Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Thinlómien]

“Tell me Ori, what dost thou mean by inquiring about who will command the citizens whilst the warriors are away? Thou pose the question as if the battle will be far away, while in truth Trór has consented to have the Orc’s beat upon our defenses.”

“Do you think that Trór will ignore the council? Thou knowest him better than either of us, Ori. Do you know, or suspect something that we don’t?”

Ori offered Náli a dry smile. "Which question should I reply first?"
"It hardly matters," Lóni replied for his brother.
"As long as you reply both," Náli added, smiling just a little.

"Well then," Ori said. "I will reply the easier one first. What I meant was simply that surely Trór will want someone he trusts here." He did his best not to add "at least Balin would have managed it so". It was Trór who was the leader now and they would have to live with it. Or die with it, Ori thought, but rebuked himself for such a thought.

"I mean... we all know it is possible something unexpected will occur. Although it's hardly probable, our troops can be beaten totally with just a few soldiers escaping. Who will manage everything if Trór and all his trusted men fall? Likewise, something may occur here. If there was an accident, or a secret attack through the mines, or even an upraising, who would see to it? Not Trór himself as he will have plenty to think about at the battlefield."

Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Ori continued, "Do you think Trór will appoint someone, or think it's unnecessary? Should we ask him?"

He scracthed his beard. "But, let me first reply the other question as well. I will be entirely honest with you now and say that I do not know. I... I used to see him differently." Ori had never been good with people and now he was troubled. He was not the right man to judge others' actions. "Trór respected and loved Balin, and admired him to no end. He knows Balin would never have disrespected the council by ignoring it. But I think... Trór is of a different kind himself. He does not have Balin's patience, nor his..." Ori stopped abruptly. He would not say "wisdom" like he would have wanted. "His thoughtfulness."

"He will do as he himself sees fit and listen to his councellors if they agree with him." Ori paused. He had sworn to respect Trór as his liege and he truly did. "But maybe these are qualities that are required in a leader in these troubled times."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

While talking to Kénan and the boy, Onli caught Náli's eye. The Dwarf nodded towards Trór. The new Lord of Khazad-dûm was now preparing to set out, obviously. Was this really the best moment to step in?

But Kénan and the kid have already rushed away. Onli's thoughts swirled fast inside his head. Was it now or never? What happens if Trór goes out and gets killed? Onli was in a very advantageous situation right now, being very close to the leader. Also, did Náli speak to Trór about him? Onli did not know if he managed to, but in either case, he seemed to - albeit somewhat doubtfully at first - be willing to give Onli his chance. And what if Trór did not return? Onli would have to go through all of this again by himself with the assumed next leader. On the other hand, if he earned the leader's trust now, it will be easy to keep his place even if something happened to Trór.

He decided. Forgetting about Nîsa completely, he strode forwards around the nobles, nodding at Náli, making a gentle excuse when slipping around a group of five rough-looking Dwarves in heavy armor, and at last coming before Trór. The armored Dwarf looked at him curiously, Onli bowed deeply.

"Hail to you, Trór, Lord of Khazad-dûm," he said. "Let me wish you well and may Mahal's blessings go with you for the task you have been appointed with." He waited for a few heartbeats and then continued.

"Perhaps this is not the best of situations to come to you, but I know that with this noble order, much responsibility lies with you to continue in Balin's footsteps, and that this is a heavy burden to be laid upon a single Dwarf." Once again, he made a short pause, so that Trór has time to understand and consider all his words.

"But as one as loyal to you, Lord Trór, as I was to Balin, and as I was in the service to King Dáin. I wish to offer you my help in governing the daily affairs of this colony, especially now, as the duty calls you to care especially of the grave danger outside our gates."

Trór stared at the younger Dwarf with a callous expression. “And who might you be?” The question was posed as a means to get rid of the Dwarf. Trór found it quite annoying how he was constantly being pestered by inconsequential simpletons. In short the phrase meant, ‘Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?’ However, upon pondering the nature of the Dwarf before him, Trór saw a pair of mischievous and knowledgeable eyes, resilient to the fact that their pleas were being disregarded.

The young Dwarf’s speech had been ineffective until now-in the silence. Trór had been casting occasional sidelong glances at the Dwarf during the speech, but now Trór locked the Dwarf in a stare. Occasionally, the eyes would look down, but they always came back to meet Trór’s own firm gaze. He had seen that knowledge and toughness in Kénan.

