still defiant.

[Imladris]

Flori's arm was gone. Ori did not have much time to muse over the horrid fact, not even time to mourn the loss, before he saw the great cave troll enter the gates. Trolls that tore you limb from limb, that would squash people into jelly, fry them, chop them, put you into sacks. Ori shook his head...he could almost see Burt and the other trolls around the fire...but these trolls were not like those trolls...they were stained with blood and he could see the blood lust in their eyes.

They had lost the bridge. They could not combat the tide of orcs and the two trolls. Dimly he heard Flori shouting, "To the hall, dwarves of Moria!" He saw a dwarf fall, and wondered how many they had lost, whether Oin, Linsie, and Narin had made it safely to the West Gate...

Flori...how would he fight now? How would he defend himself? Ori felt a montrous panic rush up inside him and clutch at his throat. As he bounded up the stairs behind his brother, Ori wondered how long they would be able to hold the Chambers.

The Chamber of Records would be easily defended Ori hoped. But then again, the Bridge and the Second Hall was supposedly easy to defend as well...

The orcs rushed after them, grappling with them, trying to cut off their retreat. Ori fought them mechanically, keeping close to his brother. He felled the orcs almost mechanically, remembering Balin and the five good years they had had. And all the lost chances of escape that had been ignored...all the warning signs that had bid them leave...of the dwarves who had fallen...

[Taralphiel]

Maron

The dwarf wheezed as he struggled to keep up with the remaining of the company as they headed for the halls. His lungs were burning and he was finding his axe weighed heavier than ever before.

"Maron, don't you slow down yet, not just yet..."

In his panic he had still been able to manage keeping his footing right, something he thought miraculous in the back of his mind. But his greatest thought was of his fallen comrades, and the blood spilling freely on stone.

"You musn't give up now Maron..." he said roughly, and pushed himself forward, following the backs of the dwarves in front of him.

An orc dove across his path, and his reaction seemdd almost fluid. His axe planted swiftly and Maron stepped over the fallen creature and kept on his pace.

He had come and seen what he could have only dreamt of, and all he could wish for now was to see his greying Uncle again and tell him that the shine of truesilver had lost its lustre to him.

[The Perky Ent]

The battle in the darkness began. As the battle raged, Nali took out his ax and began swinging it like a sickle. One by one, orc’s started to fall off the bridge. It looked easy, until Nali noticed two dwarf’s fall off to join the dead. During the battle, a large, fat orc jumped up behind the dwarf Maron. It seamed like he would also join the dead, until Nali threw his ax and the orc fell into the chasm. Maron would have thanked him, had he not 40 orcs to deal with, so Nali ignored and began swatting orcs with his club.

One by one, the thousands of orcs began to die. It seamed like the dwarf’s would eventually win. With only a few orcs left, Nali no longer needed to fight, so he sat on a rock and watched the dwarf’s brawl. As he watched, he noticed a shimmer under the belley of a dead orc. As Nali lifted the orc and threw him aside, he saw it. Beautiful, Precious, Perfect. Mithril. A small hunk of mithril was now in Nali’s possession. With joy, Nali began to sing:

though the fire and darkness consumed
I need not ever sweep with broom,
No longer slave on wooded loom,
For now I cannot meet my doom.
For I have a piece of heaven.

Suddenly, as Nali was looking at the mithril, the fighting stopped. There was silence. Then, there was a faint voice echoing in the bridge. It was a orc. He was singing. Suddenly, a giant army of orcs rushed into the bridge, leaving Nali and the others un-prepared. Nali sprang up with his new mithril to join his last battle.

These orcs fought with ten times the strength of their predecessors. As one orc approached the battlefield, the other orcs moved away from his path. Clearly he was a leader. Without thinking, Nali charged at the orc and swung his club at it. In the blink of an eye, the orc blocked it and threw the club off the bridge. “I am Uzgash. I command. I win.” The orc said as he prepared to finish off Nali. Finding his only hope, Nali took out his mithril, and with a sigh, he thrusted it into the orcs chest. With a great scream, the orc fell off the bridge.

Nali, however, didn’t hear the screams of Uzgash. Something was wrong. Then, before Nali could breath, Uzgash jumped up from the bridge and chopped off Nali’s leg. Nali began to fall. As he fell, Uzgash started singing:

My Blade Went Chop Chop
And His Leg Went Plop Plop

He Had Laughter
But I Was Faster
He Should Have Ducked
He's Out Of Luck

My Axe Went Swish Swish
His Blood Went Squish Squish

He Knocked Me Down
That Bearded Clown
He Beat My Chest
But Now He's Laid to Rest

My Knife Went Swoosh Swoosh
His Limbs Went Sploosh Sploosh

He Thought Me Dead
He Died Instead
He Was Tough
But Not Enough

The Dwarves March Boom Boom
My Axe Swings Doom Doom

As Nali fell, he could see light, and his leg, drift out of focus and then dissapear. After a few seconds, Nali could see nothing. “It was all in vain. Darkness has consumed fell” Nali said as he gave up hope of surviving and began to fall even faster. And as Nali saw the rocks at the bottom of the chasm grow closer, he could only thing of one thing.

