Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Gwathagor]

The body of lord Balin weighed heavier than it should have upon the giant shoulder of Frar as the Lord of Khazad-dum passed through his gates and entered his halls for the last time. Frar felt a strange burden upon his heart also - but whether in foreboding or simple melancholy, he could not say. It seemed that with Balin, something greater had died, for under his direction, the dark soul of Khazad-dum had flared up again and showed itself bright and steady. Perhaps Frar felt then the beginnings of what would be another quenching of that light, as the darkness of Mordor spread west, north, and south. They were leaderless now, and the flame was beginning to flicker.

"Carefully now," said Frar in a deep rumble. It irked him to speak now, to interrupt the private grievings of his fellows, but they were nearing a steep flight of stairs, and, beyond, the Bridge of Khazad-dum. The solemn band proceeded down the stairs without incident.

None had been injured in the Dimrill Dale skirmish, but they had all been badly shaken. Hardly a word had been spoken since Balin had fallen. However, Frar imagined that they were likely dwelling on similar questions: who lead them now? Whence came the orcs? And why? Why had they come for Balin? Had it been a mere band of marauders? Or was it the vanguard of a larger force? Instinctively, he began to plan. Guards and watches would need to be doubled, at the very least. They had not had to fight for many months now, since the last scrawny goblins had been driven out of the caves, and so weapons and armor would need repair and sharpening. Arrows fletched, spears carved, shields layered. Just to be safe, he told himself.

As he considered, and as he planned, the sorrow began to subside, driven off by the twins need and action. And almost immediately, though he did not notice at first, a deep-seated anger took its place - burning, as yet, only quietly and dully.