Last Hope for Moria RPG

[piosenniel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Imladris’ post - Ori

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Aman’s Post - Flori

“I cannot leave Balin alone to his fate.”

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Will Witfoot's post

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

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

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

Honoured Alrik Stonebeard,

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

Yours trusting,
Balin, son of Fundin

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

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

[piosenniel]

The Perky Ent's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Orual's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Melisil’s post

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Saraphim’s post

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

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

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Gird's post

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

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

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

~*~

Dear Frar,

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

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Nilpaurion Felagund's post

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

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

"Thank you! Now leave me alone!"

At the flap of the envelope was written:

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

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

Dear Flói,

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

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Taralphiel's post

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

‘What have you got there, Uncle?’

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Mark 12_30's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What does it say, father?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Aylwen's post

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

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

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

Dear Malí Silverfist,

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

Cordially yours, Balin son of Fundin.

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Carlas' post

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Mercy of the Valar's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Orofaniel's post

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

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

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

“What in the name of…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

[piosenniel]

Pyroclastic's post

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Imladris]

Balin

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mark12_30]

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

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

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

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

[Will Witfoot]

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

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

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

At last, the day had come!

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

[Saraphim]

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

For a moment, he doubted his choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

[The Perky Ent]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gird]

Frar

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

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

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

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

[Taralphiel]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Amanaduial the archer]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Melisil]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Orual]

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

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

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

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

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

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

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

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

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

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

[Imladris]

Ori

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

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

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

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

[Pyroclastic]

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

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

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

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

BOOM! BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

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

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

BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM!

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

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

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

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

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

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

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

[The Perky Ent]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Saraphim]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Gird]

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

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

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

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

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

[Amanaduial the archer]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[mark12_30]

Lîs/ Lîn

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

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

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

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

[Melisil]

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Will Witfoot]

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

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

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

[Amanaduial the archer]

The Night Before the Departure

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

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

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

~*~

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Orual]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[Melisil]

On the way to re-join the others, Loni stopped himself when passing a local inn. He entered to have a pint or two.. or three..

Loni entered, the loud pub noise sounded like strange pub music to his ears! "Ah, I could live with this!" said the Dwarf, taking a long gulp of the pint he had just ordered. Loni let out a contented sigh. He stayed at the inn for most of the night; He left drunk and very tired.

The next morning Loni awoke, earlier then he would have liked, but with time to spare before going. After dressing, Loni walked to the kitchen, making himself a filling breakfast.

The porch was very refreshing indeed- for this was where he went to after he ate. He breathed in the morning air. It cleared his rather sleepy and hung-over head.

After a while of standing on the porch Loni let out a sigh of a poem he had heard as a child:
Where base of Erebor meets land,
There shall be my hand.
No fear for death nor sorrow,
For my life, you may borrow.

His mother had told him it, before she died. Loni remembered the day for a minute, before turning around and walking back to his room.

His stuff was mostly ready from yesterday, so all he needed to do was to put on his armour. Loni finished this, and went looking for Balin.

[Imladris]

Ori

Slinging his pack over his shoulder, Ori lumbered down the stairs rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, fondly remembering the lazy mornings and the mug of ales that would normally have awaited him. Instead it was a hasty bite and then going off with Balin.

Dawn yet crept from the east and in the lingering twilight he could see Flori staring at the mountain. His blue eyes were soft, a smile played about his lips. Ori, with a murmured greeting went over and stood beside him and they both looked upon the mountain. In the distance Frar and another burst into drunken fragments of song.

“Do you remember when we first came here,” said Flori, “we were so excited…least I was. To us the piles of treasure were incomparable and it was hard to remember that there could be more added to the lot.”

Ori nodded. The mountain towered above them, a fortress curled in morning mist. “It is still grand,” he said. “But…some have outgrown it…long for better things. They long for Mithril.”

“Come, Ori,” Flori said, clapping him on the back, “it will be a glorious adventure. Look at the dwarves around you -- there’s even a poet, a dwarf after your own heart! There will be danger, but there was danger when you went after Smaug, too! And it was fine, was it not, as you cowered in the hidden tunnel with your friends about you? Moria is just the next step…whatever is there, it will be just another Smaug.”

Ramming his elbow playfully into his brother’s side, laughing at his cheerfulness, he said softly, “Just another Smaug.” He thought of the unknown shadow that rested in Moria, the doom that settled like a dark cloud -- he smiled at his own poetic description.

He suddenly realized that Balin was beside him: his brown eyes glimmered in the rising sun, a broad smile grew upon his face; his white beard hung in a billowing fall down his chest.

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.


“Long have I wished to look in Mirrormere and see the stars and the crowns ripple within the deep waters,” Balin murmured.

Orli looked at him, at the eyes that did not see the Mountain bathed in the rising sun but the realm of Dwarrowdelf gilded in gold and Mithril it‘s broad halls ringing with the song of dwarves in time with the pounding hammers. “You will soon, Balin,” he said.

[Amanaduial the archer]

As Balin arrived beside them, Ori turned to converse with him and Flori yawned widely, then looked around guiltily. He probably shouldn't have been up so late last night. One of the older dwarves was looking at him with some disapproval, but Flori caught Floi's eye and grinned sheepishly at him.

Looking up, the dwarf saw a shadow move behind one of the windows of the courtroom and nodded, satisfied. Dain would not let them down then; despite his misgivings, the king would send them off with his blessing, of that Flori was sure. Not just as a king either; Flori would be sorry to say goodbye to his old friend.

Beside him, another dwarf stifled a yawn, and Flori grinned at him sidelong. "You bade a long farewell to the mountain last night as well, hmm?"

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:31 AM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Amanaduial the archer ]

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik sat at the 'Durin's Anvil', sharing a table with a few miners younger than himself. Having heard that he was part of the expedition the youngsters had flocked around him to listen to his banter, eager like dwarf lads that had just received their first battle-axes.

"Now you young 'uns know how to swing a pick, I hope, wether at a seam of gold or at a damned orcs head!" There was much chuckling at this one, all of them allready being several pints south of sober. Ofcourse, he could outdrink them any time of the day but the 'one or two pints' had mysteriously been transformed into eight, and the number had only increased.

"Well, I must be off. May your picks never grow dull." The youths cheered him loudly before one of their number dozed of, his head thumping against the hard surface of the table. Making good of the distraction, Alrik slipped out.
Aye, he would need some sleep before setting of.


Alrik awoke from his slumber, feeling very reluctant to get up. Getting angry with himself for slacking he tore of the sheets and got up.
Everything was packed and ready, he just needed to get dressed and he could set out.

He wandered to the back of his smithy where stood an old wooden cuboard. He fumbled for the silver chain aroung his neck and produced a key and pushed it into the lock. The doors swung open silently.

He took down the first part of his armour, the breastplate, and began to get dressed.

[Gird]

Frar looked around, suddenly realizing what time it was and how long he had been up. He hadn't planned on being at the pub till dawn, but he did, so he'll just have to play the cards he was dealt.

~*~*~

Last night, he had finished his packing, and decided to go see his family first, otherwise he would forget to later. He had gone to his sisters house and said his fairwells, and also to her husband and their kids. He then went over to his brother, Fror's house. Fror decided he'd treat Frar to a couple of ales, the night before his long journey.

A couple of ales turned into a couple more ales, and the couple of hours planned turned into a night of drinking and partying. The only sleep Frar got was when he passed out drunk, for about half an hour, when he was awoken by Fror. "Frar, he he, it's almost dawn, wake up!" said Fror with a drunken smile. A beer smelling reply came, "Oh really, dawn you say?... oh my! Dawn, I've been here the whole night!" Frar looked at his brother with a concerned look. It didn't last long, soon they were both laughing hard, at what seemed like a joke.

A little while after that, they had managed to get back to Frar's room, douse his head in water, get his stuff, and head back outside the mountain. Fror was drunk, but he still carried his brothers bag down for him to honour one of the silentshield family about to embark on an important journey.

When they got outside, they saw Flori another dwarf from the expedition party standing out there. Frar could hear him trying to remember the last line of the song that Nali had sung earlier. Frar, and Fror joined in to help the last line along(Frar had taught his brother the song last night at the pub). They had a good chuckle over this, and then Frar turned to say goodbye to his brother.

"Goodbye brother Fror, perhaps once we shall meet again, once we reclaim Moria for the Dwarfs. And then you can come, along with the wife you'll meet in my absence, and start a family in those great halls." said Frar, sad that he would be leaving his closest friend and brother. Fror put his hand on Frar's shoulder and said, "Fair thee well Frar Silentshield, may all who stand before you crumple in defeat, and may you be victorious in honour bringing to the Dwarf name. I shall see you then." Frar and Fror smacked their hands together, shook them once, and nodded. Fror turned, and left Frar.

Perhaps it was just the beer talking, but Frar stood there confident of his journey ahead of him.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 2:48 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Gird ]

[Saraphim]

In the cold morning air, Narin carefully organized his important belongings into a worn leather pack. He strapped his green cloak on and fixed his axes firmly onto his belt, and paused in remembrance of his brother, who had used one of the axes to fend a goblin away from King Dain during the Battle of Five Armies, only to get a spear in his chest for his pains.

Narin sighed, and hoped that battle had been his last. Nevertheless, he wore his old armor under the cloak. He plaited his beard and noted with pleasure that it stuck a few inches below his belt.

His forge equipment was too heavy to take; he had packed only a small hammer and tongs. The rest of it would go to the keeping of his aunt, his only living relative in the Lonely Mountain. Narin never really saw eye to eye with her, so he had not had a long, tearful goodbye the previous night.
"Just sell it all, and make sure it's at a decent price too." He had said, then gave her the key to his forge and shook her hand.

Narin did not have many friends, so his farewells really consisted of no more than that: a handshake and occasionally a ‘good luck’.

In fact, Narin did not expect to get any closer to anyone at Moria, either. He was very opinionated and took a secret joy at proving people wrong. This did not make him very popular, and the friends he did have respected him more than liked him.

Narin looked around his room one last time, checking for any missing trinket he might need. There was none, he had everything important in his pack.

Then without another backward glance, he left.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 6:19 PM January 29, 2004: Message edited by: Saraphim ]

[Carlas]

Nazklash sat silently looking about the small passageway that Lugnush and he had been sent to guard. It was one of the deeper passageways, and Nazklash felt it was pointless to be guarding tunnels that no one would ever make it to with all the other guards, if anyone even came. They had lit a small fire, not because they really needed one, but because they could and he doubted anyone would catch them.

The two had been sitting in the tunnel watching the fire for some time now. They had talked for a bit, but both had gotten tired of the other fast. Nazklash looked up the tunnel searching the darkness behind their circle of light and to his surprise he saw a large figure walking towards them out of the darkness.

“And why would you be all the way down ‘ere Uzgash?” Nazklash asked suspiciously when he finally realized who it was. He knew he was a captain, but he doubted that he’d come all the way down into the deep passages just to yell at them about some stupid fire. Uzgash just looked at him slowly and sat down beside their small fire. Nazklash and Lugnush looked at each other quickly, both a little surprised at the captain’s strange behaviour.

“I’m sure you’ve heard the others talking of a revolt lately, am I right?” Uzgash finally said, as he watched Nazklash look back up the hall quickly before answering. “ I ‘ave, but I doubt they’d do much anyways, none of ‘em dare take charge.”

Uzgash nodded slowly looking down at the tiny fire and then back up to meet Nazklash’s eyes. “Would you be willing?” He asked the small orc in front of him. Nazklash was surprised by these words, and more than a little suspicious. Why would a captain like Uzgash be asking Nazklash if he would be willing to lead a revolt? It didn’t make any sense…

Seeing Nazklash pause, Uzgash added “Would you take charge of those miserable orcs? Kill the chief, and maybe even become a captain?” Nazklash smiled as he heard the last word. If he became a captain he wouldn’t have to sit in these halls all day, no, he may even be able to leave this cursed mountain for a time to kill any of the villages or cities around it. Could he really do that? But why not…it’s not like anyone was coming here.

Nazklash was still a little suspicious, but didn’t see the harm in answering. “I would, but it don’t matter anyways, no one's goin to follow me.” He finally said, still watching Uzgash intently. Now it was Uzgash’s turn to smile. “They’d follow you, they know how smart you are even if you aren’t very strong.” Nazklash frowned at this but even he knew he didn’t have much strength, and Uzgash had said everyone thought he was smart. Nazklash sat up a bit straighter, he was smart, everyone would be right to follow him.

“And what about me?” Asked Lugnush who had been watching the conversation silently. “I’m smart and strong!.” Uzgash looked over at the large form a bit annoyed, but trying to look normal, he’d have to let Lugnush take charge too or this could start a bit of trouble. “Well, that’s true.” Uzgash answered, trying to figure out how this could work. “Maybe you could take command with Nazklash, but only as second in command, one captain’s enough.” Both Nazklash and Lugnush looked at each other silently, both annoyed with the other.

Nazklash looked back at Uzgash suddenly. “So, then ‘ow do we get about commanding a revolt without the chief knowing?” He asked, wondering if it was even possible. Uzgash leaned forward and looked at the two orcs. “Like this.” He answered, and he sat with them the remainder of the night, planning the chief’s demise.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 11:54 AM February 07, 2004: Message edited by: Carlas ]

[Taralphiel]

Maron stood about the group of dwarves slowly collecting in the fresh morning. He watched the town slowly wake, and grinned despite himself. He could not tell if he felt foreboding, but all that seemed to matter was bringing back some true-silver, and watching his old Uncle's eyes brighten.It had been many years according to him since he had held some, but knowing the state of his mind, he doubted that story was even true. He could not help but chuckle out loud.

He slowly paced about on the spot, his axe beginning to idly slip from his grip. He had little patience, and kept his eyes sharp for any sign of Balin.

Maron felt the warmth of the sun tingle at his back, and saw the day begin to open up.

'It will be a while once I head into the Halls that I see dawn. I wonder if I should miss it?' he paused, and looked at all the other dwarves that were wrapped up in their own thoughts.

'Hm...seems there is more to worry about...'

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 3:11 AM February 02, 2004: Message edited by: Taralphiel ]

[Orofaniel]

Lugnush

"You can be in second command...one captain is enough." Uzgash had said. Lugnush nodded even thought he didn't quite agree. Why should he always be the "second best?" Why? He though about this and felt anger inside of him. He knew he was both stronger and smarter than Nazklash. that wasn't hard to see, he thought while he looked at Nazklash; Bad legs, short and weak arms, shoulders which weren’t wide at all, bad back….. He then turned his eyes towards Uzgash. How could he decide who was to be the captain and the second command? This was highly unfair. Oh well, he was the Orc Captain.

But what was in it for him? Why would Uzgash, the Orc captain want them, or Nazklash, to lead the revolt? It didn't make sense at all. If he'd been smart he'd do it himself, and take the whole command. But no, he was asking Nazklash to do it. So, if Nazklah did as Uzgash suggested, would he really get to be a captain, or was this some sort of a trick? To coop the leading position after Nazklash had done his job, and then maybe kill him off? This thought brought Lugnush back to himself; Uzgash would then probably kill him too, so that neither him of Nazklash would "start any trouble".

"Uzgash...What's in 'er for yer'?" Lugnush asked him suspiciously. "What?" Uzgash said and turned.

"I said: What's in 'er for yer?" Lugnush repeated even more suspiciously. He walked towards him, as he saw that Nazklash walking to get between the two Orcs. "Now listen you stupid one eyed Orc!" Uzgash said quite angry.

Lugnash could feel his face burning of plain anger. "How dare you?" Lugnush cried. "No, Lugnush..." Uzgash laughed as he saw that Lugnush was getting angry. "How dare you?!?" Uzgash continued, not laughing anymore. Uzgash's face was strict and proud. "Here I come, and offer you two a place in the top...and you ask of my motives?" he said sounding disappointed in Lugnush, while still angry.

"If you don't want it; FINE! I don't care...I'll do it myself." he said again.

Lugnush now suddenly felt bad. If Uzgash withdrew his proposal he wouldn't even make it to the second command, maybe it wasn't that bad. "N-no..." Lugnush muttered.

"Of course we'll hear what you have in mind Uzgash!" Nazklash suddenly said. Uzgasuh turned towards him and smiled. “Alright 'ehn..." He said. But still he was a nit cranky.

"But I won't 'ave any more of those...those...accusations!" he growled and looked at Lugnush, while he pointed at him.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 5:06 AM February 08, 2004: Message edited by: Orofaniel ]

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Beside him, another dwarf stifled a yawn, and Flori grinned at him sidelong. "You bade a long farewell to the mountain last night as well, hmm?"

"Not really," Flói said, but mostly to himself. He had been busy in his house last night, making sure he would never leave behind something that he needed. Hence, his bag looked more like an oliphaunt - he also left four bags destroyed, casualties of his war against possible need.

