Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Lilly]

‘A drumroll, please!!!!!!’

Tíva’s hands made a quick pitter-patter of beats on her thighs as her brother’s voice rang out. Tív, for his part, marched into the room a small cloth flag waving from the broom pole he held before him. Once round the room that served as his family’s kitchen he tromped, grinning from ear to ear. At the end of his circuit his sister joined him and with a flourish and a bow to each other, they secured the makeshift pennant in the middle of their mother’s barrel of dried beans.

‘What’s this?’ asked Lys as she wiped her hands on her apron and drew near the duo. The little banner was dark blue, a piece of that old raggedy wool blanket she’d consigned just a few days ago to the rag basket. And there in the middle of it was sewn a sort of round, sort of greyish circle. Another rag she recalled – Vitr’s old, torn tunic, the one he’d stained so badly on the front with oil and grit. Along the right rim of the circle was a thin sliver of sparkly crystal dust running from top to bottom, affixed with the glue from her leather-glue pot, she had no doubt.

‘Oh, mami! You know what it is!!’ Tív’s eyes danced with excitement.

‘Yes, mami! You remembered....didn’t you?’ Tíva glanced about the kitchen, a hopeful look in her eyes.

‘Remembered?’ Lys stood for a moment, her brow furrowed as if she could not fathom what the twins were going on about. Seeing their faces begin to cloud up as they considered the possibility she had indeed forgotten, she cocked a brow at them and broke into laughter. ‘Of course I did, my little....no, make that my big beetle-bugs.’ Lys gave them each a quick kiss on the cheek.

‘It’s Durin’s Day!’ Lys pronounced, making her way back to toward the cupboards just above the long marble counter. Tív and Tíva narrowed their eyes at her, looks of expectation still on their faces.

‘And........?’ they prompted.

‘And.....’ Lys continued, opening one of the cupboard doors and removing a small platter covered with a rough-spun napkin. ‘Why it’s a very important day, now isn’t it?’ She turned round to her two children and whisked off the cloth, revealing a heaping pile of honey cookies studded with nuts and bits of dried fruits. ‘It’s your birthday!!!!!! Seven years!!!’

She meant to admonish them that they should wait ‘til their father returned from his workshop. That then they would celebrate. But who was she to say “no” to the birthday girl and boy.

‘Right, then, one each.’ She nodded at Tív. ‘And ladies first, please.

[Arry]

‘Ah, last one . . . for this day, at least!’ Vitr ran his hand over the top face of the granite block, nodding his head in approval at the smooth surface that flowed beneath his fingers. It would be but one of many of the blocks which were to line one of the cavern chambers he and the other masons had begun working on. Wiped clean of dust, polished a bit, it would reflect the lights from the filigree lamps which were to hang from the tall ceilings of the room and it would glimmer softly in the reflected light from the gems and crystals to be fitted here and there about the chamber. Tomorrow, he and others working on this project would load up the blocks they’d finished and transport them to the area in the wall where they were needed.

But for now, he was finished with his work and his thoughts turned toward home and family. The twins had no doubt been pestering their mother all this day. He was surprised, in fact, that she had not sent them to see him just to get them out of her hair. Or perhaps she had. It was not beyond them simply to take themselves off somewhere to ‘have a bit of fun’. As he dusted off his breeches and brushed off his tunic in preparation to leave he wondered from whom he might be hearing a tale of how one or the other, or more likely both, of the children had pulled some prank or misbehaved in some manner.

‘If it please you, Mahal,’ he spoke softly as he walked away from his workplace. ‘Let me not hear that they have caused some trouble somewhere.’ He chuckled a little to himself. ‘Or if they have indeed gotten into some mischief, the please let the beset upon recall the little follies of their own younger days and take it all in kind.’

Vitr entered his snug little home with a quiet step. He set the leather bag he’d brought with him on the seat of the wide oak rocker and made his way to the kitchen. ‘Smells good!’ he said appreciatively stepping into the room. The welcoming aroma of one of Lys' savory stews made his mouth water; the accompanying scent of fresh baked oat loaves set his stomach to grumbling. ‘Done soon, I hope!’ he added, giving his wife a quick peck on the cheek as she stirred the pot.

‘And what’s this? Sweets before supper?’ he rumbled in a pseudo-gruff manner as he spied Tív and Tíva munching cookies. His eyes took in the nearly empty platter on the table. ‘And more than one, eh?’

‘Oh, Papi! You know mami made more than these. She always does.’ Tív picked up the platter and held it out to his father. ‘Have one! They’re great!’ he added. Tíva came round to where Vitr stood and leaned against him. ‘It’s our birthday, you know,’ she said smiling up at him.

‘Is that so?’ Vitr said, gathering her up in his arms. ‘Well, then, there should be presents, shouldn’t there?’ he said grinning at her. He put her back down on the ground.

‘So, who wants to fetch the leather sack I left sitting on the rocker?’ He had barely finished his question when the two went streaking toward the kitchen door and were through it in a quick blur of pumping arms and legs.

[Dimturiel]

“There!” Bain exclaimed on a very pleased tone. “That’s done to!”