“You speak as if you were a relative of Náli.” He paused again to examine the Dwarf’s stature: weak in comparison to what he expected. None of Kénan’s muscular traits. “You were loyal to Balin and King Dáin?” The Dwarf nodded vigorously-tongue tied. “And what do you know of the affairs outside our gates? Eavesdropping on the council, have you?” Trór intentionally framed this question as a way to test the Dwarf’s wit and honesty. To add to the intensity of the question, he faced the Dwarf and lowered the spear (which had been grasped so that it stood vertically in his hands) so that it was pointing in the red bearded Dwarf’s general direction. Several snickers could be heard from the warriors behind Trór, amidst the wind and the shouting of the officers.

But Onli did not falter. He already knew whom is he talking to.

"Nay, Lord Trór, I was not eavesdropping," he said, trying to sound humbly, and deciding to play a clever one. "I cannot overlook the way you and your soldiers have been preparing, and I concluded that Balin's foul murder and the sudden council must be related in some way. And I have been talking to noble Náli, who is no cousin of mine, but he was so kind to hear my suggestion. It was indeed partly on his recommendation that I dared to approach you. My name is Onli, and perhaps you have not heard of my service to Balin or Dáin, as such things were of no concern to a warrior like you - they were of little honor. But even here, during the last five years and especially in our beginnings, when we were short of supplies and tools, it was me who took care of many of the bargains with Erebor." That was not full truth, for Onli had no official position in mantaining contact with Dáin's traders, and he sent away more than he brought in, but who was Trór to know that?

Onli spoke cunningly, but Trór was disappointed to hear that Onli did not have the courage to admit that he was in fact spying. He even took Trór’s jest about Náli seriously! This Onli seemed a very stiff fellow, no sense of humor or sarcasm (especially since Trór though his comparison of Náli and Onli was funny).

The council had been secret. Nobody knew of it, save several of the royal bodyguards and they were sworn to secrecy in everything they do. Onli had mentioned that he spoke to Náli; did he bring Onli as well as Kórin? If so why did Onli shirk from attending the council (an obviously wiser choice than Kórin had made)? These questions, and others, flashed in Trór’s head, but he need not ponder them long. Trór’s gut instinct was that Onli had lied, however clever it had been.

Onli’s favorable character, and resilient eyes, soon became detestable. More and more, Trór began to see through Onli as he talked of his trade exploits. Trór was bred for war but he was Balin’s right hand, it was his duty to know of such things. Besides, it did not tak a marketing expert to know that the trade between Erebor and Khazad-dûm had diminished, and in some cases ceased, as expansion in the mines and in the far lost corridors of the city took place. The messenger Gror was the first direct link sent from King Dáin in the five years of separation. If Onli was in charge of trade relations he was doing a poor job.

“An expert in trade are you? Tell me, what good is a merchant to me when duty calls for warriors to defend our city? If what the messenger Gror says is true, then there will be a siege. We will be completely sealed off from everything, and I don’t expect that there will be much of a trade with the Goblins, unless be ill intended blows.“

“As to your spying, I don’t believe Náli would have led you here, no not someone like you. In which case, you have little reason to be here. Balin may have smiled on subjects spying on his councils...” this part was, of course, sarcasm, “but I will not bear it any longer!“ With a wave of his hand two guards came forward and promptly seized Onli. The Dwarf was frightened. What was this? It flashed through his mind how, just a while ago, the new leader sent Trór away - but Onli did not expect to be treated that way.

“My wrath is more easily won than my favor, as you will soon learn. Did you really think I would promote you to a higher level of power based on your word? If you were a truly loyal to Balin you would not have come with attempts to domineer me. I see lust for power in your eyes, and that is dangerous when you say that you merely want to do a service to me, such a Dwarf has no intention of serving. Take him to the dungeons!”

Even more apparent expression of horror appeared in Onli's face, but Trór did not finish his sentence before he felt something pulling and pinching at his. The voice that followed left him dumbfounded.

“Stop, please stop! Hear me out, cousin!” It was Nîsa. Confound the girl, what was she doing?

The guards halted, waiting for Trór to send them on or to stay their task. He motioned for them to return Onli to his original spot; they did, but still maintained their hold on him.

“What is the meaning of this, Nîsa?” The fury in his eyes was enough to cause Nîsa to quake and look down. Nîsa was shaking, but she swallowed and bravely spoke.