He felt a yawn rising again, but did not indulge this time. He was now fully awake, and fully aware of the fact that he will be soon off for a journey, a journey full of danger, full of toil, and, if all is well, full of rewards. He smiled at that.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 12:27 AM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Nilpaurion Felagund ]

[Orual]

Óin squinted up as the clouds parted to allow some sunlight to filter onto the beginnings of the company. Not all of them were present, but the group was getting steadily larger. He shifted his cloak irritably on his shoulders and folded his arms over his chest.

The day was quite nice, actually, dry and getting pleasantly warm as it progressed away from the chill morning. There was not enough air movement to be called precisely a breeze, not now, anyway, but it was certainly enough to keep it from getting too hot. The rose fingers of sunrise still clung to the horizon, and it was shaping up to be a good day on which to start a journey.

Óin looked over at one of the other dwarves, a younger fellow named Maron, if he was not mistaken. He walked over to him, looking up at the sky appraisingly. "Not a bad day," he said grudgingly. Maron looked at him--it was an odd comment coming from Óin, who was known to be not entirely thrilled about the expedition--and Óin shrugged. "Well, it isn't. Even a mistake of an adventure needs a good start. Don't you suppose?"

[Taralphiel]

Maron had thought himself alone in his ponderings until he heard an older and gruffer voice.

"Not a bad day,"

Maron turned and saw that it was Oin, one of his company. He was a very respected dwarf, and he could not help but feel a slight on edge. He alse remembered that it was he that had had misgivings about going on this quest.

"Well, it isn't. Even a mistake of an adventure needs a good start. Don't you suppose?"

Maron paused for a moment before saying "Aye, that is true. It would make it harder to leave if the clouds were about our ankles..." he tried to be a little jovial, but feared it was all wasted. He kept his eyes on the clouds before saying as meek as any dwarf can sound:

"I can only suppose why Balin chose me to be here and head back to the Great Halls. But I still wonder if there will be true silver, and all the old glory waiting there for us..."

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik sat on a boulder, puffing delicate rings of smoke and at times inhaling deeply from the long pipe held in his left hand. In the almost breathless sunrise they floated quite a disstance before dissipating into the tiniest whisps of grey. A fine day indeed to start the adventure.

The polished metal of his armour caught the red light of the newborn sun and reflected it in a dozzen prisms of fiery shine. It felt good to be garbed in his battle gear once more, instead of the leather appron he wore around his forge. Offcourse, smithing was a work which he loved, but he needed the babtism of blood and sweat to remind himself of his roots. And those younglins could do with a reminder, too.
He ran his fingers along the smooth metal of the breastplate, remembering the hours of work he had spent on it, spent on every single link and plate all those long years ago when he was still a beardling in his fifties.

He lifted his axe, studying the weapon that had been forged before he had been born. The smith had captured the moment of a huge eagle of the mountains taking flight: the blades were its wings, spread to take the avian to the skies and beyond, ready to call the wind that made the orcs cower in fear.

He remembered how he had gotten the weapon, how his father had fallen that fatefull day when dwarfes, men and elves fought to contain the plaque of orcs spawned in the belly of the misty mountains. He remembered taking the axe from his fathers corpse when his own pick broke in the press of bodies around him. Never had he been able to forge anything like it, allthough his smithing skills were held in great respect by his patrons and the rulers of Erebor.

Perhpas in Khâzad-Dum he would find the craft needed to forge such weapons, but his hand would allways be on the haft of his fathers axe. It was one with him.

[The Perky Ent]

When Nali awoke from his slumber, he realized he was late. He was always late. He realized if he wanted to get at his treasure, he'd have to be first in line. Because of his short slumber, he had already packed his things and was ready for the journey.

Nali's residence was secluded and didn't need someone to tend it. It was hidden behind a large cluster of rocks behind Erebor. Although irresponcible, Nali enjoyed his normal walks to and from his house.

Climbing over the rocks like he always did, Nali surveyed he horizon. The conditions were perfect for a journey. Nali knew many shortcuts through the mountain and could arrive with Balin in a small cluster of minutes.

After a while of journey, Nali could see the dwarfs smoking their pipes and set for their journey.

Nali exhaled and said, "they haven't left yet!" under his breath. Quickly roaring, the other dwarves recognised him. They didn't seam to mind that he was late.

Nali was suprised to see that all the dwarves weren't there. "Nali!" Balin said, "Nali...i'm sorry to say that we already got to Moria and back and didn't need your help after all! HA HA HA! Just making a joke there lad! Now, let's see..." Balin scanned Erebor for other dwarves. Smiling, Nali pulled a pipe out and started to smoke.

The sun is high the moon is gone
The dwarves are off, the chase is on
Through travels far and wide we go
to reclaim a land captured not by friend but foe.
When sun is gone and fire is out
will the world be filled with doubt?
To Moria, we travel afar
and will sing great songs, as if at a bar!

[Imladris]

Ori

Ori looked at the gathering dwarves with satisfaction. He did not see the female dwarf, Mali, but Lin was there as were the others. They would start as soon as the sun finished peeping above the mountains.

Balin, he noted, was in a jovial mood as he told a latecomer that they had left and returned loaded with riches. As he waited, the thrill of adventure slowly came over him and he thought of the music that would ring once again in the halls of Moria. He wondered if he would be able to make a flute out of mithril and his hands trembled at the thought.

A song rang out, interrupting his musings, and he looked eagerly for the singer of it. It was the dwarf who had come late, and Ori slowly made his way towards him. Green eyes glittered from under the helm of his bronze helmet and a scar arched jaggedly across his brow.

“So, what is your name, Dwarf?” he asked kindly. “My name is Ori,” he added, bowing.

“And Nali to you, sir,” the dwarf replied with a grin and a bow.

“I am impressed with your poetry and your singing voice,” said Ori, shifting uncomfortably on his feet…it sounded so awkward saying it for some reason.

Nali beamed, however, and said, “Thank you.”

“Can you play an instrument as well as sing?” Ori asked curiously. It would be quite merry to sit around a camp fire singing and playing songs…

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:59 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Imladris ]

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí scrambled, shoving papers and writing utencils into her pack. She'd planned on packing the night before, but instead Malí had been content with finishing other papers that were due. Malí was always distracted like that, always forgetting about one task and leaving to finish another. Now Malí regretted it, because she knew she would be late and it would not look very responsible showing up when everyone else would be ready. Malí was not good with first impressions, or any impressions for that matter, and being late for a invite-only mission did not help.

Shoving the last reference parchments and other necessities into her pack, Malí took one last sweeping glance over her work room and sighed. Leaving it for the first time in years would be hard, but Malí was ready for the new opportunity that would be waiting in Moria. So, Malí turned away and left the work room, not looking back as she walked away.

Malí started to jog as she hurried to reach the group, however late she would be. However, she grew quite tired quite quickly, and grumpily heaved as she found and joined the group. Malí smiled weakly, embarrassed as some of the others noticed her and stared as she joined them. She was about to make a greeting, but Malí quieted when she noticed that most of them were listening to one of their companions singing a song.

...Through travels far and wide we go
to reclaim a land captured not by friend but foe...

Then Ori began speaking with the singing one, and Malí stepped fully into the group, feeling more embarrassed and disappointed in herself with every passing second. She was typically very practical and precise with everything. Hopefully the group would realize this soon, and not let her random tardiness mar their opinion of her. Looking around, Malí found that everyone from the day before was present. They were ready to travel. Ready to take back their home.

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 10:30 PM February 04, 2004: Message edited by: Aylwen Dreamsong ]

[Saraphim]

Narin shifted from one foot to the other, waiting impatiently for the entire company to arrive.

The sun had risen fully now, spreading light over those who had already gathered. Narin thought they looked rather scruffy and nervous, compared with the fearlessness of the previous night.

One thing remained the same, however. All were nearly spilling over with the excitement of being included in such an important adventure.

Looking around, Narin recognized one of the dwarves from the meeting. He had asked around and learned his name: Lin. Something about him made Narin especially irritated, and he still could not figure out why. His mind told him it was simply annoyance at having competition, but he knew it was something more than that.

Narin eyed him suspiciously as Lin conversed in whispers with Balin. He tried to keep his temper from flaring, and remembered that the company was so large they might not come across each other at all.

Narin looked away and tried to study the others again. Mostly they were milling about aimlessly, occasionally talking to each other in hushed voices. The young minstrel who had so entertained them last night was singing once more, and again Narin wondered at his skill.

The sun is high, the moon is gone,
The dwarves are off, the chase is on…

[Melisil]

Loni walked around the company of Dwarfs somewhat aimlessy. As it was still so early, not many others were out. There was a small table set up(Loni couldn't even guess who had thought of it) filled with all types of breakfast goodies. He smiled, and half walked, half ran over to it.

'Mm.. delicious.' he thought to himself, taking a bite out of a sausage. Loni looked around. Unfortunatly there would not be very much food for everyone. He grabbed a handful of other sausages and walked over to another Dwarf so as not to seem he was 'hogging' them.

"Uh.. sausage?" Loni inquired when the other Dwarf noticed the small pile he was hiding.

"No thanks," he replied.

Loni started "The names Loni Stormlegs. And you are?" he asked, outstreching his arm(the one not full of sausages) to the other Dwarf.

The Dwarf grabbed his hand saying, "I'm Narin."

<font size=1 color=339966>[ 8:07 PM February 05, 2004: Message edited by: Melisil ]

[Orual]

"I can only suppose why Balin chose me to be here and head back to the Great Halls. But I still wonder if there will be true silver, and all the old glory waiting there for us..."

Óin grunted, looking back at the sky. "Balin has his reasons. He wouldn't have chosen you if he didn't think you ready." He turned to the younger dwarf. Maron seemed edgy, uneasy. Óin, for a moment, let his roughness slip, and clapped Maron on the shoulder. "Balin knows what he's talking about, lad. And he knows how to choose a company." He looked around. "This may seem an odd group, but sometimes it's the odd groups that make the best companies. And sometimes it's the oddest members who turn out to be the most valuable assets."

Maron looked pleased, and Óin coughed and turned away again. He looked towards the table laden with breakfast foods, and realized that his stomach was telling him that he had forgotten to eat before he left. The scent of sausages and biscuits and other foods were carried over to him by a breeze, and he watched as Loni helped himself generously. If he was to get something to eat, it would have to be fast. "I don't know about you, but I'm going to have at least one good meal before we start having to ration," Óin said to Maron as he went over to the table. "You can join me, if you'd like," he added.

[Saraphim]

Narin started at the dwarf who offered him sausage. He wasn’t quite sure how to respond, and stuttered:

“Erm, no thanks.”

The other dwarf took this as an opportunity to introduce himself.

"The names Loni Stormlegs. And you are?” he asked in a friendly voice, extending his arm (the one not full of sausages) to Narin.

Narin looked at the outstretched hand carefully, then at the dwarf it belonged to. He reached out and shook it.

“I’m Narin.”

A short silence descended. Narin noticed for the first time that he actually was hungry.

“Well, perhaps I could have a sausage or two, er, Loni, was it?”

Loni smiled and obligingly handed him half of his sausage pile. They munched awkwardly for a moment before Narin found a topic to break the silence.

“So, what is it that you, er, do, Loni? I mean, I’m a smith, myself, and I’d like to kind of get a feel about where everyone is, well, occupation-wise, if you er, get my meaning.” Said Narin lamely.

He waited for Loni to respond and hoped he didn’t seem too socially inept.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin frowned as he wrapped a piece of bread around a roasted sausage. It was not like Mali to be late. He flicked his eyes over each dwarf’s face and finally came to the conclusion that the female dwarf was indeed not present. Something must have delayed her presence…but what? A death in the family, maybe?

But she soon arrived, panting heavily and hair awry, relieving Balin’s fears. He flashed a smile at her and, addressing the entire group of dwarves, cried, “Up and at it, lads! Pack the dishes and the left over breakfast!”

As the other’s worked, he rummaged in his own pack and brought out a map. The parchment was ragged about the edges and yellow with age, but it was the most detailed map of the area. They would travel Northwest to the pass between Mirkwood and the Grey Mountains… Mirkwood…. the kingdom of the elven King could pose a problem, Balin thought with a dark frown and sullen grimace. He had not forgotten the humiliation of their imprisonment so long ago, but then Bilbo, good old Bilbo, had rescued them and sent them all floating down the river like apples in a barrel. Balin looked at the map again and wondered if they could detour the forest, but why should dwarves make way for a pack of elves, he thought with a thin smile. What could they do to them? The only reason they had been so shamefully captured before was because of those venomous corpulent spiders. Well, they wouldn’t be going near that scum so why should they fear the elves? It would be absolute cowardice to find another way.

His sense of honour having been appeased, Balin glanced around and saw that the dwarves were ready and waiting, their eyes bright and a smile upon their faces. Taking his place at the head of the column, Balin began to sing,

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away ere break of day
Far over wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell,
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!


They marched quickly over grassy plains, their arms glittering in the sun, every once in a while a dwarvish song upon their lips. They stopped briefly under a copse of trees and enjoyed the rest of the sausage and a bit of cram.

As he traveled, Balin thought of Moria, of the great doors of Hollin, of the mighty halls of Dwarrowdelf. Once his group had become settled and the last remnant of orcs driven away, he would call for more dwarves from Erebor and soon the Khazad-dum would be the great and mighty of the dwarves. And maybe the last dwarven ring of power would be found and give life to their dying race.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Pulling one of the side straps on his pack as a last minute adjustment, Flori then started off, moving with the others in a herd. Behind them, the mountain was golden, lit with the sun almost behind it, and the dwarf took a last look at the mountain before firmly setting his eyes forward. His home it had been, and would always be for the good years he had spent there, but he would not let himself be distracted by frivolous pining.

A song began to rise from the other dwarves and Flori joined in, humming under his breath, the words unfamiliar to him as yet, and his voice not quite recovered from his merriment last night.

Another fell into step beside him, apparently by mistake, as the other looked completely 'away with the elves' as the saying went. Flori recognised him as the dwarf who had arrived late, and indeed he was breathing quite heavily and a look of worry was settled on his face - worry and disappointment. With whom? Flori wondered.

"Good morrow, friend. Why look so glum? Surely my company is not that unbearable, is it?" he joked, grinning, in an attempt to raise some sort of smile from underneath the gloomy expression currently in residence on the other's face. He shifted the weight of his pack slightly and held out a gloved hand. "Flori Bronzeshield, at yer service. What name do you go by?"

[Taralphiel]

Maron nodded and sat next to Oin, enjoying a good meal in silence. He was about to mutter something, when he heard Balin call out:

“Up and at it, lads! Pack the dishes and the left over breakfast!”

He jerked from the table, and almost tripping over his things as he tried to pack them, made his way out the door.


'Blast, a fine exit that was Maron Sandbrace' he grumbled 'But still, I suppose I do have a purpose here, despice my fumbling'

Oin's words had filled him with a measure of confidence in his place on this quest, and he moved forward with greater vigour knowing it. He could now clearly set out to find True Silver, and make his Uncle smile at its sight.

He did not take long to find Oin in the group, and with a half grin said 'Thankye for your words. It gives someone as clumsy as I a great deal of courage!' he chuckled.

[Melisil]

“Well, perhaps I could have a sausage or two, er, Loni, was it?” Narin said as an afterthought once they had shaken hands.

"Of course!" Loni beamed, dumping a large portion of his pile into Narins hands. He felt glad doing this as it made him seem just a slight bit less, 'greedy', as they say.

The two chewed in silence for a while. Loni only half thought of anything to say, untill Narin asked: “So, what is it that you, er, do, Loni? I mean, I’m a smith, myself, and I’d like to kind of get a feel about where everyone is, well, occupation-wise, if you er, get my meaning.”

"Oh yes, of course!" Loni replied. He had to stop and think for a second though, "Well, I don't think I really have a name for the many things I do. I do a bit of smithing, ok too if I say so myself. I don't know though. See I live in my home, I go hunting usually once a week or so.

"Really I just try to keep myself busy. I work with metal, well, I suppose alot, but, not much for selling purposes, if you know. I've tried my hand at carving before, and I quite enjoy it. So yes, I just kind of do this and that if you see?"

Just as he finished this, and before there was time for Narin to make any comment on what Loni had just said, Balin called out, “Up and at it, lads! Pack the dishes and the left over breakfast!”

Loni quickly grabbed his pack and stood up 'proper-like' ready to start. "Ah, here we go Narin. Finally! I'm more then a bit excited about this, if you see. You too?" Loni asked, seeing Narin grab a bag.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali gave Ori's question a great deal of thought. "An Instrument? Not that i know of. Well, I can sing, if that counts? No, of my crafts, i'm not know for my singing." Nali said to Ori as they started walking off on their quest. Nali was suprised to realize that there were so many dwarves walking off twords Moria. They were all talking peacefully between each other, sharing stories and thoughts. Trying to fit in with the crowd, Nali asked, "Ori, do possess any special trait?" Giving it some thought, Ori looked up at the blue sky. Nali, in turn looked up at the sky to see a cloud shaped like a mountain. "Do you see the mountain in the clouds?" Nali asked inquiringly. "A mountain? No, but i do see something. Something more like...a...a snake." said Ori as he smiled at the question. Gazing again, Nali said, "Balin! Look up! Dwarves! Study the clouds! What do you see?" Everyone stopped. There was silence for a long time. Nali thought he would be blammed for Ori's question. After a time, it was none other than Flori who said: "It's a elf!" The statment caused comotion. Narin stated that it clearly was a River. Lîn said it looked like a hearth. This debate became the talk for quite a time.