With that, the dwarf impatiently brushed his long hair out of his eyes to have a better look at his handiwork. His new creation was a helm on which he had been working for quite a long time. It would have taken him much less, of course, if he had not wanted to make it full of intricate patterns. Some would have said that was a useless feat, but he of course did not think so. “If you have beautiful things in your mind and if you can do beautiful things with your hands, then it would be wrong not to do them.” he would always say to any who cared to listen to him. And anyway, was he not in Moria to make beautiful things for the colony? That was the reason why he had agreed to come with Lord Balin.

“I think he’ll be very pleased when he sees this.” he muttered, holding the new-made helm lovingly in his hands. “He’ll know he had been right when asking me to come.” And to have finished it exactly on Durin’s Day too! That was surely a sign, proof of good things and prosperity coming to Moria. Oh, Lord Balin would indeed be very pleased when he found out the helm had been finished on such a day. He could not wait to tell him.

And that night, of course, he was going to celebrate with any who wished to join him. He was in a good mood, as it usually happened when he finished something. Now all he had to do what to decide what to make next. He had received orders from those of the colony, of course, but he also wanted to do something for himself, that he would make just for the sake of seeing it take shape before his eyes. Perhaps he should start working on a chain. Yes, that would be pleasant. But that could wait. Now the only thing he looked forward to was to announce that he had finished the helm he had been working for so long. He could hardly wait to see the pleased look on Lord Balin’s face when he heard that.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," a voice resounded from behind Bain. Like all too often, Onli appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Standing in the doorway, wrapped in his green cloak and with this large golden belt buckle which was just impossible to overlook, he must have been watching Bain for a while now. Now he moved forth, his big brown boots making a clunking noise, and without much constraints he started to examine the newly finished helmet closely.

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," he repeated, not caring at all whether Bain approves his presence or not. "Such a be-au-ti-ful decorating! And look at this tiny... err... ha, I forgot it, memory does not serve as well as it used to. I know what it is called," he added, as if to prove that he can understand well a smith's work and thus is the right person to evaluate it. He smiled widely, showing the white teeth shining amidst the bush of his short red-colored beard. "Anyway, you sure put much effort into it. Say, perhaps it won't be bad, as soon as you have finished all the other tasks you currently have, to start making these in larger numbers?" he added in a hopeful tone. Then he set on a more educated face and started to speak fast in a mentor-like voice; like an old master talking to a young apprentice - despite he was only some fourty years older than Bain, and definitely not his mentor.

"You must imagine that once this city is fully re-occupied, there will be too many smiths to make competition for your craft. But now you are just one of the few, and this," before Bain could react in any way, he knocked on the helmet, "is going to be a very valuable piece of art in the future. An artifact from the early days of the reoccupation of Khazad-Dûm! But it will be foolish to leave it just like that. One helmet is nice, but why not make more? Since you can do it, and I can see well you can! And if we want to show King Dáin and the folk under the Mountain our progress, such a piece of craft would serve all too well for it! And just imagine how interested many of our kind will be to purchase such a thing..." Onli's eyes gleamed. "A perfect chance for a young craftsman like you to show his worth."

A loud banging sound from a nearby corridor interrupted Onli's dreams of helmet-business (which he would help to organise and distribute). He stopped, raising his wide eyebrows and shaking his head fast so that he resembled a startled red-furred squirrel. But he immediately knew what happened: it was Vriti once again sneaking around in the corners, looking for something to eat or to play with, or who knows what was it that she was doing. Onli smiled. Despite his mind was on business just a moment ago, and you could say that was the only thing that might interest him, he completely forgot about it now. Just for a short moment, though. But Vriti was his only real friend, or that was what Onli would have told you had you asked him. He knew he should go to catch her and feed her, for he was sure she did not find much to eat in the empty corridors of Dwarrowdelf.

Onli turned back to Bain. "Think about it, my good friend," he said, giving the young Dwarf an encouraging look and walked away, as if he did not even expect Bain to reply.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Balin ascended the slope the band of nobles began to look about uneasily. Although Tror was accustomed to fighting and to travel in the open it was not a prospect that thrilled him, he would rather get back to the safety of the great halls of the Dwarrowdelf. Ori was looking uneasy; Nali was gazing on with interest at the sky for the sun and moon would soon cross each other’s path, casting a cold shadow across the earth. Tror looked back to the eastern gate from which they ushered forth longing to get his lord back into the safety of its walls, why was Balin taking so long?

The dull twang of the bow string was heard, and it sent a shot of terror up Tor’s spine. Without thinking he grabbed his spear and was at that instant horror stricken as he beheld the body of his lord slump to the ground. Silence mastered the nobles for a moment, Ori stood for as stone at the fall of his friend, but only a moment for Tror felt a fit of rage coming on.

“Attack, Kill him!” he yelled in a voice that almost cracked.

With his spear ready he sprang ahead of the group, intending to reach the archer first. They ran swiftly between the boulders and obstacles that time created, already Tror could see a number of orcs swarming down the slope to retrieve the fallen king. The orcs saw the hasty approach of the dwarves and some sent their arrows whizzing at the band, Tror felt a dull thud as an arrow tested his hauberk of steel rings, but glanced off his shoulder. The dwarves quickly cut off the orcs, (who Tror now believed were a small raiding party) who did not number more than fifteen, from Balin’s body.