“Was the one who brought Onli. He comforted me in my sorrow for Balin, and you came up in the discussion that followed. I told him that I saw you head back here. When I led him to the First Hall we saw Náli and he counciled us to speak to you after the council. I swear that I had no idea about the trouble I was leading him into or I would not have brought him here. Even if you think him a fool, fools can prove their worth and loyalty through little tasks.”

Onli would have been no doubt offended by Nîsa's final words, but for now, he was too frightened to actually mind that. Trór’s expression softened, his face wasn’t draw as tight and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. The guards unhanded Onli and left, after Trór commanded them with the simple look of his eyes.

“Well spoken cousin. You should have spoken of this, Onli. Too much talk can give one the wrong impression. Being truthful requires telling the truth, it has nothing to do with not telling it. I will expect that much of you next time.“

“For the present, you will be under Náli’s charge. I have an absent seat in my council ring; in good time and with equally good service, you may come to fill it.”

Although Trór did not give an outright apology, he did grant Onli his wish of serving his Lord. Náli was an important figure and had advised Onli on how to go about obtaining such a position. It was only fitting that Náli should instruct Onli. This wasn’t the first time that Náli’s mouth had given him and extra task.

Considering what Onli had just been through, most would think Trór’s boon small in comparison. However, Trór considered himself incredibly generous in the matter. He had just granted Onli (a proven liar in Trór’s mind) a position to one of the richest dwarves in the colony (the richest being Ori and Balin) and certainly one of the most influential. The incredible option of nobility was even given, a spectacular opportunity. Trór hoped that his rash action had scared Onli into line. Indeed, Onli could consider himself lucky, Trór would not have granted anything if his temper had not been up. And lucky the Dwarf indeed felt - after he recovered from the first shock, he realised he could have hardly hoped the meeting with Trór going better.

He had no doubt now that Trór is a rash, stupid and potentially dangerous warmonger, just as Onli feared he was. However, he proved to be generous enough and, in Onli's opinion, not clever enough for his own good. The fear of the previous few moments was gone, and Onli, being a cunning Dwarf, was already reflecting on what he could learn from this encounter. Sure, he has to learn to work with this new Lord of Moria. But Onli was quick to learn from his experiences. Trór was potentially dangerous and explosive and he had to be handled with care. It was actually a new challenge for Onli to learn to cope with people like him. Metal-brains, soldiers who spend all their days on the battlefields or making plans and, in his opinion, completely uneducated in the ways of mundane life. But Onli had to work with various people during his life, he was certain that this won't be any difference.

He turned around, noticing Náli standing in the middle of other Dwarves. Being assigned to Náli was also not necessarily as bad, he thought. At least he was not as unpredictable as Trór himself. Just you wait, Onli thought, turning back to Trór, there will come a time when your actions won't be unpredictable to me anymore either.

"Thank you, lord Trór," he said aloud, bowing deep. "I will do my best to prove my faithful service to you." He decided not to continue in longer monologues, Trór seemed not to like that. "And thanks also to you, Nîsa," he turned to the girl. "I shall go and talk to Náli at once." And bowing to the new Lord of Moria once more, he turned to go.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali

“What is this I hear? Thou art now in my service?” The bold Onli had conveyed the entire conversation between him and Trór. Nali was aghast.

“Then the work of thine own silver tongue has achieved its purpose. There is no time for the swearing of fealties; nevertheless, thou hast made a bargain with Trór and I will hold you to it. Thou mayest consider thineself under my authority.” Nali gave a slight bow, which actually looked like a slow nod, and then turned back to Ori and Loni.

“You speak true, Ori, but there is no time to wonder whether Trór will bear the yoke of Lordship willingly or not. Come, let us speak to him on the matter of his departure.”


Trór & Nîsa
“Have I done the right thing?” Nîsa wondered aloud.

“Time will tell. Nali is a much better dwarf than I when it comes to handling people. Onli will do well to learn from him.” Trór looked over at Nîsa. Her eyes were still transfixed on Onli as he talked with Nali. “That was a brave thing you did, cousin. I would not have expected that from you.”