After a while, the dwarves lost interest. Trying to pass the time, Nali started singing:

A group of dwarves set out at last
but a conflict has arisen all too fast
there is a demon in the sky
that plagues the minds of the dwarves as they walk by
a mass of fluff changing in shape
from trees, hills, rivers and capes
it puzzles the dwarves with great pain
as it is a question that would even puzzle king Dain
but it passed into blue
as it changes its many hues
and appears no more today
but it will come back anyway!

"You never answered my question," Nali said to Ori "Do you have some special talent?"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

A full breakfast table. Flói was looking on as the other Dwarves scarfed down platters of sausages and eggs on the table. Despite the appealing aroma tickling his nose - and the fact that he hasn't eaten since last night - he wasn't hungry. It's as if cram has been stuffed down his stomach - Which of course is only an illusion that will disappear as soon as the feeling of excitement passes, he thought.

"I'll have to eat." Once his decision was made, he walked toward the table to claim a spot, when -

"Up and at it, lads! Pack the dishes and the left over breakfast!"

"Great." Flói glumly grabbed a sausage and headed for his oliphauntine bag. "I'll probably be dead of hunger before we reach Moria."

[Gird]

Frar noticed that there was a table full of food and breakfast goodies laid out for the Dwarfs' departure. He didn't eat any of it, as he was feeling a bit of a hangover, but he did take the time to look it over and compare the cooking to his own. Whoever made the sausages cooked them too long on one side, and you don't use that kind of salt on eggs! He would've gone on, but he heard Balin giving the command to pack it up and get going. Frar's train of thought completely changed course. He now thought about the journey and the adventure that awaited them, and also things like, did I pack enough pairs of socks?

They marched for some time at an easy pace, for they had no reason to go fast, the weather was great and they were in friendly lands still. Frar stayed to himself for most of the morning march as his stomach was feeling queasy. Normally he would have gone and talked to someone. When the sun was high in the sky, they stopped for not only a rest, but also for some lunch. Frar didn't feel up to cooking at the time, so he let the others make something. Leftover sausage and cram? Next time, I am definitely making the meal. After he force-fed himself the meal, he went over to Balin. "Say Balin, what do you say to next time we're stopping, I cook the meal," he started, "for I've got pots and pans with me, and some seasonings too.

"That sounds good right?"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

"Good morrow, friend. Why look so glum? Surely my company is not that unbearable, is it?" Malí looked over at the fellow traveler, pointing at herself to make certain that he'd been addressing her. Do I know him? she asked herself, shaking her head for her forgetfulness. With no trouble at all Malí could recite every base equation, every great trade made by the dwarves of Erebor in recent memory, but for her own life she could never remember names or faces. "Flori Bronzeshield, at yer service. What name do you go by?"

Malí hesitated, looking at Flori. Would he recognize the name she gave, if she gave one at all? Probably not. Hopefully not, Malí corrected her own thoughts. It didn't matter anyway. If they were going to be the dwarves to reclaim Moria, Malí figured they all better get used to each other's company. They'd get used to her. They'd eventually learn to live with her stubborness and her constant need to be ahead of schedule and always be correct with calculations of every kind. In turn, Malí would force herself to get used to the others.

"I am called Malí," she informed Flori, taking his hand in a firm handshake. "I am here as the mathematician. I'm here to be a perfectionist. It is what I do as a living, and hopefully it will help in this mission of ours. But what brings you here, on this quest of Balin's? Why have you come along, Flori Bronzeshield?"

"Warriors need no other reason than the promise of another chance to do what they love, for the things they love," Flori explained. "It is something few understand, I suppose. Colors are more distinct, scents are sharper, oxygen is more refreshing, and it is how I know life is meant to be. It makes one crazy and yet strangely sane all in the same moment. That is why I am here."

"I see," Malí mused, smiling softly as she mulled over the words of Flori. The way he felt about his duty, his passion, was how Malí felt about her equations and calculations. Everything made perfect sense even in its abstract essence. If done correctly, everything worked out like a puzzle. Like a game. Malí loved playing the game of wits and intelligence with something that could always be beaten if carried out the right way. Malí looked back at Flori. "I see, and I understand."

[Orual]

Although they had not gone far at all yet, Óin could feel muscles in his legs--some that he had not used in years, it seems--aching and protesting. He was glumly aware that they were threatening to form a full-on rebellion and refuse to go another step, but it wasn't there yet. Any road, the day was still pleasant and Maron's bracing attitude lifted his spirits somewhat.

"Thank ye for your words. It gives someone as clumsy as I a great deal of courage!" Maron said, laughing. There was a spring to his step that reminded Óin of Fili or Kili, and every time he took a breath it seemed like he filled his lungs to bursting.

"That little slip?" Óin scoffed. "That doesn't make you clumsy. All it proves is that you're carrying gear." He slapped Maron's pack. "You might not believe it now, but on the journey we're on, we'll all prove that we're not clumsy. Running for your life tends to make you find your balance quickly."

That comment shot down the optimistic mood with the accuracy of an elf's arrow. Maron's step lost its bouyancy, and suddenly Óin's pack seemed heavier. He sighed deeply. "Bother," he muttered, and reluctantly slung an arm over Maron's shoulders. "It'll be fine," he said, hoping that he sounded confident. "Balin knows what he's doing..."

[Saraphim]

Narin heaved his pack and one of the group food packs onto his shoulders. He heard Loni say something behind him:

"Ah, here we go Narin. Finally! I'm more then a bit excited about this, if you see. You too?"

Narin turned around and smiled at Loni.

"Oh, yes, I don't think I've been more excited about anything since I left the Iron Hills. I only wish we didn't have to take such a long way around Mirkwood."

As they chatted and began walking, one of the others pointed out some clouds in the sky. The entire company stopped and looked at the stange formation. Narin heard someone say that it resembled a snake.

"What an ill omen." He snorted, "It looks like a river to me." Loni smiled and ate another sausage.

[Melisil]

As they walked, Narin replied, "Oh, yes, I don't think I've been more excited about anything since I left the Iron Hills. I only wish we didn't have to take such a long way around Mirkwood."

"Me too!" Loni agreed, "It is troublesome though, isn't it? Bother Elves."

They walked for a while more before someone stopped the group, pointing out some strange looking cloud formation. "Snake." said one Dwarf, "It's an Elf." said another, and, "a hearth!". Narin said to the mention of a snake, "What an ill omen. It looks like a river to me."

Loni shook his head, Superstitious rot. Although he belived in some bad omans, clouds were not bad news bringers. "The only bad things they bring is rain- and that's good in it's way!" Loni said to himself.

The rest of the group gradually let seeing the clouds go as well. At this Loni smiled secretly to himself, Glad they listened to me. He thought proudly to himself. The next while of walking was also fairly uneventful, so, Loni being who he was, called out to Nali: "Sing us another song, won't you lad?"

"Aye." answered Nali, and began,

"A group of dwarves set out at last
but a conflict has arisen all too fast
there is a demon in the sky
that plagues the minds of the dwarves as they walk by
a mass of fluff changing in shape
from trees, hills, rivers and capes
it puzzles the dwarves with great pain
as it is a question that would even puzzle king Dain
but it passed into blue
as it changes its many hues
and appears no more today
but it will come back anyway!"

Loni shook his head again at the words of the song, but liked the tune nonetheless.

[Taralphiel]

Maron heard Oin say to him: "That little slip? That doesn't make you clumsy. All it proves is that you're carrying gear. You might not believe it now, but on the journey we're on, we'll all prove that we're not clumsy. Running for your life tends to make you find your balance quickly."

Maron was taken aback by this. He had not though to hard on ever really having his life in so much danger as to run in a retreat. It seemed to let the air out of his step.

Oin must have sensed this slight change, for he quickly grumbled "It'll be fine, Balin knows what he's doing..."

Maron nodded in agreement "Aye, he is very skilled. Im sure he will not lead us astray!" He fiddled with teh straps on his pack and kept moving forward before saying:

"Truth be told, not too many of my family were great adventurers! My Uncle for one has been at the smithy all of his life! He never dreamed of taking a journey to see the Great Halls! I do look forward to making my family known for grand expeditions! It will be a wonderful thing to look forward to...." he trailed off...

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori glanced at Mali and nodded, smiling slightly, and they continued walking in a sort of companionable silence. The other dwarves chattered, argued (a most well thought-of dwarven past-time), or simply walked in silence, occasional bursts of song and impromptu poetry joining the group every so often.

Presently, a debate about a certain cloud formation broke out, and certain theories floated to Flori's ears. "It's a snake!"
"No, a hearth!"
"Don't be daft, any fool can see it is quite clearly a river!"
"A river? How is it a river? It is quite clearly an elf - see, there are the eyes, and the side of the face, the neck - why, you can even see the pointed ears!"
"Since when did you become an expert on elves? And when did you ever see an elf with a nose that blobby, or for that matter, one that can fly, hmm?!"

Flori grinned to himself, exchanging a glance with Mali before craning his own neck back to squint up at the 'elf'. Personally he couldn't see it but...he snapped his fingers as he realised what had been praying on his mind, startling Mali who looked at him, puzzled.

"Excuse me one moment - yonder cloud made me remember something." Mali nodded and Flori manoevured himself through the singing, talking, sausage-eating dwarves until he had reached Balin himself, striding away at the head of the group and humming to himself cheerily. As he saw Flori he beamed widely. "Ah, doesn't it do you good, Flori, to be on the path to reclaim at last what is rightfully ours?"

Flori smiled briefly, walking fast to keep up with his eager friend's robust stride. "It does, Balin, it does - but...the path is what I came to talk to you about. It won't be long until we reach the borders of the elven forest. We will be going around it, will we not?"

Balin's smile broadened even wider and he seemed to think about something before nodding to himself. "Go around it, Flori?"

Warning bells started to ring in the back of Flori's mind as he recognised his Balin's mood and noted the worrying glint in his friend's eye. They hadn't really worked out the route properly beforehand - Balin had always waved away their concerns, declaring he had it all planned out. "Aye, Balin - it would be wiser to go around it, surely-"

"And why is that, friend?"

Balin's voice was still cheery but it had a slightly dangerous edge to it. Flori hesitated, then decided he had to bring the issue up - surely Balin had noticed... "Balin, you do remember your last visit to the forest, don't you?" he said gently. Balin rounded on him immediately.

"My imprisonment, you mean? At the hands of those filthy elves?" Flori didn't say anything and Balin kept on. "Oh, Flori - that was the fault of those vile spiders, nothing more, and we won't be going near them now, will we? My young friend, surely you are not afraid of the elves? Why, it would be positive cowardice to go around Mirkwood."

"I fear it would be provoking trouble-"

"Why?" Balin snapped, his jovial tone vanishing, and several of the dwarves looked up. "What have we to fear from them, hmm?"

[Imladris]

Ori

Ori stared at the cloud in question and stroked his beard thoughtfully. “It looks like a joker’s cap crowned on some hoary head,” he said softly. He smiled when he heard Nali break into a little, singing of a dark cloud that haunted their steps in a playful way. Still…he glanced up at the cloud and chuckled. ‘Twas folly to think the cloud could create some ill for their journey – the only trouble they would likely meet at this time would an elf or two…

“So, Ori,” said Nali with a grin, “you never did answer my question.” He looked at him expectantly, his eyes bright and shining.

Question – what question? Ori though, his mind racing, brows meeting in a perplexed frown. With a regretful sigh, he said, “You must forgive an old dwarf, Nali, for not remembering. What was it?”

“If you had any special traits,” the dwarf replied, gazing into the sky. “See there,” he whispered pointing, “there is a dragon, his wings spread, flying towards us from a billowy mist!”

A smile grew on Ori’s face as he saw it for a vanishing instant, but then his lips drooped and forehead wrinkled a little bit. “I don’t know,” he said, attempting to answer the younger dwarf’s question. “I know much of dwarf lore and song,” he said with a shrug. “I can play a flute whose tone reminds one of loss and sorrow. It is elvish make,” he said with a wink. “From a Mirkwood elf at that,” he added.

Balin

"I fear it would be provoking trouble-" Flori said cautiously, his eyes darting side to side.

"Why?" Balin snapped, his jovial tone vanishing, and several of the dwarves looked up. "What have we to fear from them, hmm?"

“You know as well as I, Balin, that no friendship exists between the elves and the dwarves,” Flori retorted, his kind eyes flashing. “We should go around, so as not to create any more trouble than is necessary. Besides, we should gather our strength for Moria, not for minor inconveniences on the road.”

“It is a matter of principal, Flori,” Balin replied in a tight condescending tone. Pacing back and forth and gesturing wildly with his arms, he cried out fiercely, “I am not going to avoid the elves like a fat hobbit who wishes to avoid a grand adventure. Not only did they humiliate Thorin,” -- a shudder, a frown, a fluttering of the eyes – “but they had the gall to march to the Lonely Mountain when they heard news of Smaug’s death for treasure that they had not earned.” A dark scowl settled on his wrinkled face and he said, lowly, “It would be against our honour not to go.”

“We will gain honour enough,” Flori protested, “if we succeed in resettling Moria. Is that not enough?” he asked looking pleadingly into Balin’s eyes.

“Yes, but this matter with the elves will be like a smudge upon a parchment,” Balin said with a sigh. He bowed his head, his eyes staring at the ground. “We will not go purposely out of our way to annoy them if that’s any consolation, my dear Flori,” he said with a mischievous wink. "We will just go down the path and if the Elvenking takes offense, there is naught we can do about it."

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik, overhearing Balin's words stepped up to the front of the group. His breath came out easy and his muscles felt only a little strain from the walking. Good, he thought. He had not entirely lost his strength.
"Theres naught we can do about that then, lord, except bash some heads." Alrik had never much liked elves. Their seemingly natural arrogance and haughtiness allways got him on edge, and even the memory of the wood elves fighting alongside dwarfenkind in the Battle of the Five Armies in no way disspelled his prejudice. "But in a way I agree with ye, lad." He nodded to Flori. "Whats the sense in inviting trouble? I say we could well go through the forest, we should just be carefull."

The younger dwarf did'nt seem to take offense at Alrik reffering to him as 'lad', which was only proper. As a race who gave great respect for age it was customary for elderly dwarfs to reffer to their youngers in such manner.
He took out a small keg of ale he had stored safelly in his backbag and popped open the cork. The golden brew flowed down his throat, sweeter than the crystal water of a mountain stream. Seeing Balin's dark look, Alrik passed it over to him.

"Care for some, lord?".

[The Perky Ent]

"Well now, that's interesting!" Nali said, responding to Ori. Nali could still see Erebor. The Lonely Mountain. Nali pondered if he'd ever see it again. He though of the possibilities. Surly he would visit. But...mabey he would stay in Moria and rule. Nali was in such deep consideration that he stoped while the group kept on at a steady pace twords Mirkwood. "Nali?" Ori said as he realised that he had strayed from the group. Turning around, Balin starred perplexed at Nali and said in a harsh tone, "Come now Nali, we aren't stopping now...are we?" Nali seemed to be in a trance, as he didn't respond to either Ori or Balin. Nali's eyes were closed. He seemed to be asleep. "Why does he sleep? Can he see we're trying to reclaim a lost empire here? Does this adventure mean nothing to him?" said one random Dwarf.

Time passed. After a while, Ori gave Nali a soft wack on his helmet. The rest of the group had moved on and left Nali. "Nali! Wake up! Come now!" Ori said, as Nali finally arose. "Wha? Moria has colappsed? Erebor has crashed into the Earth? Where is everybody...oh! Sorry! I dosed off!" Nali said shaking. "Don't worry friend! I can tell your worring about our journey. Do not fear. No harm will come to us!" Ori said. "Now come, or we might never see Balin again!"

Sprinting through the grass, Nali and Ori catched up to the dwarves and said in a apoligetic voice, "We're sorry! We..." There was silence. They didn't know what to say. Being the person he is, Nali said in a convincing voice, "We saw a pair of Orcs!" "Orcs?" said a dwarf named Flori. "Yes...Orcs" said Ori. "There were two orcs on the horizon...but...um...under further inspection, we found they were already dead." After a breif pause, the dwarves continued they walking. In a whisper, Ori said, "Nali...you...owe...me!" "I know i know!" Nali said as he looked back at the mountain. It looked like nothing but a small triange. Taking a deep breath, Nali started singing:

A tiny dot on a map it may seam,
but this place has a smile, a grin with a gleam,
Erebor it is called bu dwarves
and it has no coasts with water and wharves
it towers all who linger under it
and looking upon it will give any dwarf a hit
because it is marvelous in its own special way
and it is here, forever to stay.