“Hold your ground, defend the king!” yelled out Tror as he skewered the first orc on the end of his spear. Ori brought up the rear of the group but came in swinging and was fighting fiercely at Tror's side cutting down all who ventured within the reach of his axe, while the two brothers, Nali and Loni, stood directly next to Balin crushing all their opponents.

Orcs swarmed around them in a mass of unorganized groups endeavoring to break upon Tror, who was now seen as the leader of the group, but always fell as the cold metal of the dwarves found a weak spot in the orc’s armor. Tror was unconsciously weeping, the fall of a great leader and companion, known to all for his generosity and kindness; never again was such a leader to be had as he and to fall on the very day of Durin, Tror could only wonder what this omen might mean.

From the decreasing number of orcs a huge Uruk emerged and rushed at Tror, its huge scimitar wielded high aloft his head. Tror thrust his spear in hopes of subduing the Uruk quickly but it was glanced aside with a stroke and was quickly dropped by Tror, who was by now unslinging his axe. Ori rushed at the Uruk intent on saving Balin’s lieutenant, but a smaller goblin rushed at him and as Ori quickly dispatched him the Uruk changed targets; if not had not been quick to react, the Uruk would have brought the full force of the scimitar upon the dwarf’s head. Tror was stationary no longer and sprang to help his comrade.

“Today is a good day to die, foul minion of the shadow. Come closer, and grapple with me, if you dare!”

The Uruk stunned seemed stunned by his predicament, his yellow eyes faded as they met the determined hatred in Tror’s and with desperate attempts he rained down blows but the Tror soon proved the better, and after many traded blows the Uruk fell dead beneath the weight of Tror’s axe.

[Thinlómien]

The passageway echoed softly when Vigdis strode along it. She held the special chisel she had fetched from the mason's storage room and she was fingering it as she walked. Finally she would get to fix the uneven corner of a stone block that had been troubling her all day.

She arrived at the place where they had been working on the cavern chambers. Forin and Farin, the twin masons that always kept to themselves, were still at work, but Magnar and Vitr, the two others working there, had already finished their day's work. For all she knew about Magnar, Vigdis suspected he would already have started celebrating Durin's Day with his friends and some beer. And Vitr, he would be with his family now.

As she was working on the edges of the block, Vigdis kept thinking about that. She had no family of her own, and that, she knew, was entirely her own decision. Not that she would have craved for children or husband. She liked children well enough, but they made a lot of noise and restricted their parents' lives. As for a husband, well, she wouldn't have minded having a companion to share her joys and sorrows, but she was able to cope alone as well. Besides, she had given her heart to the greatest dwarf of their age, and when he had not returned her love she would not take another man for husband. No one compared to Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Khazad-dûm.

Today was Durin's Day and the day he would look at the mysterious waters of Kheled-zaram. She hoped he would see whatever it was that he wanted to see there, and that when he'd return to celebrate the New Year with his people, he would hold his head up high and there would be a new determination in his eyes. Then she would celebrate not only the New Year and the first and greatest King of Dwarves, but also the high Lord to whom both her loyalty and her heart belonged.

Something warm was moving down her palm. Snorting with annoyance, she wiped the thin trail of blood to her sleeve and licked the few red drops off her fingertip. Vigdis could not be called clumsy at any rate, but whenever she got too carried away, she started maiming herself. She allowed herself a wry smile. Her body seemed to have a protective mechanism of its own that reminded her when she was concentrating on something nonsensical instead of her work.

Her finger was still bleeding. Her handkerchief was grey with stone dust, but she wrapped it around her finger nevertheless. She would see to the small cut later, now she wanted to finish the block. The corner was still more than a little uneven, and she would not call her day's work done before it was finished.

[Gwathagor]

Frar pounded down the hill, axe in hand, eyes ablaze, long black hair streaming in the wind.

Only moments earlier, Balin had stood like the lords of Khazad-dum before him, gazing into Mirrormere, where the sun, the moon, and the evening stars all shone reflected. It was Durin's Day and the start of a new year, and a quiet peace lay over Dimrill Dale.

Then in the stroke of a hammer, the vision was shattered, upended by a single arrow. The Lord of Khazad-dum lay dead in a patch of green grass on the granite slope.

The overwhelming sense of shock did not prevent the dwarves from taking immediate action, and now, driven by speechless rage, they were systematically hacking the marauding orcs to pieces. Loni and Nali were already standing over the body of their fallen lord, feet planted and weapons swinging. Tror was a short distance in front of them, and the other dwarves had spread out into a rough crescent to meet the advancing orcs. Frar took up position near Tror and settled into his work, immediately dispatching two orcs who rushed at him from his left and his right. A third leapt from the top of a boulder at Frar with a spear and a yell - which was cut abruptly short by a tremendous blow from Frar's great double-edged axe. The broken body of the orc was slammed to the ground, raising a cloud of grey dust. Frar spat, turned, and kept swinging.