Freedom

[mark12_30]

Linsie and Narin came down through several back passages, and then came up against a wall of orcs. They could see their friends on the far side, and the orcs could see them. Narin and Linsie shared one glance and then the orcs were upon them.

Linsie stepped away from Narin, and their axes flashed in the torchlight. With a ferocity neither knew they poseessed, they strode through the wall of enemies, leaving corpses in their wake. They hardly saw them, and indeed, hardly saw each other, til they had won entirely through to the other side. A cheer rose from the dwarves, and they sprinted to join their friends. They were almost there when an arrow pierced Linsie's shoulder at her armor joint. She kept running, and she and Narin left the rest of the orc-arrows behind.

"You have been hit, " Narin said to Linsie, full of concern.

"It is not bad, " Linsie replied. Narin wished there was time to care for it; there was a brief pause in the fighting. Moren greeted them. "Well done, lads. Quite a bloody trail you left behind you. That's worth a song."

Linsie and Narin looked back, and saw what Moren meant. There were a dozen dead orcs and several more wounded where they had won through. They shared a satisfied nod, but Moren noticed they did not smile. He guessed why.

"Oin...?"

Linsie shook her head. And Narin replied, "We did find the far Hollin Gate. And the way was clear... almost."

"What befell him?"

"We opened the gates, and stepped outside. But the light coming in through the gates half blinded us. We did not see the orcs coming behind us til they were almost upon us. They were just a few guards, but we had to fight them. And they drove us out the gate and towards the water. We wondered why."

Moren shuddered. "I could have told you... the Watcher."

Linsie's voice was very cold. "Narin tried to save Oin, as did I. But we had orcs on one side, and snake-creature on the other. The orcs are dead. But we could not kill the snake-creature."

"He is dead, then. Was it quick?"

Linsie said, "I wish it had been quicker. He was defiant to the end."

Moren bowed his head.

"We shall do the same, " said Narin. Moren looked at him, and at Linsie. He was surprised at how little they said.

Their brief respite ended, and the orcs attacked again.

[Imladris]

Ori and the remaining survivors dashed into the Chamber of Records. Maron and Alrik barred the doors while Ori leaned Flori against Balin's tomb. "We are wasting time," Flori shouted, struggling.

"And you are wasting blood, brother," said Ori with a smile, ripping some cloth from a nearby jacket. "I am going to bind the stump, cutting off the flow of blood so that you won'tl faint by the time the orcs finish breaking through. That way you won't die when we flee towards the West Gate."

Flori rolled his eyes, but ceased his struggling. Ori looked at Flori: his cheeks were pallid, and his eyes were glazed. Sweat streamed down his brow and he trembled a little. Ori smiled at him and said, "We'll get out of this one yet." Would they? He doubted it.

If the path to Hollin was clear, they might have a chance. Ori glanced around, seeing who had fallen. Loni, Nali, and Frar were gone. Dead, he presumed. There was small chance they had outrun the tide of orcs..

He shook his head, and concentrated on tying the strip of cloth tightly around Flori's stump. Blood streamed from the wound. His brother might not die at the hand of an orc's, Ori thought dully. He pushed the thought away.

He heard a rush of footsteps and he saw Narin and Linsie. They told him of Oin's death. He could feel the blood drain from his face. Oin...gone. He drew a shuddering breath as the orcs broke through again.

[Taralphiel]

Maron almost fell backwards as the door shook against the weight of the horde of Orcs. He could see Nali's face in his mind as he fell, and he could see the blood flowing over the floor of the chamber.

'I did not even thank him...'

His head snapped up as he heard wood shattering. His grip tightened by instinct. His mind began to race again, though his tired feet were firmly planted. He thought of his Uncle's kind smile and thoughtful words. He knew he would do this deed, and him proud to have raised him.

"For my Uncle..." he mumbled as his axe met crude steel. He threw his weight into his movements, and it seemed to do well against the hefty body of an orc. But his pride and honour fueled him less than what he could have hoped, and soon he felt a sickening blow to his middle. His knees gave way and he toppled to the ground.

He could hear all the shouting around him, and the maelstrom of arrows let fly and clanking of metal, but it grew distant. Maron gave a small smile as he thought of his Uncle's smithy and the dream of moulding truesilver on its anvil.

"Aye, 'twas a nice dream..." he said, closing his eyes.