After a while, Nali overheard Balin discussing something about going through Mirkwood. Intruding in the conversation, Nali said, "Well, if your asking my opinion..." "But we're not, dreamer!" said Flori. "Hold on Flori, let this dwarf speak. we all have our faults!" said Balin. "Well, if you ask my opinionm, i say we go through Mirkwood! I have long awaited to gaze upon the presence of the elves. It would give me much joy! Although they have a temper, it would be harmless to go through Mirkwood. We can exit before we get in range of those blasted spiders!" said Nali. Giving a grin, Balin said, "Well now, I'll surely take that into consideration!"

[Orual]

Óin glanced over at the debate going on around him. He glanced at Maron darkly, sighing and rolling his eyes at the sky, where he noticed a cloud that looked a little bit like his mother. He shrugged and turned to Balin and Flori, and the small crowd gathered around them.

"If you ask me--which I know none of you did, but I don't care--we'll avoid Mirkwood as much as we can," he said loudly. Most of the dwarves turned to look at him. He crossed his arms over his chest and continued. "Balin, the last time we went through Mirkwood, it did us no good and cost us a lot of time. You can ramble on about honor and appearances, but what I think most of us are worried about is mithril. Who will know that we didn't pass through Mirkwood when we had the chance? A better question yet, who will care? Alrik over there has the right idea. Don't ask for trouble and it'll still come to you, but perhaps in smaller quantities than otherwise."

A couple of the dwarves turned to each other, agreeing with him or talking about the grumpy old spoilsport who was trying to ruin the adventure, he could not tell. And he did not care. "We'll do well enough to keep our skin intact on the safe route to Moria, if there's such a thing. Why waste time and energy going through Mirkwood? What's in Mirkwood? Elves and spiders, that's what. Trouble and danger. If you're taking a vote, Balin, my vote's no, and if you're taking the advice of old friends I'd have you looking at the past as a learning experience instead of a grudge. The elves were mean to us. We're not children anymore, Balin. Is it worth risking injury and lost time and perhaps worse to go and say 'I got through your forest, so there, you pompous, pointy-eared mischief-makers'? I think not." He nodded sagely and fell silent.

[Saraphim]

Narin was chatting casually with Loni and wishing he had stretched his legs a bit more before the journey, when the heated argument at the head of the group caought his attention, and he decided to give his opinion.

"Go through Mirkwood? I was under the impression that we would be going around. But if we can cut our little expidition nearly in half by taking the shortest road, why not? I'm aware of the elves and how much they hate anyone to walk on thier precious road, but we aren't marching into battle against them, we are merely passing through. I fail to understand why we would upset them."

[Carlas]

The large room was filled with shouting and laughing orcs, all coming back from their posts for some rest and food. The room was large both in depth and height, but this was almost impossible to tell with the weak light the few flickering torches emitted. The walls were crumbling in places, and there were many dark stains on the old stone where fights had broken out. Most of the orcs sat at the many tables scattered randomly throughout the dim room, laughing and shouting as they stuffed their faces with meat and ale, whilst a few orcs leaned against the hard, stone walls watching the others. Nazklash was one of these orcs.

He watched the other orcs silently from a dark corner away from any torches, as he thought about everything that had happened over the last couple of days. Uzgash, Lugnush and he had sat in the deep tunnel for a long time, planning how the revolt would begin, and how everything would work. Nazklash had listened carefully, and now understood everything that had to be done so that the Chief could finally be overthrown. His only problem was Lugnush. Nazklash knew that Lugnush wanted to be the captain, but Nazklash was much better for the job, and more deserving, why else would Uzgash have gone to him? But Lugnush, he knew, was strong and could easily kill Nazklash if he got his hands on him, so he would have to be careful and keep his eyes on the treacherous orc.

Suddenly there was a loud shout, and Nazklash looked up just in time to see two orcs wrestling on the floor. They were both quite large orcs, and they swung madly at eachother as the rolled across the floor. One suddenly kicked the other off him and stood up quickly before picking the other who was still recovering and throwing him hard into the gray stone wall. The sound of the orc smacking the wall reverberated through the room, and a large group of orcs came to stand around the fighters, as they started cheering for the one to finish the other off. The orc only spat at the other on the ground and went back to where he had been sitting, deciding he could always finish him off later.

Nazklash looked away from the great form of the orc who was now starting to recover from the fight, and saw a tall, lean orc come in through the wide doors at the end of the room. Nazklash smiled as he recognized the orc Gorzag, and started to walk purposely towards him. It was time for the revolt to begin.

Gorzag nodded in greeting to Nazklash as he finally reached the tall form. He had to recline his head to look at Gorzags face, which was covered in scars and had a long gash running down his left cheek. Nazklash knew that Gorzag could spread news about anything or anyone faster than any other orc in Moria, and could make sure that those who weren’t supposed to hear, didn’t. He had become known for it by all except those in high ranks, and was known as the messenger of Moria. But his ‘services’ as he called them, weren’t normally free.

“I ‘ave a job for ya.” Nazklash said, as he and Gorzag walked over to a corner where there were less orcs. Gorzag looked down at him as they reached the corner. “And what’s the pay?” He asked curiously.

Nazklash smiled. “Jus’ listen to me. No one likes how the Chief’s been running this place lately, and there’s been lots o’ talk about a revolt.” Gorzag leaned in closer, so he wouldn’t miss anything Nazklash said. “ An’ the talks true. But we need to get all of ‘em worthless lugs together if we even ‘ope to defeat the Chief.” Nazklash looked into the messenger’s dark eyes, which were now filled with surprise.

“Ya mean…your going to lead the revolt?” Gorzag stuttered. “Why shouldn’ I?” Nazklash said indignantly. “The rest of you filth are too scared to even do anythin’. I’m the only one that ‘as the guts to do somethin’ about the Chief. Now, I need to get all of ‘em scums together tomorrow so that we can overthrow the Chief. You better ‘ave everyone ‘cept the Chief and his officers down in the deep ‘all or I’ll have your ‘ead!”

Gorzag scowled down at Nazklash as he asked once again. “And what do I get in return?” Nazklash stood as straight as his small back would allow and answered after a pause of thought. “When we finally kill the Chief, I’ll give you an ‘igher rank, maybe ya could be my personal messenger, you’d be paid better then what these lugs can give ya.”

Gorzag straightened again and paused as he thought about his options. Nazklash waited silently as Gorzag cracked each knuckle one by one as he thought. Nazklash looked around him, becoming a little impatient and watched the other orcs as they went about their business, completely oblivious to the two orcs. Finally, Gorzag bent down a little so that Nazklash could hear him clearly. “Fine, I’ll do it. But if something happens, you better find some way to pay me back, cause I know plenty o’ orcs that could grind you into the ground.” And at that, he walked away into the crowd of orcs.

Nazklash grinned and left the large room.

[Imladris]

With a grateful nod Balin took the proffered ale from Alrik (may his beard ever grow longer), and took a sip. Ale had such a wonderful effect, like water upon a fevered head. He wiped his beard with his sleeve and heaved a sigh. “I am thankful for your well meaning advice,” he said pleasantly, brown eyes twinkling. “However, this has nothing to do with grudges, but with honour . You may ask, as Oin so grumpily, though sagely, did, about who would know if we went through or not? I say to them that we would know and I could not live with myself if I had shirked from a matter of honour.”

He paused, looking at Flori and Oin, who were both shaking their head dubiously, Oin muttering something. “In a way, it’s very much like the reason we returned Beorn’s horses,” he said, a small smile about his lips, his eyes far away. “It would certainly make our journey easier, but it would not have been honorable to have kept the horses.”

Ori laughed and said, “You forget, dear Balin, that if we had kept the horses Beorn would have had our skin beside the warg’s and goblin’s heads!”

“Ori lad,” said Balin with a shake of the head and a broad smile, “don’t go making me example worthless!” He wagged his finger at his fellow dwarf playfully, but then said, “It’s not as if I’ll knock on the elven-king’s doors and tell him, like a wee child, that you bound us and cast us in a dark prison so long ago and now you have to deal with us in all our strength. That would indeed be the ultimate of follies. No. All we will do is travel on the path through Mirkwood and that is all. Moria calls, and I do not feel like traveling around such a broad stretch of wood.”

As the dwarves dispersed, murmuring to each other, Balin took Flori and Ori aside and asked, “Do you have any problems with my plan?”

[Pyroclastic]

Orcs skittered out of the way as Uzgash stormed down the cavern corridor. That stupid Turgrog, the only good thing about him was his impending death. The day had started out badly when Grog the Troll had hit Uzgash in the head with a rock he had thrown. If it hadn’t been for Uzgash’s helmet…Thoughts of his helmet threw Uzgash into memories of his life before Moria. Back then he had been captain, no questions asked. They raided when he said so, and that was often. No planning, no politics, no other captains to upset his plans. Now here was Turgrog, thinking he was king of Moria. Uzgash growled menacingly at a passing orc, but even the orc’s squeak of terror didn’t mend his mood. Suddenly he spied his adversary crossing the tunnel ahead. For once the stupid orc was without his troup of bodyguards. “Turgrog!” Uzgash shouted, “Cease with your slinking ways and face me like the warrior you pretend to be!”

Turgrog hissed as he lowered his pike towards Uzgash. Uzgash laughed. “Don’t bother with fighting me, you’ll only die. You’re a pitiful excuse for a captain. Bribes and lies, that’s how you earned your rank!” He laughed even harder at Turgrog’s look of rage. In a sudden fit of inspiration, he further taunted Turgrog;
“Little Turgrog Dancer,
How Is He Captain, What Is The Answer?
He Bought An Army, And Sold His Soul,
The Captain Of The West Gate
Is A Sightless Mole!”

Turgrog stood there, glaring at Uzgash, deciding what to do. Uzgash was pleased, he was so smart, no wonder he was the greatest captain in Moria.

“Well Uzgash, we now have the truth,” Turgrog said at last, “You’re no orc, you’re a stinking, rhyming Elf! How did you get to be captain, eh? You put your enemies to sleep with your poetry? Or were they flopped on the ground in laughter?”

Uzgash didn’t even blink. He walked up to Turgrog and Wksquack! He brained him upside the head with the side of his double headed axe. Turgrog slumped to the floor, not dead but certainly knocked out. “Watch your step, little Grog, your doom approaches.” Uzgash continued on his way, in a considerably better mood.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori grinned as Ori and Balin recounted the brief memory of Beorn and his horses - his brother had told him first hand much about his adventures with Balin and the others, including the curious little hobbit, Bilbo Baggins, and he had heard the tales from the others' mouths as well, an the elaborations; he almost felt as if he had been there, and wished he had, although at the time he had not been able to, and Ori had bid him stay back, saying it would not do for their parents to lose not one son but two. He shook his head slightly - he had come to regret that a thousand times over since, although at the time it had seemed only to be fair. Foolish, Flori...well, you shall not make such a mistake again. You did not this time, did you? The full glory of resettling Moria shall be yours as well as your brothers... The thought almost took the dwarf by surprise, and he was surprised by it, and felt slightly guilty - he had always told himself he did not grudge his brother the respect and renown he had gained from the journey to the Lonely Mountain, as it was then, and the battle of Five Armies in which he had fought at Thorin Oakenshield's side. Dain had won respect in his own ways,f of course, always more of a warrior than his brother, and he had of course fought in the battle of Five Armies at the side of King Dain. But had he really matched up to Ori, companion of Thorin Oakenshield, one of those who took back from the dragon what was truly dwarven... He shook away the thought angrily, infuriated and guilty at such ridiculous and jealous thoughts.

But his discomfort, apparently, was not over yet, as Balin drew Ori and him aside to ask them privately what they thought of the route through Mirkwood. Flori's temper, now inflamed, flared up inside. He simply means to put us on the spot, when he knows I don't agree...

He kept it in check though, looking slightly troubled before he opened his mouth to speak. But as he did so, his brother caught his eye, and shook his head very slightly, just out of Balin's sight as the elder dwarf's eyes were fixed at the time on Flori. Flori paused, then replied anyway, "I think it may still be provoking unnecessary trouble still, Balin. But-" he held up a finger as Balin went to speak again, and his expression became less serious and he smiled slightly, shrugging a little. "I trust your judgement, friend. And so long as you solemnly swear that you do not intend to ambush the elf king and put him in a headlock-"

Balin laughed out loud and Flori's smile turned into a wide grin as his friend clapped him on the back and the tense atmosphere relaxed. They continued walking, and Ori and Balin continued to recount their old memories, as the preciously debated of Mirkwood drew steadily closer. Flori joined in, of course, with his own comments on the tales he knew so well from his friends' and brother's mouths, and with tales and jokes of his own. But still he could not quite shake of that guilty, jealous thought of earlier...

[Melisil]

After a while of walking, Loni noticed that Balin, and many of the other Dwarfs up ahead, were arguing about something..

"Go through Mirkwood? I was under the impression that we would be going around. But if we can cut our little expidition nearly in half by taking the shortest road, why not? I'm aware of the elves and how much they hate anyone to walk on thier precious road, but we aren't marching into battle against them, we are merely passing through. I fail to understand why we would upset them."

This was spoken by Narin, and so Loni joined in; feeling he had a bit of an idea what they were arguing about.

"Well my thought is this: we must go through Mirkwood, whether we like to agree or otherwise. From what I can tell, Balin is quite stuck with the idea of going through. It's quicker. We'll use less of our delicious food. And, well, what argument is there!?" said Loni, voicing his opinion as is so very common among Dwarfs.

"There are both Elfs and spiders in Mirkwood Loni." replied a dwarf sceptically, "I'd think you would know! I mean really, with age comes wisdom is what I've heard."

Loni glared at him for a moment. The name of the Dwarf for now had escaped him, but he felt sure they must of met once or twice beforehand.

"Rubbish!" Loni huffed, before turning to Balin. "You agree with me?" he asked somewhat assuredly.

[Saraphim]

Narin turned to the dwarf who had spoken against Loni.

"Oh, Elves and Spiders, is it? Spiders are no match for a gang of strong Dwarfs, armed to the teeth! And as for the Elves, we have nothing to fear from them, like I said, so why shouldn't we take the shorter way? It would take weeks to go around Mirkwood, and it would be a pointless waste of our time!"

The Dwarf in question flinched as Narin bawled out his piece, and several of the others looked at him with mixtures of amusement and slight fear, but Narin could not have cared any less.

[Taralphiel]

Maron kept his mouth clenched as the dwarves debated amongst themselves. He had heard all of the stories about Mirkwood, and he liked Elves as much as the next dwarf. He would have gladly gone through their borders to ruffle their hair, but saying that would not get him far. That much he knew. An upstart dwarf would have little to contribute to the conversation.

Keeping his silence, he turned to the sky and looked up at the clouds some dwarves had been talking about. 'Hmmm' he thought to himself 'I dont know about that one, but to its left looks just like my anvil with a helm being shapen on it...' Lost in his thoughts, he didnt see a sharp stone in front of him, and he almost landed square on his crown. Wobbling ungraciously, he thought he heard a few chuckles from behind him as he caught his balance.

Grumbling, he set his gaze straight to the ground and kept walking 'Keep your wits, whats left of them Maron Sandbrace' he thought as he followed the group along...

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí gumbled and mumbled to heself as the male dwarves debated rather boisterously whether to go through or around the forest of the Elves. Malí considered putting in her opinion, but as Balin seemed to have decided to go through Mirkwood, Malí began to grit her teeth and let her expression scream what her voice dared not. The dwarves began to move out, and Malí followed noiselessly since it seemed to be the general consensus for them to go through Mirkwood. She wanted to stomp or storm, but Malí reminded herself harshly that it would seem rather childish. So, Malí followed noiselessly, with only her furrowed brows to convey her true feelings.

It's most impractical to go through the forest, Malí growled inwardly. Of course it was impactical. Spiders, Elves, and everything else Malí could contemplate. She stopped liking the odds the same moment she began calculating them in her mind. These foolish men will take their time through the forest, thinking that since it's a shortcut that they've got plenty of time. Follly! Then there's always spiders, which are much more dangerous than these overly proud men will admit to. Elves could hinder us, even if they didn't attack they would likely take us to their King! It is definitely much more sensible to go around!

Malí wrote as she walked, jotting down all the probabilities and odds against the little troop of dwarves. At the rate they were going...Malí compared it against the rate if they'd gone around. Malí rolled her eyes when it proved to indeed be faster to go through. Then a sly grin slipped over her face as she jogged to join up between Balin, Flori, and Ori. She rolled up her papers and 'politely' interrupted their conversation.

"Balin, sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Malí began, though her smile betrayed her true emotions to show that she was actually enjoying this explanation. "But according to my calculations, which I never show unless absolutely correct and triple-checked, if we keep walking at this pace and go through Mirkwood-" Malí paused and looked at her papers again, pretending to go over her equations again. "-then we will arrive at our destination in almost three years!"

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin braced himself as he saw Malí approach, her brows tied in a knitted frown, her spectacles perched upon the end of her nose. In her hand were papers and it looked as if she was reading them. Yes, he would hear again about how foolish it was to go through Mirkwood.

