[piosenniel]

Dwarves of Moria


Pio's character

NAME: Riv Stonecut

AGE: 109 (born 4 years before the Three Rings were made by the Elven smiths)

RACE: Dwarf – one of Durin’s Folk/Longbeard clan

GENDER: male

WEAPONS: mattock; war hammer – thick oaken haft bearing a heavy iron head, sharply beaked blade on one side and a flat, faceted hammer head opposite. For battles in larger, more open spaces, he bears an oak hafted pole axe with a razor sharp edged steel head. Iron helm; long chain mail; thick boiled leather vest; plated arm and leg guards.

APPEARANCE: 5’2”; 160 lbs. Muscular; broad and solidly built. Thick, brown hair worn in a single plait down his back. thick, wiry beard, worn in two braids on either side of his chin. Black breeches, grey tunic, dark brown leather vest with all sorts of pockets for small jewelers tools. Black leather knee high boots, well worn, thick soled. Granite grey, hooded cape; on its left shoulder is a bright silver brooch – a small pick axe with a deep red wine colored garnet set between its two blades. It was a gift from one of the Elven smiths for the precious stones and metals Riv’s family mined for him.

PERSONALITY/STRENGTHS/WEAKNESSES: Patient, meticulous in his work – he is an excellent smith; working both with large stones for the building of things and with smaller precious and semiprecious gems for use in adornment. He is skilled in metalworking, though his taste runs to those small castings within which he can set his jewels. Does not like change – it’s too disruptive to his need for long periods of time for his work.

Loyal to his family and kin; loyal to the Elves of the Gwaith-i-Mirdain with whom he’s had the opportunity to work and share smithing skills.

Not quick to anger; but when the fires of anger are lit at last, they burn hot within him. He can be a bloodthirsty and avenger of wrongs against kin and friend. He despises Orcs for slaying Dwarves and taking their possessions and homes. Even in battle, he is a patient man, looking always for the most thrifty way to eliminate the foe.

His main weakness is his need to protect his immediate family. At the age of 98, he was fortunate enough to be married. He counts his wife, Unna, more precious than any metal or jewel he can mine. And more precious still is his son, Leifr, 5 years old.

HISTORY: (At present it is II 1695 for the start of the RPG) Riv was born in Khazad-dûm, which was then under the Kingship of Durin II and is now ruled by Durin III. His father is Viss Stonecut; mother, Svala Bronzeeyes. He learned the art and craft of mining stone and metal from his father, whose main business was the mining and selling of metal ore to smiths of the Elves and Men. From his grandfather, Aunn Stonecut, Riv learned the skills for discovering veins of precious gems, cutting them into the shapes which best showed off their faceted beauty, and the setting of the gems into gold and silver. He has since increased his knowledge of this process through his friendships with some of the Elven jewelsmiths in Eregion.

He has a younger sibling, a brother, Skald, five years younger than he. His favored skill is that of working with large blocks of stone for building, and the engraving of such stones with runes. His youngest brother, Bror, is 64 years old.

In II 1693 Sauron was bent on obtaining for his own use the sixteen Rings of Power he had helped the Elves of Eregion to make. He declared war on the Elves who would not relinquish to him the Three Rings of Power they had made in secret without his aid.

Until that time, it was for the most part peaceful. the Elven jewelsmiths in Eregion prospered and increased their skills many times over. But when they refused Sauron’s requests for the Three Rings, a great shadow crept over the land, even to the West-gate of Moria. Orcs and other foul creatures were set against the Elves at Ost-in-Edhil, the chief city of Eregion where the House of the Mirdain stood. Sauron revealed himself, his fair face he had shown to the Elves as Annatar was now one of darkness and wrath. He was bent on destroying the Elves and whoever stood in his way as he pursued the three hidden rings.

Durin III was the first of the Dwarven rulers to receive one of the seven rings Sauron had helped forge. Celebrimbor, it was said by the Dwarves of Moria, had gifted their King with the ring just prior to Sauron’s demands for the Seven Rings made for the Dwarves and the Nine made for Men.

Fearing for the life of his son, who was but two years old at the start of the war, and for his wife who is now pregnant with their second child, Riv has geared himself up for war. The chain mail and plated guards for the limbs were taken down and cleaned and mended. His mattock he’s laid aside to use only if the Orc armies enter Moria. The edges of his war hammer and pole axe have been made keen. Unna and Leifr have been made safe in the deeper, secret caverns of Moria, along with the other women and children.