“We have all changed in these past few hours.” Trór caught her hint. “I knew that you wouldn’t come back, even though you said that you would. Deep down I knew that you had changed. Must you always be so stubborn in your dealings with people. I saw what happened to Kenan and I guessed that you have done the same to poor Kórin. I swear Trór, one day you will go too far for your damage to be reversed. Not everyone can see things through the eye of a warrior. A gentle hand is better than an iron fist when it comes to being a lord.”

Trór’s complexion was calm and attentive, but Nîsa recognized a deep rooted hatred. Balin must still weigh heavily on his mind. She hoped that he would direct his anger at the ones who deserved it; let loose his hatred in battle.

“What would you have me do, cousin?” He was humoring her.

“Look to a higher power. Find something greater than yourself.”

Nîsa curtsied the best she could and Trór gave a stiff bow. He smiled at her formality; Nîsa suppressed a smile of her own-her words were affective.

“I will join you soon,” Trór said, “Go and do your duty, the work will begin soon.”

She quickly turned and scurried back through the First Hall. Trór watched her all the while. Nîsa always possessed the power to suppress his anger, something no one else could do, though never this outright. There was no doubt in his mind that Onli was responsible for her change.

“Our Lord,” Trór turned to see Ori, Nali, Loni, along with Onli, who stayed behind the three, approach him and bow low. “We are all at thy service.”

“What is it you want Nali?”

“It is not what I want, lord, but what all three of us are asking. In the absence of your lordship, who is capable of leading the colony?”

“The people are leaderless,” continued Ori, “It is time that a sense of order is restored.”

They heard the mournful blast of a horn; Frar and his sixty warriors were on the march. Trór calmly fitted his helmet on his head and then adjusted it. Then he paused to watch Frar’s troops decline down the sloping road, he could be seen running at the head of his troops.

“I am going to find my second. Have decent defenses completed when I come back and all able bodied citizens armed and ready to fight when I come back. Especially make sure that the brew maid Kórin’s brother is prepared to fight, I want him in the front lines.”

“But who will lead us?” Nali sounded firm in his question, as if demanding an answer.

“The strongest!”


Nali

They walked briskly over the bridge back to the main hall. They passed many a soldier and questioning citizen on the way back, but they stopped for none. Nali had a lot to think about during the walk. He worried that Trór and Oin would not return and leave the city leaderless with the strongest struggling for control-Trór’s answer was too subjective to change. He wondered about Kórin’s brother and what he meant to Trór, but did it really matter?

The regulars who had been left behind at the gate were all busy with mounting stones and preparing trenches at the bottom of the stairs. Frar and Trór took one hundred warriors and left fifty behind, twenty of which Ori brought with him to help hand out the magnificent armor and weapons of the third deep.

As the four dwarves entered the great hall, one of the warriors blew his horn; no horn was ever blown inside the great hall unless to announce the coming of something important. The echoes repeated again and again, each time becoming quieter. Ori did not stay; he left immediately for the store of weapons. Loni and Nali remained together until the dwarves began to stir. Hundreds of them began to usher forth from their homes and circles of discussion.

“Thou must tell them, brother. I have a pressing matter to attend to.” Nali didn’t bother explaining, duties were racing through his brain too fast to stop and pause.

Nali scanned the faces of the crowd, but he was certain that he would not find his friend in midst of all these people. He was about to search for her at The Chamber of Mazarbul when he spotted her alone near the ale kegs, leaning against one of the gigantic pillars of the hall.

“Onli, find me Kór the brother of Kórin. Bring him to me.” Onli silently departed.

“Vigdis,” his manner was stern and proud, assuming the air of a noble. Vigdis bowed and opened her mouth to speak but Nali stopped her. “We do not have time for pleasantries, friend, I must speak bluntly for now. War is drawing nigh to the foot of the mountains, even now our new lord is searching for the Goblins, but that is of no concern to thee. As a new Lord rises to power the old must be lain to rest; unfortunately, no arrangements have been made for Balin to be buried. Willst thou be willing to build his tomb?”

[Durelin]

The difficulty Kórin had of finding Kór did not help her rage one bit. She asked nearly every dwarf she ran into if they had seen her brother, and she was of course lucky if she even got a civil answer, with how she barked at them, demanding an answer. Finally she was directed towards the kitchens, perhaps just to be rid of her.

She found him, though, to her surprise drinking rum with a couple of dwarf-women. They of course heard her heavy footsteps as she entered, and looked toward her.

“Excuse me,” she muttered half-heartedly. “Kór, we need to talk.”