"Balin, sir, I hate to be the bearer of bad news," Mali said, a queer smile on her face, “but according to my calculations, which I never show unless absolutely correct and triple-checked, if we keep walking at this pace and go through Mirkwood-" she paused, skimming her papers again, --"-then we will arrive at our destination in almost three years!"

Balin’s eyebrows shot up and he stared at her. Three blasted years? He shook his head and narrowed his eyes at her, a small smile playing about his lips. “Three years, you say, to make the journey through Mirkwood? You must have made a mistake, lassie.” He grinned broadly and winked at her before bursting into a loud guffaw. “Come come, Malí,” he said, taking her by the arm and leading her away from the chattering elves, “You don’t really want to go through Mirkwood do you, lass?”

Ori

Ori stretched a crisp piece of paper onto a stump and dipped his fin goose quill pen into his tiny bottle of ink. Pausing, he raised his head upwards, pondering what to write.

Hail, King Dain, (may your beard ever grow longer),

The journey has been without event or danger. The dwarves are full of song, especially Nali, and there have been no serious quarrels along the way.

There is one problem, though: a problem of honour, according to Balin. He wants to pass through Mirkwood instead of circling the long way around. He says that we should not be afraid of those elves who captured us so ignobly before and that if the elves want trouble, they’ll have to come and make it themselves. You must admire him for his honorable spirit, but I’m afraid that the elves will take this ill. Thankfully, Balin promised not to annoy the elves purposely, but still, I am uneasy at this turn of events.

Ori

Carefully folding the parchment, he sealed it with a drop of hot red wax and with a firm hand addressed it to King Dain with dwarvish runes. At his whistle, a sleek raven dived from a nearby oak and landed upon Ori’s outstretched arms. The raven was one of the last birds that yet spoke to the dwarves of the Lonely Mountain. Ori tied the folded parchment to the raven’s leg with a piece of string, and said, “Bring this to King Dain, and then return to me.”

With a nod in reply, the raven spread is sable wings and circled into the air before gliding south towards the Erebor.

Sighing, Ori sat on the stump, remembering his time in Thranduil’s prison. It had been a humbling experience, but was it worth deliberately entering into the forbidden forest? It was a land of elves and spiders and dwarves had no place in it. But Balin was in command of the group and not himself -- he would follow Balin no matter what he ordered.

He saw Flori and called him over, saying, “We haven’t had much time to talk since we left the Mountain,” he said. He glanced over at Ori with a smile, but stopped: his brother’s face was a little pale, and his eyes sad, almost guilty. “What is the matter, Flori?” he asked gently.

[mark12_30]

Lîn growled with disgust, and gave a snort. "Calculations. Lass, if you knew your lore you'd know that even a hobbit can get through Mirkwood in less time than that. Do you really think that Bilbo could do it and we cannot?"

Mali eyed Lîn with considerable ire. Balin waved him off. "Lîn, I think the point's been made. Let it be, lad. Let it go."

Lîn's eyebrows climbed, and Lîn lapsed into sullen silence. But then Narin joined Lîn, and said, "Aye, that's right. Where hobbits have gone, how can a dwarf possibly fear to tread the path? Indeed we shall not fear. Indeed not."

"I didn't say that," Lîn replied. "All I said was it wouldn't take us three years." Don't go putting words in my mouth." Lîn eyed Balin uneasily, who scowled again. Narin continued.

"I put nothing in your mouth that didn't belong there!"

"You did! There's plenty to fear. And if you had a head on your shoulders you'd fear it too!"

Narin roared with indignation, and Lîn dropped his pack and made fists. "Loudmouth!" Lîn shouted. "If the leaders say go around, then around we go, and you'll not stand in their way!" Lîn took the first swing, and grazed Narin on his jaw.

Narin respondd with solid fury.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali strutted over the grass as the party argued about a trip through mirkwood. Nali didn’t really understand the whole thing. ‘Who cares it they go through the forest or not! It’s not like there’s mithril in the forest, so what does it matter?’ Nali thought. As far as Nali was concerned, the quicker route to Moria was the better one. The other dwarves, however, didn’t see his light. Ignoring their rased voices, Nali sat on a small boulder and took out a parchment and quill. He started sketching the scene. In the center, on the left side of the parchment, a dwarf stood with a fist raised and a mouth wide. His opposite, however, had his hands in a waving motion, as if denying whatever the dwarves were saying. Behind to two arguing dwarves, many dwarves stood in the background discussing the matter. As Nali dipped his quill, he heard a small muffled sound and a dwarf screaming. The two dwarves appeared to be screaming to death, as one of the dwarves had a small trickle of blood running down their face. Nali quickly picked up his quill to draw the new features of the dwarves. The other dwarves seemed to form a circle around the two fighting dwarves. Nali shook his head and began to write under the sketch:

Through Mirkwood or around we go
But we’ve had a fight not by our foe
The dwarves now scream, whail, and shreak
That can be heard form the highest peak
It has now started, the blood is drawn
And now all of the dwarves around will faun
On Lin and Narin as they are called
And will keep fighting until their problem solved
And so it has started, the breaking up
While new alliances are being signed up
A peril that will effect all on the trip
For this is a plunge, not just a dip
To moria it will take time
But until then, I will sing and rhyme

After righting his song, he began singing the tune, watching at the dwarves. Suddenly, Nali stopped singing and watched with amazement. Narin had retaliated

[Saraphim]

Narin stood in shock at the dwarf who had just swung his fist at him. Luckily, he had enough wits to dodge, but he only escaped by a hair.

"Oh, so it's a fight you want, then is it?!?" He said loudly.

Immediatly, he was at it with Lin. His fists were not used to this type of work, but he managed to give Lin a lovely black eye before he landed a punch directly on Narin's nose. Blood gushed out in a wave, but that did not stop him from headbutting Lin in the stomach.

Lin stumbled back, but recovered quickly and made Narin's vision spin from a severe knock to the side of his head.

This continued in the same fashion of trading blows and roaring curses, until Narin felt himself being restrained by someone.

It was Loni, and his restraining did not last long as he backed away when Lin threatened to break his nose.

Narin could tell that Lin had started to favor his defence. He had become tougher at blocking Narin's rain of punches, but the few hits Lin did land were weaker and had little force behind it.

Either he's weakening, Narin thought, as he attempted a blow to Lin's temple, Or he's preparing something big

He began to step up his offensive, and managed to knock the breath out of Lin with an uppercut to the stomach. Lin stumbled back, and Narin took his advantage and hit Lin in the eye.(He said later that he meant to do it, but he was really aiming for Lin's jaw)

Lin recovered surprisingly fast, but failed to block Narin's next blow. Lin stumbled back again, and prepared to strike Narin with what looked to be all his strength. Suddenly, someone stepped between Narin and Lin. Narin looked up angrily, and recognized Balin through his blood-covered eyes.

But apparently, Lin did not, and promptly hit Balin square in the face.

[Melisil]

Loni could not tell by now if Balin wished to go through or around Mirkwood. He grumbled to himself, cursing those that opposed going through Mirkwood. Suddenly, Loni noticed that Narin and Lin had first disgruntled each other with, in a way, rude remarks, and they were now fist fighting each other.

"Narin!" Loni growled, "Lin! What are you doing lads?" The time for fist-fights, this was not Loni thought. "Arg.." he sighed. He walked over to the two of them, now in quite alot of fury.

He grabbed Narin's arms, holding them fast. Narin struggled fiercely for almost a minute, but after that, relaxed. Another Dwarf had grapped Lin by now aswell. "Hold, Narin!" he told his companion, who was still every now and then, making an attemp to attack Lin.

Narin stopped, and looked over to Loni. Loni released his hold. "Bit of a bother you stopped me Loni." Narin growled, glaring for just a moment at Lin once more.

"Come now Narin, we can't be fighting one another, 'specially not this early on, if you see. We're all on the same side here, if your remembering. No use bringing up the tension anymore then we need to." was what Loni replied to him.

Narin shook his head, "I suppose."

Loni laughed, "Ah well. What's done's done. Sausage?" he asked, pulling another handfull from somewhere in his bag.

Narin laughed as well, "You'll never be without a sausage, will you Loni?"

"Oh don't say that Narin, you give me far too much credit that ways!"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Flói had been quiet from the time they left Erebor. His head had been swimming in thoughts - recollection of a past Age, and ideas for the future; all based on one thing - the great realm of Khazad-dûm. His mind is now focused on an ancient - and relatively unknown - relic called Durin's Axe. Reputedly made by Durin the Deathless himself, its blade was of pure mithril, with a handle crafted of ivory. It said in his ancestor's journals that...

He had been unaware of his surroundings for some time now, until the last vestige of his peripheral senses reported that something was amiss in the group. Apparently a scuffle had broken out between Narin and Lîn.

"What happened?" he asked someone.

"Words. The wrong words." the Dwarf answered.

Don't they all start that way? he didn't ask. "What started it?"

Someone behind him - the singing one - answered that.

"We were debating whether to go through Mirkwood or not. Someone - Malí, I think her name was, said that we'd be wandering through Mirkwood for three years. That young one," - he pointed to Lîn - "disagreed, and -"

"So, how come they aren't the ones who're fighting?"

"That I don't know," Nali reponded.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori looked thoughtfully at Mali. Indeed, she had covered up her gender well, even when they were talking. And who was the other - Lin? Who would have thought, not one female amongst them, but two. Not that all the dwarves would have noticed the references to their gender, of course, but it could cause some unrest with the more traditional amongst them...

"Flori?" Ori's voice jerked Flori back to reality and he quickly looked back at his brother. Concern showed in his brother's eyes. "What is wrong?"

What, does he think I am scared of the journey ahead then? Think you that your brother cannot handle a quest as well as you, simply because you were a companion of Thorin, is that it, brother? Flori quickly caught these ridiculous thoughts and quelled them, but something of them must have shown on his face for a split second, for his astute brother looked surprised. "Brother? What is it?"

"Nothing, it's nothing," Flori muttered hastily, pushing away from his brother and continuing down the path at a right old speed, huddled behind his pack as guilty anger grew in his mind.

~*~

The King of Erebor stood on one of the steps up to his throne, his eyes turned up to the round window, set high up at the other end of the hall, one of thekead seperated quarters left open, about half a metre wide in all. Others may have wondered at his concern and intent based on this window, for it was too small to let in much cool air into the room, which was anyway made of stone, magnificent and cool, and what light it let in fell in a hazy square several metres from where the king sat. Yet Dain's bright gaze remained on that small, open part of the window. Waiting.

After a moment, a watcher would now have seen the King turn away from the window, sighing with impatience and sadness and walk slowly up the steps to sit heavily in the magnificent chair. Dain had had many trials and tribulations throughout his reign as King under the Mountain, but his impressive age was really showing now, not in his long, flowing white beard, in the wiseness of his eyes, or the deep laugh lines and wrinkles on his handsome face. Now, as he sat carefully alone in his throne room, his courtiers and servants and warriors and people all busy around him in their forges and fields and homes and palace, chatter ringing through the stone halls, songs through the fields, the clanging of metal in the forges...right now, Dain's age was becoming visible in the way he sighed so heavily, dropped so wearily into his throne, rested his hands against his forehead and closed his eyes.

The faint, croaking 'caw' of a bird made the king stiffen slightly, and as it was followed by the feathery, rustling clapping of wings, then king sat up, his eyes once more trained on the window. Then silence. The king sat frozen, as if suspended in time, until the clicking of feet was head on the roof above....then a small, black head, inlaid with glittering black eyes and a sharp, grinning beak, appeared at the round window. Dain seemed to relax, grinning suddenly in relief, and gave a long, low whistle. The bird gave another croaking caw, this time seeming, to the fanciful or just plain knowledgable observer, to hold a note of relief before the raven flew in, glided through the white stone room, it's wings stark against the walls, and settled itself by Dain's hand on the throne. The King beamed fondly at the raven, raising his hand so it nestled it's head against his finger familiarly as the king carefully untied the piece of parchement on it's leg with his other hand as it raised a foot obligingly.

As soon as the parchment was off and the King had unrolled it and begun to read, the bird gave another caw, this time of farewell, and departed, flying through the hall to the other side, where a high hole in the wall allowed it to slip through into the corridor, from whence it would probably go in search of the kitchens. There was rule in the palace: no one, under any circumstance, can kill a raven. The birds were under the king's protection. Once this one had found something to eat in the kitchen (Dain grinned at the thought - the new cook detested the birds and was most vocal in her accounts of how she would only feed the birds if the food was on the other end of a broomstick. Dain had obligingly and satirically provided her with a special broomstick with a hook on the end for the exact purpose), it would return to the King's hall. Taking a pen and a roll of parchment from his belt, Dain began to compose a reply to his young friend's letter.

[Pyroclastic]

Far from the Mountain of Erebor, Uzgash the Iron Helmed stared at the blank cavern wall, deep in thought. If King Dain had been tall, muscular, and hideous, they might have born a resemblance. The great orc could hear the banging and shouting of Grog the Troll, who was playing in the next cavern over. Grashnegg and Zregic were really doing an admirable job with him. Uzgash’s thoughts were elsewhere, however. Plans for the revolt were always heavy on his mind. He hadn’t heard form Nazkash since he had first approached him with the concept. Uzgash was beginning to regret having involved Nazkash. The more Uzgash considered it, the less he thought of the wimpy little orc he had chosen. Could something that little lead a full scale revolt? Uzgash had chosen him because once Nazklash got rid of Turgrog and his body guards, it would not be hard to dispose of Nazklash himself. Ahh, if only he were still a marauder of the open plains. Things had been so much simpler then. Here in Moria he couldn’t just go about killing all of the Captains, you had to create turmoil, and spread rumors, and ensure your leadership…it was enough to drive an orc to exhaustion. All this thinking! Back before Moria, thought had been an unnecessary expenditure.

The cavern walls shuddered, but Grog was silent and still. Uzgash paused in his thinking for a moment, and his heart quickened. You could feel it, the fear, and the power. Even Uzgash was afraid. If he had been outside, he would have seen the orc minions scrambling for cover. Grog began to wail. The Fiery One was waking. After a moment the feeling subsided, but Uzgash was now alert. Something was disturbing the Nameless Fear.

[Gird]

Frar had walked on, thinking to himself about the debate that had arisen about the path to take. Some wanted to go around Mirkwood, and some, Balin included, wanted to go right through it. He did not care either way, as it was pointless to argue about it. They had come here with Balin, under Balin's direction. He for one would follow Balin wherever he went, be it folly or no. It wasn't his place to argue with authority.

He then noticed that two Dwarfs, Lin and Narin had engaged each other in a fist fight! Oh no! thought Frar, I was expecting arguments, but not physical fighting among ourselves! The fighting should be saved for Moria. Frar didn't even try to get involved. In no time it was resolved anyways.It made him saddened nonetheless to see this kind of thing happen at all.

And as they walked, Frar pulled out his lute and picked out a mello sort of tune.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik took another draught of ale from his keg and returned to watching the fight between the two beardlings, Lín and Narin. He soon lost his interest though. He was forced to bitterly conclude that even dwarfs werent what they used to be. In the elder days theyd have some proper punch-up's for the sheer fun of it, blood flowing freely when brother's and friend's proceeded to duff each other up, all in good spirit offcourse. After the fight everyone would drink ale and talk fondly about the highlights of the fight, and praise the toughest and strongest individual's.

He watched somewhat sourly as the two youth's pummeled each other, noses bleeding and eyes swelling as their furry was unleashed. He saw Narin uppercut Lín to the stomach and proceed to bash the youngling in the face. Now that was'nt so bad, he thought suprised. Perhaps he had been a bit hasty in his judgement.

His interest was rekindled immediatelly when Balin himself strode forward to interfere and got a fist in the face. Perhaps it was worth watching, after all.

[The Perky Ent]

Nali gazed at the fighting dwarves for quite some time. "Dwarves will be dwarves!" he said as he continued his sketching. He starting drawing birds and clouds, which were a little chalenge for him. Thinking of a harder target, Nali started to draw Erebor. It was a sketch that could rival most maps. The detail implied in the drawing brought a tear to his eye. "Is the riches worth the trouble? Is the risk really worth it? All this time, it was suppost to be a safe ride, but now that I look at the forest, i do wonder...if the dragon Smaug could cause all that damage...what of Durin's bane? All these days i've been kidding myself! Ha! What was i thinking! No gold is worth this! It is folly! I would do best to turn home..."

And with that, Nali started to walk back to his home. None of the dwarves noticed his departure, as they were too busy fighting. After quite a while of walking, the other dwarves became nothing but a dull blur. What would happen in Nali's new life? What would it be like to live after abandoning his fellow partners. If they survived, they surly wouldn't pay him a ounce. He would be an outcast of Erebor, and the entire dwarf community. Crying, Nali started singing (which was hard to understand due to sobbs)

Which is better, death or life
to live alone or killed by knife?
To wander on without a friend
or to fall in fire where my mind will bend?
A disgrace to my kind and as worthy as elf
to colonist the city of dwarrow-delf?
Or to be devoured by orc or fire
while being quenched of my best desires!
I think at last, I realize
that a promise cannot be comprimised
I promise i made to Balin and King Dain
And so i will quest to moria, and meet Durin's bane!