He and his brothers, Skald and Bror, are part of a small armed party of Dwarves, one of many, who harry the Orcs with their strike-kill-and-run tactics. At times, too, they are sent to the eastern entrance to Moria. There they lead small troops of Elven warriors from Lothlorien on the quick route through the mountains. These Lorinand have been sent by the Lady of the Golden Wood to aid the Elves of Eregion. She is favorable to the Dwarves, knowing that they were not of the kin who slew Thingol in his own treasury when he would not give them the Nauglamir. Celeborn, however, bears them great enmity, holding all dwarves responsible for the death of his father’s uncle.

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Piosenniel's post

. . . The world was fair, the mountains tall,
In Elder Days before the fall
Of mighty kings in Nargothrond
And Gondolin, who now beyond
The Western Seas have passed away:
The world was fair in Durin's Day . . .

Supper, taken late as was the Stonecut custom, was done. The trenchers, already carried to the kitchen, clanked together in the soapy water as Unna washed and rinsed them, and piled them on the counter to her left to dry. Her back was to the oaken table across the length of the stone floor. And she smiled as she heard the off-key bass of her husband’s singing voice rise up to sing a verse of the song.

‘Fairer yet,’ she chuckled as she took up her dishtowel and dried the spoons, ‘if the notes in this part of Khazad-dûm were more harmonious!’

‘I heard that, woman!’ cried Riv, breaking off mid note. His scowl was short-lived as she laughed aloud, her voice ringing within the tall-ceilinged room.

‘Well, I think you have a nice voice, Papi,’ chirped Leifr, coming to sit on his father’s lap. He twirled his fingers round Riv’s braided beard, leaning against him with a contented sigh. ‘Grandma says you sing just like your father did.’

Riv’s chest puffed out at the compliment and was promptly deflated by Unna’s laughter as she recalled to him that the old woman had also said she was certain that Durin was called ‘the Deathless’ because her husband’s bellowed verses could raise the dead from their thick stone tombs.

An hour or so more of friendly, familiar banter, accompanied by the sound of Bror’s harp and interspersed with more singing, came finally to its end. Leifr was yawning by then, barely able to keep his eyes open. Riv picked up the boy where he lay half drowsing on a bear pelt near the fire and carried him off to the deeper caverns where Unna and the other Dwarven women with their children stayed.

The lamps were turned low along the hallways; the lamp swinging from Unna’s hand as she walked beside her husband cast odd moving shadows along the carven stone walls. Her face was wistful as they reached her apartments. Laying Leifr down gently on his little bed, Riv drew the quilts up over his son’s shoulders and brushed a stray hair back from his little face. ‘Mahal keep you!’ he whispered to the sleeping form. He stood then, and took his wife gently into his arms. ‘When this is over . . .’ he said softly, his cheek against the top of her head. She pulled back and laid her first two fingers against his lips. Her glittering eyes held hope and patience within their deep, dark pools. ‘We will wait,’ she promised him, ‘whether the time be short or long.’

She urged him gently toward the door. ‘You must go. Your brothers and Uncle await. There is news to be shared among you. Reports and rumors of goings on in the upper caverns come to us. We know a messenger has come from the Elven smiths. And that an escort is needed for the Elves who will come from the east, sent by the Lady of the Golden Wood. Since your father was often among the Lorinand, bringing them jewels and metals as they needed, I thought that surely you and your brothers would be the ones to fetch them from the Dimrill Stair and bring them through the East-gate.’

He nodded it was so. Smothering her with a last great hug, he turned reluctantly from her and made his way back to his dwelling. Skald and Bror were waiting at the table where he had left them. Their voices were low as they sipped at their mugs of ale, discussing, he was sure, the preparations for the thirty mile journey to the East-gate and the wait for the Elves of Lorien. Orin, their Uncle, had arrived, too, he saw.

‘Well, what have I missed?’ Riv said, fetching a mug for himself from the cupboard. He topped off theirs and filled his from the skin of ale that hung from the peg on the wall. ‘We’re taking a full complement of weapons . . . yes? No telling how long it might take the Elves to make their way up along the Celebrant and cross the valley. Or what might try to follow them.’ He took a deep drink from his cup. ‘There have been reports of Orcs sniffing about the Kheled-zaram. Or so I heard.’ He banged the metal mug down on the table’s top, a little ale foam splashing over the side. ‘Love to set my mattock in a few of their skulls and pick out what passes for brains among the filthy creatures . . .’