He excused himself considerably more politely than Kórin had, placing his glass down, and followed her out of the kitchens.

“I’m guessing the council did not go well?” Kór asked with only slight hesitation, not hiding the mirth in his voice.

“No,” she snapped. She sat down on a nearby bench and Kór joined her. “We have a pompous, arrogant, blood-thirsty fool who will lead us all to our deaths. I have no idea what Balin saw in him.”

“Who?” Kór asked.

“Trór.”

“I am not very familiar with him,” Kór said slowly.

“Neither was I.”

Kórin’s voice had lost much of its fervor. The siblings were quiet for several moments, as her intense anger gave way to a sad and quiet bitterness. Kór knew her anger could flare up again at any moment, that it was not gone, but he was not afraid of it. He was about to ask her to simply tell him what happened when she spoke again.

“It’s all my fault,” she murmured.

“I doubt that,” Kór began.

Kórin ignored her brother. The words came out in a flood, her anger quickly rekindling as she spoke. “Trór has threatened to place you in the vanguard of the army he’s foolishly taking out against the orcs. And I have no doubt he goes through with his threats. He is that kind of dwarf. And it’s all my fault. He’s doing it out of spite for me. He’s playing with your life in order to spite me. Does that sound like a dwarf fit to lead? He will lead us all to our deaths.”

Kór swallowed. He had not expected that he would somehow be involved. And it seemed Kórin forgot that this was the first he was hearing of any armies.

“I guess he did it because I’m a woman. He can’t punish me, but must punish a man close to me. That is how men like him think.”

“Kórin?” Kór broke in quickly before his sister could continue. “So there will be a battle?” he asked as she went silent and turned her eyes back up from the floor to look at him.

“Yes. There’s a large army of orcs headed up the Silverlode,” she began, starting out calmly again. “Apparently a scouting party was responsible for killing Lord Balin. Trór is apparently taking a number of dwarves from the regular army – or perhaps the entire army, as he is insane enough – he’s going out to meet them. Apparently he’s leaving defensive preparations to everyone else. But you’re not going out with him. He’ll do his best to force you, but his command has no real power. Besides, he has to find you…”

Kórin trailed off as Kór shook his head. “It’s alright. If he really wants me there,” he began, attempting to jest.

“No,” his sister interrupted. “He’s going to get all of his men killed. If they are fools enough to follow him…”

“Well, if they are defeated everyone left behind will hardly be in a good position.”

“We will have the strength of Khazad-dûm.”

Kór sighed. “If I must, I must. It makes no difference when and where I fight. I expect we all will have to.” Kórin shook her head angrily and began to speak but her brother quickly continued. “How did you manage to anger him, anyway?”

“Just insulted his lofty pride,” Kórin snorted. “All it takes.”

“Uh huh…” Kór said, but did not ask any further questions.

[Gwathagor]

The soldiers were indeed ready, sixty of the fiercest, finest warriors in Khazad-dum. They stood shoulder to shoulder like grim chiseled stones, three ranks deep, awaiting Frar's command. Not one of them moved a muscle, but the tension was nearly palpable. They all felt it - the excitement, the pre-battle thrill. Even the most hardened veterans there, who had known that sensation countless times before and lived to remember it, felt it again, as they always would before a fight. Frar surveyed them, weighing their strength and their morale with a practiced eye. He strode down the ranks, turned, and strode back. He paused and tapped his foot - and then nodded slowly, his jaw set. He spoke to the lieutenant.

"Send for my axe."

The glowing embers of their excitement were kindled into a flame. This is what the dwarves wanted to hear. Most of them had fought under Frar before, and these muttered quietly to each other, some nudging, some grinning solemn grins. "Gamil Naragatholbund" they called him: "Old Citadel," and the other soldiers could see what they meant. Frar towered above all but the tallest of them like a black boulder, a titan of basaltic muscle and sinew bound in iron. "But have you seen his weapon?" they said. The newcomers had not, but they heard the name "Buzunimbar" passing between the ranks, and they wondered at it.

"First two ranks, step forward."

They did so as one man.

"You will be under my command. Third rank, the Lord Tror will lead you. We have very little time and we cannot wait for our skilled masons to be summoned. When we reach the site, we will throw up simple defenses - enough to break the goblin-army's advance. Then we can take them man-to-man."