Nali dried his face and started running, trying to remember the way back. After a while Nali could see the sun start to set. Worring Nali wondered if he'd ever see Balin and the others again. "It is usless!" Nali sat on a large boulder. A rock that looked strangly familiar. And as Nali turned his head, he saw the other dwarves fighting. And Nali couldn't be any happier.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori heard a sudden resounding crack and the commotion that had been growing behind him ceased so suddenly and unnervingly that it was in fact more noticeable and worrying than the fighting itself had been. The dwarf turned irritably...and froze as he saw Balin standing among the other dwarves, his hands clamped over his nose - evidently what had made the crack. In front of him, a look of dismayed horror on his face, stood Lin, one fist still frozen in mid-air. Around them, the other fighters had paused in various stages of fighting, realising something was wrong, in a way that was almost comical. But Balin's reaction was not exactly comical as he recovered to stand, one hand still on his nose as he suddenly exploded.

"Foolish dwarf, what in merry Mordor do you think you're doing, thumpin' me on the face like that, hmm?!" he bawled furiously, glaring at Lin as he approached. He didn't give Lin a chance to reply as he paused only for a momentary breath before his tirade continued - he hadn't even begun yet, and he was evidently warming to his fury. "Honest to stone, were you behind the anvil when the brains were handed out? Hmm? Do you think you can hit Balin son of Fundin on the nose and get away with it, you son of-"

Flori decided this fight had gone far enough - Balin's anger was famous, and Lin didn't seem too happy to take a shouting at either; abashed though he was, his cheeks were starting to colour with anger again rather than horror and humiliation, and his fist was beginning to rise. As the warrior knew, although a good fight was often what was needed to relieve any bad feeling and ease thinsg up, he also suspected that a good grudge would do nothing of the sort, especially a grudge held by Balin if Lin landed that fist on his face again. Stepping forward as Balin bawled the last sentence, he came between them hastily. "Woah, Balin - I am sure Lin had no intention to impugne your good graces, but-"

"Impugne my flamin' good graces?!" came the incredulous, explosive reply. "I'll give you flamin' good graces, both of you, young hi-hoes..."

"Balin, would it be-"
"Lord Balin, I am sure that-"
"What in stone is-"
"Balin, I think I can see the edges of the Forest!"

Several people had started talking at once, but it was the last that all heeded to, and all eyes swivelled from the conflict involving Balin, Lin and Flori to the speaker - Ori, standing on a high rock, his eyes shaded against the sun as he peered with keen eyes down the path. Feeling intensely grateful towards his brother for finding a way out of the situation, Flori leapt from his awkward position, drawing Balin with him as he came to stand by his brother, looking up at him. "How far, Ori?"

The minstrel peered against the sun once more, screwing up his eyes as he estimated it. "The path is quite straight, and I should say..."

Flori joined him on his perch, scrambling up beside him. "An hour and a half walk, maybe?"

Ori turned his head from side to side, then nodded, smiling at his brother. Only Flori noted the relief in that smile along with the agreement - the seperation between the brothers when Flori had stormed off had evidently worried Ori as much as it had Flori, the older brother realised suddenly. He hesitated, remembering the grudge he had felt towards his brother and it seemed suddenly utterly futile and pointless - he smiled back warmly, then jumped down carefully and, in a typically dwarfish fashion, rather gracelessly, and held out a hand to his brother to get down. Ori took it, although he didn't need it, and came to rest beside his brother. Flori turned to Balin, darting into the conversation gap before Balin's anger at Lin could resurface. "We shall still go through the forest rather than around it, Balin?"

Realising this wasn't the best way to appease his friend, Flori winced inwardly. Balin set his jaw again in his familiar way and jutted his chin. "Indeed we shall!"

Flori quickly covered up the sigh that was coming with a quick clearing of his throat, and a flapping of wings also helped to hide i- realising, Flori looked up, and beside him so did his brother. Ori beamed suddenly and Flori covered his face as the dark shape swept towards his eyes, taken off his guard. But the bird simply landed on his brother's arm, and when Flori lowered his arms, and when Flori looked up again he saw Ori fiddling with the roll of parchment attached with a small, thin length of twine to the bird's leg before, with a triumphant grin, he released it and unrolled it. Both sets of eyes (Flori's and Ori's, of course - the raven was waiting patiently for the crumbs Ori owed it) immediately began to devour the words of Dain:

Ori (and all the company, of course),

I was glad to hear from you indeed - it heartens me to hear that you have set out well and that none among you had last minute doubts. You will all need to fortitude that the others can give to you - the strength of both body and mind that may not yet seem apparent will become evident in time, especially on such a mission as this. Accord is vital-

(here Flori couldn't help snorting and glancing at his brother who returned it with a slight grin)

-, something that MUST be remembered by all, although I risk being called a nagging old nursemaid for that! My advice is to take the pass around Mirkwood, my young friend, but if you must take the path through the forest, do take the outside paths - there is no current and recent emnity between myself and elven King and his people, and that is quite the way I intend to keep it! Please, do not aggravate him, and keep also from the spider-roads, although you will know that better than any, Ori.

I wish you ever more luck in your quest, my friends, I tell you that most earnestly and heartily. You seek to bring more honour to our splendorous race, and what can be more noble than that?

Signed,
King Dain of Erebor

ps. Ori, for your eyes only, and your brothers: whatever Balin may say, be mindful of that temper which has e'er run in his family. No matter what he may say about the elven king, he is as stubborn as he is proud, and would take a grudge to the grave. I will not suffer the complaints of Thranduil upon our people, and do not let yourselves get drawn in and hurt by Balin's pridefullness.

-Dain.

[mark12_30]

Lîs gave Narin one last glower from beneath bushy eyebrows, and stepped aside, glad that the attention had been distracted from her. Rubbing her bruised knuckles, she fought a rising blush. Why hadn't she let up after the first round? No one would have criticized her if she had. No one would have criticized a doughty warrior for it, let alone a young jewellry maker. And let alone a girl; but they don't know that, she reminded herself. Nobody knows that but...

Balin. The blush rose crimson under her false beard and up to the roots of her hair. She turned away, muttering. Of all the foolish, idiotic, reckless... what would her father say? Narin's face had been bony enough, and had hurt her hand more than she expected, but she would not let that stop her next time Narin crossed her path.

But however her tenmper flared, her fists would not take another swing at Balin's craggy face. It wasn't worth the pain. She remembered the crunch as her fist met his nose with her weight behind it, and she wondered that Balin's reaction had been mostly talk. She slowly flexed her knuckles, glad that that she was known not as a soldier but as a jeweller. A soldier would have been severely disciplined for striking the commander. She would have accepted the discipline like a true dwarf, she told herself.

But nobody was clamoring for it. Their eyes, and hopes, were on the edge of the forest.

[Saraphim]

Narin wobbled over to Loni, who looked worried. He noticed the concern in his new friend, and laughed heartily to abate it.

“Did you see the look on Lin’s face when he wholloped Balin? Our good commander be feeling that one later.” He stopped and looked slightly concerned himself. “So will I, now that I come to it.”

His nose had not stopped bleeding, and a look in the polished surface of one of his axes told him his face would soon be a mass of bruises. One of his eyes was slowly swelling shut. Narin tenderly touched his face and winced.

“Oh well,” said Narin, “ I’ve never been much to dote on my looks, and besides, I won.”

Loni snorted.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin rubbed his cheek and nose vigorously, then gently touched it with his finger tip. There seemed to be an added crookedness that had not been there before. He could not believe that Lîs had swung a fist at him -- the leader of the entire expedition. It felt as if the iron force behind the punch was still driving itself into his cheek, and he was sure that healthy would at once appear soon. Flori and Ori were, naturally, trying to avoid a fight. Turning away from them, he glanced keenly at Lîs: her face was red, and she was muttering to herself. With grudging reluctance he decided it must have been an accident. He knew Lîs well enough to know that she wouldn’t purposely take a swing at him -- but she still should have recognized him.

He heard a sly chuckle behind him and he saw Ori and Flori pouring a parchment while a raven flittered between the two impatiently, as if he waited for a treat. But the smiles quickly faded and the brothers’ brows slowly drew together in a gnarled frown. “Come, come!” Balin said, with a small smile. “First you laugh, then you are all frowns. If anybody has a right to frown, it should be I,” he added somewhat ruefully. “Tell me, what are you reading?”

Ori’s eyes widened and darted towards his brother’s before he said, “Oh, ‘tis nothing. Just a letter from his highness King Dain, telling us that we should all get along,” he added with particular stress to the last word.

With a wry grin, Balin said, “Well, let us hope that there shan’t be another wrinkle among the dwarves. The forest of Mirkwood is but an hour away! Enough time has been wasted…we camp at the edge of the Forest at dusk.”

As they marched, the monotonous stamping occasionally used to keep the beat of a marching song, Balin immersed himself into memory. He could still feel the spider rope tied tightly about his chest, impeding his breathing, still see the spider’s leering faces, their hairy legs that skillfully spun and tied the knots that bound himself and their companions. They had been rescued -- a broad smile flittered to his craggy face -- by Bilbo Baggins. But they had only escaped one trap to be caught in another. The elves had found the dwarves and taken them captive. For a brief instant, a moment of doubt drifted over him, and he wondered if it would not be best to go ’round. No. He shook his head and continued with a firmer step towards the forest that clung like shadow to the nearing horizon.

The stars had just appeared when the dwarves arrived at the forest’s edge. Moss clung to the leaf barren trees, the silence hung around the forest like a heavy drapery. A large squirrel with a busy tail leaped from a tree branch and disappeared into the forest. The trees were silent and seemed to watch the visitors with grave displeasure as they flung their packs to the grounds. “Take only dead wood!” Balin called out as Loni and Narin as they nervously (but resolutely) went towards the forest to gather wood.

[Saraphim]

Narin approached the forest with caution. He was normally a lonely person, prefering his own company to the blatant annoyance from others. But today, he was very happy to have made friends with Loni and have him by his side.

The forest was dark, and the trees seemed to proclaim silent ownership over the area, instead of being part of the landscape. Narin thought about tales, both true and false, of the forest of Mirkwood, and his hand went unconciously to one of his axes.

Behind him, he heard Balin call after them to warn them to only take dead wood. They waved to show that they heard.

"Wouldn't take a twig off of one of these trees anyway." said Narin to Loni.

The canopy above them loomed menacingly as they quickly gathered dry wood. Narin peered ahead deeper into the forest, and could not see more than ten meters; the trees were clustered so thick. When they had sufficient wood, the pair hurried back to camp, glancing back at the path they would soon tread.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin poured stale water over the glowing embers of the previous night’s fire, regretting the fact that they couldn’t save it for a nice steaming pot of coffee -- alas for the trials of tromping through a forest’s dark halls draped with the spider’s web. Peering under his shaggy brows at the overcast sky, he muttered that it was an ill omen, especially on the day they would enter Mirkwood.

As so many years before, there was a menacing silence permeating the air of Mirkwood. He couldn’t help but wonder with a smile of satisfaction if the elven king, bedecked with jewels and crowned with laurels, would be hunting for a silver deer shimmering in the shadows.

As swiftly as sleep laden dwarves can move, everything was packed, the ashes of the fire scattered, and resolutely they marched into the depths of the Forests. Like so long ago, all was silent, and Balin almost missed seeing the sunlight gradually disappear like it had when Thorin and Co. had passed through the trees. Now it became darker, more crowded with clutching shadows that spilled onto the path.

There was a sharp whistle and a soft thump. Balin ducked sharply and felt a rush of cool air play with his hoary head. Frowning, he glanced up and saw an elvish arrow pinning his scarlet cap to the rough bark of a tree; an elvish voice rippled mockingly from the shadows and cried, “Do not think that our aim was so bad we failed to miss twelve dwarves crashing through the underbrush. ‘Twas a warning, for we recognized two of your number!”

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Flói shivered. The wind in this place was cold, damp and heavy, which reminds him of the basement back on his home. But it wasn't the cold that chilled his heart.

He turned to his companions. Everyone's eyes was on the spot where the Elf – or so it seemed – shot the arrow. He could see nothing in their eyes, but somehow he knew what they felt was not different from what he feels.

We should have turned back.

Nay, he thought, this is a counsel of despair. He looked more closely at the eyes. Cold, but not the chill of fear. It's as if they ae all tensed for a strike against the Elves.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik studied the shadow's with nearly an insane intensity. Elves. How he hated those poncy, pointy-eared, arrogant yahoo's. In this Alrik was most clearly a dwarf of the older generation.

"And do not think that my axe-arm has not enough strenght left to cleave an elf's neck." He growled. In thruth, he had no idea where in the shadow's those pesky pointy-ears were skulking in, but he would not be lightly cowed. Even the fact that elven bowmen were well-known for their ability to hit a goblin's eye in the dark, let alone any crags in his armour, left him undaunted.

"Come out! Or is this an example of the fine elven courage I have heard so much about?". Alrik sneered, quite uncaring about the fact that he might cause the demisse of the expedition.

Elves. How he hated them.

[Melisil]

Loni immidiatly got on the defencive when he saw the arrow, and heard the Elvish voice. 'Oh, bother that. I we were so sure they'd let us alone.' he though annoyed. He cast a still annoyed glance at Balin, waiting for Balin to call the attack. But Balin didn't say anything, he seemed to be thinking.

Loni looked around him. Most of the other Dwarfs were scowling. Nearby he heard Alrik shout out threats to the Elfs. 'It was a nice thought, but badly carried out.' he criticiced in his mind.

His gaze returned to Balin, and he whispered over, "Well Balin, what's your choice of doin'?"

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori was on his feet in a second, his hand on one of the small throwing axes in his belt. "Stand and speak in the open, elf. Hidden words and darker threats do not come well towards a group who mean you no harm."

"I'm not too bloody sure about that now-" Balin muttered, bristling. Flori restrained the urge to turn around and glare at him. There was silence from the undergrowth though, the great dead silence of the living trees that seemed to hem the dwarves in, forcing them in oppresively. "Stand and speak, people of Thranduil! Our company means no harm to those who will deal civily!"

Again there came that mocking, silvery laugh and the whisper of voices that seemed to ripple from every shadow, sending an involuntary shiver through the group of dwarves and the hairs on Flori's neck began to rise. But although these elves knew the forest better than their own palms, they had forgotten one important thing about dwarves: when you spend so much time in the dark, certain things begin to happen to your night and shadow vision. Flori spotted a movement at the edge of his vision, just behind Balin, and didn't hesitate before he leapt for it - there was no room for subtelty when their honour was being infringed upon and they were being intimidated by a bunch of no-good, cowardly miscreants, the dregs of the forest who thought they ruled it just because they had flamin' pointy ears....

"Stay still, y' pointy eared little devil-" Flori growled as he pulled the scruff of the elf's collar down to his level, forcing to to it's knees while it was surprised and holding the blade of the throwing axe to it's bared throat.

"No, dwarf, you hold still." The mocking tone of the voice was gone now and a cold hard texture had replaced it. "Let our companion go or your friends shall regret it, especially Balin son of Fundin and the other who has passed here before-"

"Harm one hair on my brother's head and all the immortal blood in the world won't save you," replied Flori darkly, now truly incensed, but a small part of his brain was battling for reason. He took a deep breath and added quietly, "Come out from where you hide, tell us your names, and I will let your companion go."

An exchange of whispers flew across the air above the dwarves, before there was a subtle feel of change in the air and a second later, a tall, handsome elf stepped from the shadows in front of Flori, his dark eyes fixed upon Flori and an arrow notched easily in his bow. Something about his proud stance (proud even for an elf), fine clothes and the air of casual assurance told Flori that he was not addressing any mere elf. The elf's answer confirmed this. "I will not be questioned in my own forest, dwarf," the prince's quiet reply came.

Flori smiled very slightly and let the other elf's collar go, allowing him to scramble from his knees to stand on one side of the princely elf. He nodded his head civily although he did not return the small axe to his belt. "Your majesty," he said softly. The elf looked slightly surprised and his hand relaxed slightly on the bowstring, before he was all suspicion again. "Are you spies to know about us, dwarf?"

"My name is Flori Bronzeshield, Prince, and I am nothing of the sort. We are merely passing through," Flori replied civilly. His dislike for the elf was still quite intense but it had lessened slightly - for one thing, the elf was not looking down on him even though his gaze would ordinarily have been fixed several feet above Flori's head. He was looking at Flori like an equal. Good that we have that straight then...

"You asked no permission to pass through from my father, Flori Bronzeshield. Tell me, where is it that you and your companions go that you will infringe so easily upon the boundaries of the elven kingdom, especially after your kin's last attempt to trespass on Elvish soil?" came the level reply.

Flori hesitated, glancing discreetly at his brother to catch his eye in askance of what to reply. Last time they had been taught another valuable lesson - that the elves were after all that they could get even, or especially, when they had no right to it: when the dragon Smaug was killed, the elves had asked for 'their share of the treasure', the treasure which was in no way theirs and which they had done nothing for. What was to say that they would not do the same again once Moria was reclaimed and the mines started up within it. What shall we tell him?

