[piosenniel]

Imladris’ Character Description - Ori:

NAME: Ori Bronzeshield, distant relative of Thorin Oakenshield

AGE: Unknown

RACE: Dwarf

GENDER: Male

WEAPONS: He carries one throwing axe and one fighting axe. Both are hooked to his gem studded belt, but are lacking in any sort of decoration.

APPEARANCE: He is always wearing a brown hood that matches his dirt brown beard that is beginning to streak with grey. He wears a simple coat of mail over his brown shirt and breeches, and a belt of silver is girt around his waist.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: He is loyal to friends and family, even when they are in the wrong, and is a close friend to Balin, whom he views almost as another brother in addition to Floi. Quiet by nature, Ori prefers to work metal than to fight, and loves to play upon his flute in the lonely hours of the night. He is well versed in Dwarven lore, and is often the singer of tales and teller of stories upon the long journeys. He is no coward and a talented warrior.

HISTORY: Born many years ago, he had lived in the Lonely Mountain and was but a lad when the Dragon came. He escaped with Thorin and slaved beside him when they mined charcoal in the mountains. He was rather fond of Bilbo Baggins and was glad, in the end, that they had brought him along. Not especially fond of fighting, he was hardly pleased when Thorin had so stubbornly refused to give the men of Dale some of the gold, and had heartily wished that he was free of the entire business. He had fought bravely at the Battle of the Five Armies and was happy to think that that would be the last battle he would again fight.

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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.