Two smiths ran up, breathless. "Your - axe - sir," one gasped, and it was no wonder he was out of breath, for the weapon the two of them bore between them was tremendous. It was nearly as tall as an ordinary dwarf: long of handle, heavy of blade, and forged entirely of a dull black metal, of which, in the torchlight, only the very edges of the blades gleamed all along their twice-curved lengths. Buzunimbar it was, Black-Horn, the only axe Frar had ever borne in his long life, and it was as dark and scarred as he was; but its edge was still keen, and it had been newly sharpened. Most of the dwarves knew that axe and what it had done and could do. The others could well imagine, now that they saw its for themselves, why orc-chieftains told stories to their youngest fighters about the Grim Claw, the bane of their northern kin. It was a thing of fearsome use and terrible beauty.

Frar gave his thanks with an inclination of his head and took the enormous thing from the hands of the relieved smiths as though it were no lighter than a wooden board and yet also as if it meant as much to him as life itself. The smiths edged away and disappeared down a corridor. Frar felt the weight in his hands and lifted the horrible axe with one hand, raising it above his head.

"Gundi!" he thundered. "My hewers! Follow me!"

The electrified dwarves roared back their approval with a shout. "Buzunimbar! Buzunimbar for Tror and Khazad-dum!" they cried, and then fell silent. The soldiers all turned a sharp ninety degrees, and then the first rank began to march as a single-file line, for, even as they cheered him on, Frar had already turned his back and strode out of the hall towards the East Gate.

Outside, the last light of Durin's Day was failing as dusk crept up out of the east into the Dale - and with it, the goblin horde.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was darker than the inside of a coal mine. No moon or stars guarded the warrior’s footfalls; yet, not one stumbled for Dwarves have sharp eyes, accustomed to the darkness of their mountain halls. However even for Dwarves, it was some time before they could descend down the steep path of the Dimrill Stair with ease.

The warriors soon were led off the old road and onto uneven ground, passing by the pillars and ridges of rock like specters. The steady clanking armor and thumping of boots guided Trór as he brought his warriors behind Frar’s lightly armed soldiers. He could see their dark silhouettes zig-zagging behind boulders and down in crevices, disappearing and then reappearing where he least expected them to emerge. The confusing manner of Frar’s movement kept Trór focused on narrowing the gap between their two bands but Frar kept his distance.

The wind was blowing hard, stinging his eyes. Trór had thought that it would rain tonight, but instead of rain it began to snow. He should have recognized it, the clouds were high and puffy when he last saw them; the snow would have to prompt them to move faster than rain would have. If the snow persisted in coming down harder it might slow the warriors down and cause the goblins to catch them, it might confuse them on their way back to the gates, or worse, separate Frar from Trór. This was a disaster in the making.

Trór squinted and put his hand up to shield his eyes from the snow, he had lost sight of the last line of Frar’s column. He continued to lead his Dwarves for a few paces and then stopped, frantically swinging his head in every direction. Presently he heard what he hoped for, the clanking of armor, Trór’s eyes were not sharp but his hearing was far better. With a wave of his hand they started moving again, one of the officers, Bain, a sharp eyed Dwarf, accompanied Trór in the lead.

“Faster,” came a hiss from Trór. Bain looked at him, confused if he had heard him or not.

“We must go faster!” Trór said with one breath, and with a considerable amount of annoyance at not being heard the first time. The warriors quickened their step and Trór could soon make out the swaying silhouettes of Frar’s warriors again. His column was soon brought behind Frar’s at a comfortable distance. Trór left Bain to lead the warriors and left to find Frar.

Frar was found at the head of the troops, leading the entire expedition. He was incredibly large and not too light footed, this gave Trór no difficulty in overtaking his attention.

“I don’t like all this wind and snow.” A surge of icy wind met his words. Trór stopped running and Frar dutifully stopped as well, the wind howled and whistled about them.

“I am beginning to doubt if we could find Oin in this awful mess. I doubt if splitting up will be a prudent choice now and I don't know if we should go much farther if we can't see what lies in front of our noses. We've been running for sometime now and are well beyond the Eastern Gates,” Trór turned back to see if he could see the peaks of Barazinbar, Bundushathur, or Zirak-zigil but none were there to be seen.

"This all has a foul mood to it. Azanulbizar has clouded our vision! Though this might be a blessing after all, it has clouded the Orcs' vision as well, though I doubt it will affect their sharp sense of smell and hearing."