[mark12_30]

The silence was broken by a short cough from Lîn. "You must be Thorgeleb."

"Silence," said Balin.

"How do you know my name, dwarf?" replied one of the courtiers.

Lîn glanced at Balin. Balin growled, "Answer him."

"The ring on your left forefinger bears three opals; two are the eagle's eyes, the third is his heart."

"You are Lîn? The opal-setter?"

"Fussiest ring I ever made, " Lîn growled, and Thorgeleb laughed. "Well, Silver Eagle, do you like it?"

Thorgeleb lowered his bow-- just a little-- and answered wth a wry nod.

The prince of Mirkwood frowned. "I have not heard anyone call you by that name. Who gave it you?"

"My betrothed, " the courtier replied, in a voice that forebad mockery.

The prince nodded, careful not to laugh or smile, and turned his attention back to Flori and Balin, and waited their response.

[Imladris]

Balin

Balin frowned as he saw the leadership of the dwarves slowly seem to revert to Flori, but then he realized that it would be good for the lad to come into his own. Nothing could be worse to deal with than elves…it would be a good learning experience. He watched with subtle satisfaction as Flori cleverly captured one of their own and then demanded the elves to show themselves, which the Prince did with the usual elvish hauteur, but the prince somehow managed to stare at them with equality.

"You asked no permission to pass through from my father, Flori Bronzeshield. Tell me, where is it that you and your companions go that you will infringe so easily upon the boundaries of the elven kingdom, especially after your kin's last attempt to trespass on Elvish soil?" the elf asked.

Balin’s brow wrinkled in a craggy frown as he heard the words. Of course Thranduil would want a hand (if not two hands) in the wealth of Moria, as he had with the affair at the Lonely Mountain. He chortled as he imagined the pale, ivory, willowy elves grubbing in the darkness of Moria for True Silver. The forest and the open spaces were their home and the ones who went would shrivel for want of the sun…besides taking a fair amount of wealth as they shriveled, he added with a dark smirk. He could lie, but the elves were keen at sniffing out a falsehood (especially when a great deal of wealth was involved) but more than that lying was such an unpleasant task anyway. “The business of the dwarves are their own,” he said coolly. “It would be well for the elves,” he added patting the head of his axe easily, “if they let us go about our business as we have no concern with the King’s lands,” he added with a slight bow.

The Prince, with a barely perceptible shrug, said, “Whether you have anything to do with our lands or not, your are trespassing against our King. We must know if your intentions are good and that sort of thing,” he added with a brief smile.

With a roll of the eyes, Balin said boldly, “If you must know, we have come to retake Moria. There, does that satisfy your misplaced curiosity?” he growled.

The Prince’s eyes hardened, and he said tightly, “We do not appreciate falsehoods, Balin son of Fundin.”

“Dwarves do not lie!” Balin retorted. “And if you think that your pointy ears make you more noble than the greedy heart of the dwarves --”

The Elvish prince flushed slightly and said, “We will bring you to the halls of Thranduil and he will see if you speak truth or not.”

With forced calmness, Balin replied, “No. You impugn our honour.”

“And you trespass against our lands,” said the prince, drawing the arrow taught in his bow. With a brief gesture, he motioned for his fellow elves to draw in.

With a guttural growl, Balin drew his axe and he could hear the other dwarves do the same. A fierce joy rose in his heart and he contented himself with the thought that the elves had brought the skirmish upon themselves.

[The Perky Ent]

Dear future records of the account of Nali on the Quest of Moria, Nali paused as he took at minute to write on another piece of parchment. "Quest for Moria", Nali though. "Now that's a catchy title!" The other dwarves continued their bickering as Nali start writing several paragraphs about his journey. As Balin walked menasingly twords some of the dwarves, Nali assumed that his temper had overpowered him, as he was told that it was often to do so. Eventually, Balin gave up on the dwarves and they continued their quest. After a short period of walking, which Nali did several feet from the group, he noticed the trees of Mirkwood fence the horizon. "Mirkwood! At last!" Nali shoughted, as some of the other dwarves had also noticed Mirkwood and were sebsequently shouting. And then something hit Nali, he never found out if they were going through Mirkwood or not. Feeling Stupid, Nali darted to the side of Ori, who was glad to see him. "Yes Nali, we're here. We're going through" Ori said as he grinned to Nali and stepped among the trees.

"Well, this is it" Nali said as the other dwarves walked into the forest and some even disappeared beneath the old trees. Pausing, Nali opened up his piece of parchment and read it out loud:

Dear future records of the account of Nali on the Quest of Moria,

I am gazing among the dwarves well amist
a quarrel of the wit and fist,
and Balin, it seams is underestimating
the other dwarves skills of fighting and baiting,
because several has slipped past the fiery dwarf's rage,
and even though they say they'll behave,
they will do just as they please,
and as they have accomplished it with ease,
the dwarves will tend, as they have, to their own,
and won't spare mithril let alone meat on a bone,
for now i sail a ship alone
and sollum and grim, shall be my tone.

Nali took yet another moment to write in his letter to, as it seems, himself. The letter, or rather poem said:

Mirkwood, Mirkwood, the elf and the tree
seem to be calling, calling to me,
the twig, the branch, the leaf and the oak,
makes me forget i am hungry and broke,
a voice in the distance, calling my name,
Nali Nali it proclaims,
and grabs me up and tears me apart,
and it seems all the eyes in the world have to dart,
at the mangled shreads of my depressing life,
from where i am now to when i was a little tike,
it is my beginning, middle and end,
as i have not but a single friend

As if in a trance, Nali started walking into the forest, bumping into trees and twigs on the way. After a while, Nali catched up with the dwarves, who seemed to be standed still. In a voice that seemed drunken, Nali said "Ori! Good day to you lad! What news of the ax?" Ori stood still. Didn't even move a mussle. Suddenly, a arrow flew into the sky and landed inches from Nali's feet. "Mind your tongue, Dwarf!"

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

What chance have we? Flói's mind was humming. He's never been in combat before. There are at least two Elves, probably more. All have bows drawn...and aimed. Will there be any of us still standing should it come to hard blows?

He turned once again to companions. Despite the fact that no words had been said to him ever since their departure - except during the fight - he felt the bond now between them. On his own, he would probably have rushed away from the Elves - to his doom. Now, seeing these Dwarves standing still, defying their foes on their own land, seems to instill courage into his heart. He grasped his axe tighter, and whispered for the Dwarves to hear,

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?"

And I know my armour can stop their flimsy arrows, he added to himself.

[Taralphiel]

Maron looked about the group as they all drew their axes. He watched his glint dully and his eyes darted from scowl to scowl in his company.

It seems that a situation had come about, and that the Elves had found them making their way through Mirkwood. Maron tried to keep down a panic. He had never been in war before, and the mix of excitement and fear coursed through him steadily.

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?"

Maron heard Floi's whisper and grit his teeth and gave a very small nod. He had said and done little so far in this trip. But now was the time to prove his skill.

[Saraphim]

Narin noted that the negotiations were drawing to a close. Inside, he was twisted with fear, but outside, he unhooked his twin axes and twirled them threateningly.

"Let them come. Could they really stop us from reclaiming what is ours?" a dwarf whispered.

"No, laddie, they can't" said Narin, more to himself than anyone else.

One of the elves, who had spoken to Lin before, was looking at Narin in disgust. Narin realized that he still had a mottled, bruised face and a slightly swollen eye, and that he must look a disgusting sight to these pristine elves.

He smiled wickedly at the elf.

[mark12_30]

Lîn glanced at Thorgeleb, and then at Balin, and muttered, "This is ridiculous; I can't fight with one of my own jewellry customers. Bad for business." He hefted his axe, and stalked around behind the dwarves.

The elves stared, Thorgeleb raised an eyebrow, and Lîn came up behind Floi, and hefted his axe, and glared at the Prince of Mirkwood. "Guard yourself, " muttered the dwarf, and took up a fighting stance. Then he chuckled. "Thorgeleb, I'd wish you a happy marriage and all, but under the circumstances..."

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb sighed, and took aim at the nearest dwarf, muttering something inaudible. The elf beside him whispered, "What did you say?"

"I said, " replied Thorgeleb, "why can't we all just get along? I'm in no mood for burying dwarvish corpses just two weeks before my wedding, for pity's sake."

"Your pardon, 'Silver Eagle', that we so inconvenience you, " shouted Ori. His hearing was better than Thorgeleb had guessed. Meanwhile Thorgeleb's arrow *pinged* off of Floi's helmet, Dwarvish voices roared, and the melee ensued.

"Baruk Khazad! Khazad Ai Menu!" "Erebor!" "Durin and Moria!"

"For Thranduil and Greenwood the Great!" .... "Mirkwood, silly." .... "Yes, but Greenwood sounds better for a battle cry."

By then the dwarves were actually swinging at them, and the elves skipped backwards, shooting arrows. Close quarter fighting was certainly not what they had in mind.

[Imladris]

Ori

With a bellow, Ori aimed his fist into the nearest elf’s stomach, but, with a remarkable twist of his body, Ori found himself pummeling thin air, and stumbled forward. The elf laughed and danced away with a taunting lilt, drawing an arrow from his quiver. Swiftly he shot it, and it whistled by Ori’s ear. “You call that a shot!” Ori shouted. “It appears your marksmanship has been highly overrated!”

“I missed, you oaf, on purpose!”

“Hah! Just like my fist missed your stomach’s acquaintance!” Ori shouted, redoubling his attack.

“Don’t trip upon your lengthy beard!” the elf said, grappling with Ori.

Ori, with a roar, swung a hook that hit the elf square in the jaw, which sent him sprawling through the underbrush and knocking him on unconscious. “Better tripping over a beard than awaking with a headache,” he murmured. He rubbed his fist with satisfaction and glanced about him quickly. Nali, it appeared, was flailing his fists at three elves who were doing a good job beating him. With a growl, Ori charged into their midst, wondering how they were going to get out of this frying pan.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori ducked another arrow and winced as it embedded itself deep into the trunk behind him, before launching himself with a snarl at his attacker. He didn't pause to withdraw an axe, simply grabbing his elvish opponent's feet and bringing him crashing to the ground.

"So much for your famed elegance, elf!" he yelled, before landing a square punch on the elf's face. He drew back his hand for another kick, but the elf, even stunned as he was from Flori's solid punch, drew up one knee very sharply, knocking the dwarf with a clang on the back of his head. The dwarf rolled away, holding his helmet and shook his head a few times before scrambling to his feet, taking up a fighting stance against the elf...who, he now realised, was no ordinary elf. He had managed to fell the Prince himself.

The elf had whipped out two long, white blades, far too long to be daggers but several inches short of being even a short sword. His brown eyes were narrowed as he flicked his hair out of his face. Flori laughed audaciously. "Ha, hair in your eyes, lass?"

The elf clenched his teeth furiously and his knuckles whitened on the handles of the knives, but he couldn't resist a reply. "No large matter for me - at least my face doesn't take up the larger part of my body, midget!"

"Girly-elf boy!"
"Garden gnome!"
"Thief!"
"Tresspasser!"

The fight was quickly deteriorating into namecalling, something Flori considered far too familiar and a possible hazard in a fight. By means of putting a stop to it, he launched himself at the elf's legs again, knocking the elf with a dismayed yell to the ground once more. But the prince was quicker this time, and it was he who landed the first punch, sending Flori sprawling then pausing to rub his knuckles painfully. No one punches a dwarf without severely regretting it afterwards.

But Flori had not completely lost his senses yet, and could see that the fight, which had been an all out brawl before, was now turning rather nastier - Inn-style, dirty fighting is one thing; axes and bows are quite another. He caught Ori's eye, and saw his brother nod. Turning back to the prince he muttered angrily, "Why would you revel in a fight, elf?"

"I do not relish it, dwarf, and neither did we begin it!"

"Well it must be some form of elf-magic then, for the dwarves certainly did not!" came the outraged and patriotic reply.

"Elf-mag...dwarf, just because you cannot-"

"Enough! I have had enough of your ceaseless babbling, boy; the truesilver and all else that Mirkwood yields is ours and no filthy elven pup will get his hands on it!" Flori yelled, then cried, "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!"

Turning, he paused only for a second on the elf before turning with the rest of the dwarves, who were finishing off, landing their last punches and giving the elves a little more to remember them by, before they barrelled away through the trees, still yelling fearsome war-cries and catcalls at the elves behind them.



The elven prince watched them as the four other elves got to their feet, and two started towards the place the dwarves had vanished, but the prince called them back.

"Wait - do not pursue the fight any further, there is little point. It would do neither party any good."

The two other elves stopped, frustrated. "What would you have us do, Prince Legolas?"

Legolas had a slight, bemused smile on his fine features. A dwarf hundreds of years younger than me called me 'boy' and 'pup'. What's more, the prince had noticed what the others had not; just before Flori called away the other dwarves, he had given a very small, almost unperceptible wink under his bushy eyebrows. The prince shook his head, that slight smile still there, then sheathed his knives and turned to the others.

"Only one or two of us need track them, to make sure they cause no harm in the forest." He looked across the courtiers, then nodded to Thorgeleb. "Thorgeleb - follow them, if you will. Make sure they cause no harm and do not come too close to any of our people or the palace itself."

Thorgeleb nodded and gave a small bow before darting lithely away into the trees. Legolas grinned slightly, then murmured, "Silver eagle, huh?"

"I heard that!"

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

All the while during the skirmish Malí had been hiding -- yes, hiding behind a large, rotting log. While her kinsmen fought, she had lain behind the log, reciting lists of all the major imports from the Elven kingdom and the revenue it had brought in. The list was not terribly long, but because Malí insisted on also reciting the lovely Elven names that had signed the goods in on the lists, her murmuring lasted well through the skirmish. Malí was not a fighting Dwarf. She had two hand axes, yes, but she'd never used them and never even held them before packing them for the journey. Malí was all about keeping track and calculating and making sure everything was perfect. Oh, and what a job I've done so far! Malí scolded herself inwardly.

Soon Malí had begun to wonder why she was so scared, for the sounds of axes and the whirring of arrows slicing through the air had become scarce. All Malí began to hear was name calling and every so often a punching noise came to her ears.

The skirmish was over before Malí could finish her list of panic, and she leapt up and followed fretfully behind the rest of the dwarves, meekly whooping and cheering war cries along with the rest of them.

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb swung a little northeast of the Dwarf-pack, and trotted along casually and silently. There was no question where they were; their travelling was loud enough to wake an elf from deep dreams.

Not that that took much, either, he smiled. Then he frowned, and looked down at the ring on his hand. Two weeks til his wedding day. Would he be back to the caves on time? He would never live it down if he missed his own wedding...

The idea of being called a latecomer for the next thousand years made him hope that the dwarves knew where they were going. Make sure they do not stray, the prince had said. Thorgeleb stifled a snort; everyone knoww the story of Thorin's part and how they got lost.

Suddenly, Thorgeleb wished he had volunteered someone else.

Lîn

Aside from the occasional slap of branches across their faces, the cavilcade of dwarves trotted along contentedly and unmolested in the woods. Lîs adjusted her beard slightly, when she thought no one was looking. It was dark enough in the forest that no one saw anyway.

She sighed with relief that she had not come to blows with a known customer. Thus far, she had avoided comitting any serious business blunders; she had only comitted... well... insubordiation and striking a commander. She sighed, and shot Balin a sideways glance. Hopefully he'd forgotten about it, or would soon.

Perhaps it would be best if she gave Balin a wide berth for a while. She edged away from Balin, a little, and drew closer to Ori, Flori, Marin, and Narin.

She turned to them, and said pleasantly enough, "Any scrapes?"

Marin replied, "Bah."

Flori said, "Hah."

Ori said, "Heh! Scrapes? From an elf? Sissy long-haired creamy-skinned pointy-eared..."

Narin could hardly claim to have no scrapes. "Nothing new, " he said.

Lîn smiled, and they jogged on.

[Orual]

Óin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a tree while his companions had a bout with the Elves. He had no wish to get into a scuffle with the denizens of Mirkwood. Besides, hadn't he said that going into Mirkwood was a bad idea? He surely had. It wasn't his fault that they had gone off into this forest. A forest was no place for a dwarf anyway. Nothing but trouble could come of it!

But trouble had come of it, and now his friends were in a bit of a fix. Óin had a feeling that the Elves did not truly mean violence--nothing that would leave scars too deep, at least--just a little mischief and fun for them. Typical of Elves, that sort of behavior. For all their talk of being the Firstborn, all their wisest-fairest-eldest bibble-babble, they really could be very juvenile sometimes. He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, and slid his axe out of his belt.

"Baruk Khazad," he said without much vigor, and raised his axe, and joined the fray.

[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.

[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.

[Saraphim]

The reaction of Ori and Flori to the news of Oin's demise and the lack of escape threatened to break what was left of Narin's courage.

He felt his strength go, sapped by Lin and his swift battle to the Chamber of Records. A fresh batch of orcs burst through the door, and Narin took his stand next to Lin and tried to quell his pounding heart.

As the orcs bubbled up from the opening, thoughts bubbled from his mind; memories of a life he was proud of, and they gave him strength

He thought of his brother, who had protected King Dain to the death.

He thought of Floi, who had fallen only after slaying a great troll of the mountains.

He thought of Balin, and how the love of Dwarrow-Delf had allowed him an honorable death.

These thoughts fueled his energy as he pushed his was through the fray.

Suddenly, a scream that he recognized tore into his mind. Looking around, he saw Lin fighting tooth and nail with a massive goblin near the wall.

He ran towards her and imbedded one of his axes into the foul creature's back.

In its last moments, the orc turned and stabbed Narin in the stomach.

The orc fell on its face. Narin took longer, dropping to his knees and pulling the blood-covered blade out of his body and letting it clatter to the ground. He kept his remaining axe in his hand and slumped against the wall.

"The pain is gone," he said slowly," I think I will be alright."

He could see Lin in front of him, but the room was growing dark. He smiled.

So my adventure will end as it began, he thought.

"Goodbye, Linsie," He said.

And thus Narin of Moria died.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik and Maron barred the doors of the Chamber of Records and braced themselves against their wooden bulk, ready to match their strength against those who would force a passage into their lord Balin's resting place. The elderly dwarf took the opportunity presented by the brief lull in the battle to check the others. It did not look too good.

Flori was wounded, his arm having been cut of at the elbow, and all of them bore minor wounds in the least from the battle. He himself looked no better. His white beard was stained black from orcish blood and bile, and his own fiery life-fluid was seeping out from a crag in his armour. His old body had not replied fast enough for him to interfere with the blade a goblin was swinging at him.

They had lost Nali, Frar and Loni, as well as Oin according to Linsie. The rest of them looked fatigued and frightened, yet determined to sell their lives dearly. Alrik felt his heart swell with pride. It would be an honour to fall along with all of them.

Suddenly there was a sound of wood splintering, and the doors began to buckle. The gibbering of goblins could be heard from the other side as Alrik and Maron were forced to back off from the door. There was a great snap and the dual doors swung open, revealing a horde of their ancestral enemies which began to flood into the room in a seemingly inexhaustible tide.

Alrik dispatched the first three to enter the room with swift blows of his axe, but the sheer mass of the goblins were forcing him backwards. It was as useless to try and combat their numbers as it was the flow of a river.
He swung his axe with all the strength in his old sinews, burying the weapon into the midriff of a particularly large goblin. Before he could pull it out, the press of bodies in the melee sent it slipping out of his grasp. Seeing their foe rendered weaponless, the cowardly wretches attacked him en masse.

Desperately he grappled with two of their numbers. The three of them, a dwarf and the spawn of the Great Enemy, rolled on the stone floor locked in a desperate struggle to the death. Alrik's helmet was torn off, but undaunted the dwarf managed to twist the head of one so forcefully that it's neck snapped, and then he proceeded to grab the other by the collar and repeatedly bashed it's head on the floor, till nothing but a red mess remained. Alrik scrambled to his feet and drew the short blade he allways carried by his side for just such an occasion.
He grabbed the haft of a mace swung at him and impaled it's owner on his sword. The goblin spewed it's last meal over itself before keeling over, only to be lost from sight immediately by his still living kin. A swing to the left sliced open the throat of the one that tried to plant a spear in his back, and with a swift lunge the sword was buried in the chest of another.

Suddenly there was a lull in the ruck, and Alrik felt a curious light-headedness. He sensed rather than saw the goblin thät loomed behind him with a spear held at the ready, and began to spin around by instinct, knowing that he would never be able to turn around in time. A white-hot lance of pain shot through his body as the spear pierced the joint in his armour between body and shoulder. His enemy had no time to enjoy it's triumph for long. Alrik's blade took it in the throat, but it's dying weight took the weapon from his hand.

Another lance of pure agony shot through his being, and he realized that one of the goblins had rammed it's blade into his back. A third was swinging it's scimitar at his face.

It was the last thing Alrik Stonebeard ever felt. As darkness claimed his mind, he saw last the tomb of Balin, buried under an avalanche of goblin's.

[mark12_30]

She heard him say it... "Goodbye, Lînsie." Orcs surged towards her, and she raised her axe again, hindered by the arrow in her shoulder.

I wish I had time to compose his body, close his eyes, and cross his hands over his heart. I wish I had time to set that beryl in a ring for him. But at least I know where I will make my last stand.

Standing over Narin's body, she felled each orc that came, until two came together. The spear pierced her heart, and she followed Narin to her final rest on the cold, dark stone of Dwarrowdelf.

[Pyroclastic]

Torch light danced across the walls as Uzgash led his troops to Nazklash’s armory. He was excited, at last here was the end. Nobody knew of his plan, that was how it would be successful. He rounded the cavern corner and spied Lugnush lurking in the shadows. “You ready?” Uzgash ask him.

“I’ve been ready for this for a long time.” Lugnush replied.

“Alright then.” Uzgash turned to his troops and held his torch aloft. “Listen up!” He shouted to the masses. “You all have served me with the devotion and treachery expected among the best of our race. You’re the toughest, strongest, best band of orcs in Moria! The battle you will fight next is not mine, it is Captain Lugnush’s. You will follow him as you followed me; he is worthy. To Captain Lugnush!” Uzgash thrust his sword in the air and shouted as only an orc could. His, or rather Lugnush’s troops shouted in answer.

“Hhragggghhhh!” The screams of the orcs echoed along the corridors. Uzgash turned to Lugnush and beat his axe against the ground in salute. “Do well, Captain Lugnush.” And he marched off into the shadows leaving Lugnush with his newfound power.

*****

At the Gates of Moria Uzgash surveyed for the last time the depth and gloom of Kahzad Dum. The bodies of several dwarves lay strewn about with the bodies of orcs. Orcs, Dwarves, Elves, Men, Uzgash had killed them all and they all died the same. They would all return to the Earth and be made new again. The mass that once was Dwarf would become soil, and then plant, and then animal, until the body had become a part of so many things that it had become the differences that it had once thought so important.

Uzgash stepped beyond the doors of Moria and a single word flashed through his head. He remembered the whisper of one of the dwarves he had killed. Freedom. Moonlight beamed down across the hillside giving a slight luminance to the air. He had missed this. No more caves for Uzgash, he was a free orc now and forever. He felt a slight shiver creep upon him from behind. The Nameless Fear, The Fiery One in the furthest depths beyond all reach remained restless. It sensed the distant approach of power. Not soon, but approaching none the less. Uzgash shuddered, the sooner he left the better. He wasn’t going to be caught in a mess like that. Leave that for Lugnush, Uzgash was free. As he walked off in the moonlight Uzgash at last was content.

[Orofaniel]

Orofaniel's post

"Do well Captain Lugnush!" Uzgash said to Lugnush. Finally Lugnush understood why Uzgash had wanted him to be the next Chief; Uzgash was going to leave them. Lugnush had known for a long time that Uzgash wanted to leave Moria, but never actually thought he'd do it. But now, Lugnush understood that Uzgash had made his decision and given Lugnush the leadership as a "farewell" present, or so Lugnush thought.

There wasn't much time though to say goodbye, because the troops were now running down the halls as they felt an urge for more blood.

Nazklash wasn't exactly hard to find, but the troops surprised him gravely. He stared at Lugnush, as he wanted an explanation. "What are the troops doing here?" he asked seeming a bit annoyed. "Guess!" Lugnush growled. He felt the urge to show Nazklash his strength and power. "Nonsense!" Nazklash cried as he walked towards Lugnush. "You better get those troops back where they belong, or I'll cut your head off!" Nazklash cried. It wasn’t hard to understand that this was meant as a threat. Lugnush was amused by this, because he knew that Nazklash' troop was out of number, and he probably knew it himself.

"Don't threaten me, you filthy Orc!" Lugnush cried above Nazklash voice. The hall was silent and you could only hear Nazklash breathing, heavily. This was either caused by anger or because he was anxious. Lugnush guessed both. "What is this supposed to mean?" Nazklash growled at Lugnush, almost spitting at him. "Guess!!" Lugnush replied, seeming even more amused; Lugnush knew that Nazklash would loose his temper by now, and he was correct indeed; "Do not dare disobey me, Lugnush, or treat me disrespectful!" Nazklash said to him, while looking at Lugnush. His voice was calm, but stern. "And why is that?" Lugnush asked teasingly. He loved doing this, it amusing every time. This story would eventually beat the story where they copped the previous Chief, Lugnush guessed.

The troops were still standing still, but hey were soon starting to get tedious. "Lets do this the quick way then, eh?" Lugnush proposed after a moment with silence. The Orcs woke up and looked at Lugnush waiting for the next move.

"Kill him!!" Lugnush cried finally. A sneer grin appeared in Lugnush face. "Die you filthy Orc!" Lugnush cried again and ran towards him, holding his sword high above his head as he felt the power and the great sensation of pure happiness; because he knew that he had won this battle. He just knew it.

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Carlas' post

"Die you filthy Orc!" Lugnush cried as he ran towards Nazklash, his scimitar high over his head. Nazklash barely had time to think, but ducked out of the way just in time to see Lugnush’s weapon striking the cold floor with a loud clang. He turned to look at the troops running towards him in disarray, and growled loudly before running as fast as he could in the opposite direction but saw that even the few troops he had thought were on his side were chasing after him. Traitors… Nazklash thought to himself.

A passage was just up ahead of them, if he could just make it in there he could slink away in the shadows and no one would be able to find him. Nazklash turned his head back quickly to see how close the orcs were. There was now more than there had been before and they were getting a little too close. He looked back before him and ran with all the strength he could muster towards the small passageway, his only hope of escape.

As he entered the passage he quickened his pace, knowing that Lugnush and the orcs were not far behind. He turned left and right, weaving his way through the maze of tunnels before he squeezed himself into a small crevice barely visible in the darkness. The orcs ran past thinking they were not far behind Nazklash, they’re feet pounding against the dark, cold stone floor. Once the last orc was out of earshot Nazklash sighed deeply, relieved that he was still alive. Suddenly though, he heard soft footsteps coming towards him. He froze and waited to see who it could be.

It was Lugnush.

Slowly Nazklash left the crevice, and climbed up onto the side of the wall. “What do you think yer up to, hmmmm?” He said slowly. Lugnush turned around quickly, but Nazklash was quicker and climbed over to another spot.

“Who’s that? Stop fooling and get Nazklash!” Lugnush said deeply annoyed, obviously not recognizing Nazklash’s voice. “Guess!” Nazklash growled and laughed a sharp, cruel laugh. Lugnush’s eyes grew wide as he realized who it was. “You fool! I’ll kill you!” He cried as he spun around, trying to locate the small orc.

Nazklash moved about swiftly in the dark, making sure to stay out of eyesight. “How long ‘ave you been planning this? Thought that once I killed the chief that you would take over Lugnush? You’re the fool!” Lugnush turned to where the voice had come from, but Nazklash was already behind him. He walked quickly but silently towards Lugnush, holding his knife tightly in his hands. Licking his lips, he pulled his knife back ready to strike.

Nazklash squealed as he fell to the floor. Lugnush had spun around just in time to see Nazklash ready to kill him, and had cut Nazklash across the chest. Lugnush walked towards the orc and threw him flat on the ground and smiled.

Nazklash froze as Lugnush held his weapon up above the small orc. “You’re the fool.” Lugnush whispered into Nazklash’s ear as he buried the weapon deep into his throat…

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori's teeth were gritted so tightly he thought they would break, or that they would simply meld into one. The pain was more intense than the dwarf had ever felt before and he felt himself sweating coldly simply from the pain, and in a moment felt like laughing about it - he felt the other cuts on his body, and ordinarily they would be easily enough for any weaker being, but this searing, sweeping, numbness was deeper than anything else.

He saw another dwarf fall, Alrik Stonebeard, the oldest of their company, his white beard the only thing visible in Flori's misty vision as the venerable old dwarf fell. Flori yelled out in anger as he forced himself to concentrate his pain on the force of another blow struck against an orc, slicing clear through it's shoddy armour. It died with a look of surprise on it's face.

"Surprise? I'll give you surprise! Flori Bronzeshield will show you how to die!"

Ori looked at him, shocked, as he said this, and the older of the two bit his lip as he felt tears rise and shook his head, leaning against the tomb in a momentary respite. The orcs were gathering in the stairwell, he knew it, but he didn't know exactly what was planned. He looked at his brother sorrowfully, pain in his eyes both physical and emotional.

Nali, Frar, Loni, Oin, Lin, Alrik, Narin...

"We can't do it, brother," he whispered.

"Flori, don't say that! We'll get through, and get-"

"Ori," Flori silenced his brother with the one quiet, gentle word as, putting down his axe for a moment, he reached for his brother's hand. "There are but three of us left. Mali...and us. That's all, Ori. We are finished."

"Flori..." Ori now had tears in his eyes as well as he gripped his brother's hand tightly, as if he would never let go.

And then the first tremor came.

It spread through their feet as if the whole world had jumped, but seemed almost silent at first, a feeling rather than a sound. Flori tensed, grabbing his axe once more as he let go of his brother's hand and spun around to the door, currently blocked, although he doubted that would do much against the orcs. They were still planning....The second boom came, this time a deep, rumbling echo that seemed to roll in from all sides. Flori crouched, almost knocked off his balance but still gripping his axe, his stump pressed against the refreshingly cool stone of the tomb.

"Drumming from the deep..." he whispered, unable to keep the fear from his voice. But there was anger too, as he rose, even as the third boom followed, then a fourth. They were speeding up, building to a climax.

"I will not be intimidated!" he roared at the door, then turned to Ori. "Brother, get the book."

"The book...-?"

"We will not be forgotten, brother!" Turning back to the door, his voice rose to a roar again, a primal, angry bellow that seemed to come from deeper reserved than ever he knew as he voice competed with the accelerating drumming.

"You will not scare us! Give us what you will, you will never inspire fear into dwarven hearts, for we are the people of Durin and upon that which is rightfully ours do we fall!"

And then the hinges on the door burst open.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Not much had been heard from Malí, to be sure. Balin's deat hhad put her into a stupor that she could not release her mind from. Since his death she had resigned herself to the shadows of empty halls or even just in the Chamber of Marzarbul, only to be alone. She did not fit in with the warriors, not even with the only other female, Lin. No, Malí hated herself for not being more brave or fierce like the other warriors. She knew now that the adventure was not for her, even if she had realized it far, far too late.

The sentiment that discouraged her the most was the deaths of all the wonderfully brave dwarves that did belong in the warrior's world. Malí wondered every day why she was not the first dwarf to die, as she was not useful to the group in a way that mattered.

So it did not surprise her when the tremors began to rip through the Chamber that all she did was whimper silently. Malí listened as Ori and Flori argued and yelled at each other, and Malí wished she could help.

When the hinges of the Chamber door flew open, the first black-shafted arrow belonged to Malí's heart. Her only regrets as she died were that she did not die first, and that she could not have been more of a help.

[Imladris]

Ori darted frantically towards the book. What his brother said was true: their story must be written, must be remembered. Who would ever find the book Ori did not care to think about. It would lie here in Moria, Khazad-dum, to be found by the next group of dwarves to undertake the great task of conquering the once great kingdom.

Ori was glad that he could cast off his facade of optimism. He had never had any real hope that they would ever depart from Moria alive. Mali fell, and he turned away. The women -- what had Balin been thinking to bring them along? He pushed the thought from his mind. He thought of Narin and Linsie, how love had begun to blossom between them. He closed his eyes, fighting back the tears.

The ground shivered. Drums beat in the deep. The stone trembled. Ori glanced around him, and saw his brother wildly fighting the orcs, wielding a light battle axe with one arm. The end was coming.

The drums in the deep. Doom, boom, boom, doom . They were the heralds of death, and Ori prayed that death would come swiftly to them. A distant roar echoed through the caverns. The orcs fell quiet, and Flori had a respite. The roar chilled Ori's bones.

He tossed the book onto Balin's tomb, and began to scribble frantically as the orcs renewed their attack. He had to help his brother...he had to, even though there was no chance he could save him. They would fight the oncoming tide together, and they would die together. They would die like true dwarves of Moria, of the great Khazad-dum.

The pen scratched, scrawled across the stained surface of the book:

The pool is up to the wall at Westgate. The Watcher in the Water took Oin. We cannot get out. The end comes. Drums, drums in the deep. They are coming.

Ori closed the book with a snap, drew his axe, and ran towards his brother, roaring. They had killed everyone...Narin, Alrik, the lasses. But they, the last dwarves of Moria, would not die quietly.

Ori dimly realised that Flori had fallen, an arrow embedded in his throat. A searing, ripping pain tore at Ori's back, and he staggered to his knees. He could feel the ground tremble, could hear the doom of the drums quicken. He raised his eyes, and saw a lurid glow burn within the halls. He collapsed to the floor, and whispered, "They are coming!"

[piosenniel]

~*~ To Elvenhome ~*~