Trór was beginning to lose hope, he could not clearly see much farther than a hundred paces. Chances of finding Oin in these conditions were bleak indeed. Despite the conditions, however, it pained Trór to think about abandoning the search and leaving his friend in such a hopeless predicament. He ceased searching the rocky plain for a sign and turned to Frar. Hopefully his subordinate would shed some helpful insight on the matter.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin

At that very moment, in the falling darkness of night, Óin was stumbling back to the gates of Moria. He emerged amidst the rocks, from his own hidden path, unknown to anybody else. It was dark and a bit hazy, Óin could not see very well in the gloom, yet he was afraid to light a lantern for himself because he was not sure how much far the goblins' advance parties might have reached and he did not want to be spotted. Thus, he hurried, half-blindly, up the hill, towards the ancient eastern gate of Khazad-Dûm.

The journey was not an easy one. But stumbling in the shadows, wrapped tight in his cloak to protect himself from the wind that came from the mountains, old Óin reached at last the walls of Moria.

"Stop right there!" a shout came from the darkness. "Who are you?"

Guards, Óin immediately figured out. He reached for his tinder box to light his lantern so that they could see him, but his face changed in surprise when he realised that there is nothing where his belt pouch should be.

"I must have dropped it when climbing down that hill," Óin muttered. "And just that was my old tinder box which I did not manage to lose since the Dale was founded! Óin, you silly -"

"Hey, you heard me?" said the voice from the darkness. "Who are you! Speak, or -"

Óin cleared his throat. "Óin son of Gróin," he shouted. Something like delighted cries came in return and suddenly, bright light blinded him. "It is him!" a young voice cried, and suddenly he was in the middle of a group of happy guards who were leading him into the gates. The heavy door closed behind them.

"Lead me to Balin," Óin said in an important tone. "I need to -" then he noticed the looks the guards exchanged with each other.
"What is that?" he asked. "What is wrong?"

But at the moment he spoke it he already knew. Suddenly, the breath he took turned into a sort of stridor and the old Dwarf leaned his back against the wall. He closed his eyes.

"Go and fetch somebody," Óin muttered, surprised how old suddenly his own voice sounded. "I have important news for the colony."

When the young guard run away, Óin shook his head and put his hand on his heart.

"Óin, my good lad," he whispered softly. "Looks like you have already lost another friend."

* * *

Lóni

Being left by his brother and appointed with the task of conveying Trór's orders to the colony, Lóni strode towards a close stone block making a support for a column and climbed on it so that everybody can see him clearly. Not being overly fond of being in the position of a commander or an announcer, but knowing what his duty was, he cleared his throat to speak. Sleeking his golden beard, he was also reminded to his slight displeasure that he still did not have time to properly polish his armor after the battle with the Orcs. But now he had to speak. All eyes were fixed on him.

"Folk of Khazad-Dûm, hear me," he started, being careful to pronounce clearly and accurately. Everybody was attentive.
"It was but a few hours ago when our Lord Balin died, slain by the foul Orcs. Like in the ages of our fathers, these creatures have violated the ancient Dimrill Dale." Lóni knew that with the simple folk, it makes little sense to go into details, his main concern was to give them a basic outlining of what was going on but at the same moment to support their morale. "Your Lord had already set out at the head of our soldiers to push the beasts back, but there is a need for everybody's hands." There was a silence for a few heartbeats, Lóni silently counted up to three and then roused his voice to full strength.

"By the word of the Lord of Moria," Lóni was careful not to speak the name; from his experience on the Council he learned that it may not be too good to emphasise too much the fact that it is no longer Balin, but Trór who is the leader. "Each and every single one who is capable to wield a weapon shall assemble and report to the armory. Each and every single one who can fight shall be prepared ere our Lord returns. The enemy shall not take the Gates of Moria, and everyone of you will contribute to that in your post. Now, everybody act as is your due."

Lóni rubbed his left eye. The time of decision was getting near.

* * *

Onli and Vriti

After a short stay with Nîsa around the incident by the Gates, Vriti left the nervosity-soaked area and headed on one of her lonely trips to lower levels. Now she was scurrying through one of the dark corridors deep below the lit hall where Lóni was giving his speech. These corridors were always lonely and the faintest smell of Dwarves did not even come as far as here. Vriti could freely run here and play around with the large beetles who were running around and across the uneven floor. She always jumped, putting her paw in one beetle's way and then she again raised it, leaving the critter utterly confused for a while. She was always capable to spend several hours with this game, very often while her master was wandering through the upper corridors and looking for her.

This time it was not so, however. Little did Vriti know that her master had been busy, very busy with the new job he had been appointed with. Little did she know about his encounter with Kór, where Onli approached the Dwarf just when he finished talking to his sister, and stepping in carefully, but firmly, supported by his newly gained authority, he asked Kór to come with him to Náli. Vriti did not even know about her master's, nor about Kór and his sister's feelings at that moment.

But however Vriti was just a small Eastern mountain ferret, even she could sense the unrest in the colony. She remembered the change she observed in the last few hours. The Dwarves were odd, confused, some seeming a bit detached and not as friendly to her as usually. Sometimes nobody even noticed her. There was a general atmosphere of fear, and strange smells coming in from the outside with the night-breeze, as well as some strange and unexplainable feeling creeping down the whole colony.

Even now, when she was many levels below the twenty-first hall, Vriti could feel some weird tension, her senses were warning her now and then in almost an irrational way. Once or twice when chasing the big beetles, she stopped, her hair standing on end and that was when she sniffed and stood for a while, attentive, as if this tension was something she could catch with her senses. And then it disappeared again and she went on, chasing the beetles in the unevenly hewn low corridors, and just a vague feeling remained somewhere in the back of her tiny head, a warning to her little fuzzy self.

At once during her play she came to the edge of a great hall, where the cavern's roof was running up into unsuspected heights and disappearing in utter blackness. All that Vriti could rely on was her sense of smell and touch and a vague feeling of large space around her. There was a way leading to the elden way upstairs, back to the lit caverns and corridors of the Third Deep, and Vriti had traversed these caverns and corridors leading towards it before, but this time she could feel something was different. She stopped at the edge of the hall, knowing that about twelve leaps in front of her there is a large column supporting the ceiling of this large room, and beyond it, there lies an archway pointing her way towards the stairs to Third Deep. The ferret sniffed in the stifling air of the cavern and headed towards it, avoiding the column by close proximity. Now in front of her there lay the archway, sensible only by the vague feeling of form and slight movements of the air. Vriti's whiskers trembled and she stopped, sensing the archway and the corridor beyond it being just three or four leaps away.

The archway was there. Vriti gazed into the darkness on its other side.

And the darkness gazed back.

[Thinlómien]

After Kór had left, Adela had excused herself quickly as well and Vigdis had been left alone. Being alone was what she both needed and dreaded tonight. She felt weak, drained and despite all the lights around her, the world seemed dark. She leaned herself against a huge pillar and closed her eyes for a while. It did not help, not at all, for all she could see was Balin's pale face still and stern in the candlelight.

"Vigdis."

That was a voice used to command and a voice she knew. Náli was a venerable Dwarf, and one of those few whose good opinion she valued so much that she would rather not be found in such state. Mahal forbid, he probably thought she was drunk. She bowed, thinking she needed to explain herself...

"We do not have time for pleasantries, friend, I must speak bluntly for now. War is drawing nigh to the foot of the mountains, even now our new lord is searching for the Goblins, but that is of no concern to thee. As a new Lord rises to power the old must be lain to rest; unfortunately, no arrangements have been made for Balin to be buried. Willst thou be willing to build his tomb?"

That was a lot of information to absorb, but Vigdis had learned to concentrate on the essential and know her place. But suddenly, she could not find words. She bowed again. She could feel tears coming to her eyes, but she would not cry, not here, not now. She forced herself to talk. "You give me a great honour. I will take it as my duty and I swear he shall have a tomb worth the legend he will become."

Náli nodded. "That is well then. I trust thee in this matter. But now, time runs and other urgent matters are pressing. I shall come to thee in regards of this matter later."

Vigdis bowed once again, and Náli nodded and hurried away. Vigdis's eyes followed the man until he disappeared from sight. She wondered why he had asked her in particular. She prided herself in being one of the best masons in Khazad-dûm and her skills were no secret, but something in Náli's manner made her suspect there was more. Had the old dwarf's keen eyes seen more than they had revealed, or had Balin betrayed her feelings to his closest friends?

She did not know, and after a while she decided she did not care. It was not essential now. What she needed now was half a glass of rum, half an hour of sleep and a whole night of work.