Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

At first, Onli felt rather content. Even though Vriti was struggling, claw and tooth, he managed to wash her and get rid of the foul stench. He was still wondering what did the poor animal do to come to smell so badly, also the hair on her back, which looked like burned, looked curious indeed. Probably she had been once again sneaking somewhere where she ought not have. Anyway, after the washing procedure completed, Vriti spat at Onli and angrily crawled under his bed to sleep, which meant that everything was all right again.

But then, Onli somehow managed to fall asleep. He only lay himself on the bed, but in the next moment he opened his eyes and realised that the candles on his table have burned out. How long he slumbered, he could not tell. Hastily, he lifted himself and rushed out of his chamber.

How could he have fallen asleep? That was such a stupid thing to do. Now, he only hoped that he did not sleep for too long, and that Náli has not been requesting his assistance meanwhile. Indeed, now that was not the best way to make a good impression, he thought as he was running down the stairs. But where was everybody? The halls were empty. Onli headed towards the Twenty-First hall, then, in hope to meet somebody.

And then he started to meet them. Groups of people, soldiers, returning from the battle. Returning. Onli shuddered. This was too bad. He had missed the battle. From what he gathered, the Goblins have effectively sealed them inside. Another great news. Has everything turned against him today? The last thing he wanted to find out now was that Náli had been in need of his right-hand man and he was nowhere to be found.

And then he came to the First hall, and saw him. There was also his brother, Lóni, and Nîsa. Suddenly, he felt sick. But slowly, he walked closer to make sure what he was looking at. There was no doubt: Náli's right arm was gone.

[Groin Redbeard]

Though Trór wished for Óin to continue, the discussion would have to wait. Óin’s counsel was unsettling. Although Trór first entertained the thought of heading farther into the city, the thought of fleeing bore sharp repercussions. Balin had not fully restored Khazad-dum to its former glory, though within a generation it might have been done. There will be no more songs praising the glories of Khazad-dum—the bard has sung his last note. Khazad-dum is already lost, but the fight goes on.

Frar and Ori bowed as they approached Trór.

“Stand, mighty nobles and tell me what news you bring. But first, Ori, who is this with you?”

Ori realised he didn't remember the woman's name, although he had surely heard it more than once. He coughed a bit uncertainly and then looked meaningfully at the woman, giving her a permission to introduce herself.

Vigdis turned to the lord and bowed a little. "My lord, I'm Vigdis daughter of Flósi, the mason your vassal Náli has entrusted with carving the tomb of Lord Balin. I may report to your briefly that the task is done, and invite you to survey my work."

Trór seemed to be sontent with this piece of information, but didn't say anything before Vigdis continued.

"However, my lord, this is not why I tried to find you and why Master Ori wanted to bring me to you. I have ill tidings to bring. An old miner and his grandson were in the third tunnel by the chasm, in the lower mines, today, and reputedly they came face to face with Durin's Bane."

“By Mahal’s beard!” Trór’s exclamation escaped his lips in a whisper.

Of all the terrors that could unleash itself against the fledgling colony, they would not stand a chance. Trór struggled to come up with options in his mind. Did this woman even see the fearsome demon? Trór paused for a moment, his mind cleared of thoughts. He looked at his nobles, forgetting the woman for the moment.

“Are we to uproot this colony on the word of a boy? How do we know that it wasn’t a fire in the mines? The,” Trór stopped, feared to mention that word, “the…creature has not been seen for centuries, not even King Dáin saw it when he looked through Narvi’s Gates, he only prophesized. In five years that we have lived here it has not disturbed us. No, it is dead. I will not decide without further proof.”

Óin bowed his head in thought. “Can we afford not to?”

Trór’s shoulders rose and fell in a huge sigh. His wound was burning again, it had been for a while but now it couldn’t be ignored. He folded his arms and slowly shook his head.

“Am I to move on the word of a boy?”

Frar's brow was furrowed and he stared hard at each of the speakers in turn.

Finally he spoke up.

"I say no, Tror. It was something else, but it was no Durin's Bane. I do not believe that if they had indeed come face to face with...that thing, they would have lived to tell the tale. There is some mistake." Frar laughed grimly. "And besides, if Durin's Bane has indeed come upon now, what can we do to resist? We would be finished. Our forces are already weak and wounded."

"My lord, if you excuse me," Vigdis spoke up, head held up high. "I believe the boy's tale. You may talk to him when he wakes up, he is now in the care of a woman named Adela. His grandfather has perished, but the boy said the old man recognised the Bane."

She turned to the warlike Dwarf who had spoken before her: "If you will not take the word of a boy, will you take that of his grandfather? Will you speak to the head miner Tófi and ask him would he consider the old man trustworthy and if he can verify his disappearance?" She spoke calmly, but a red hot flame of anger was growing in her. What would Balin have thought of this, the appearance of their worst nightmare denied merely because the witness was not yet of age? And he would be of age from this day on, no one could go through what he had come through today without being forced to grow up.

Ori looked away, troubled. He feared in his heart that what the woman was saying was true, but he longed to agree with Frár and dismiss it all as a childish fairytale and feminine exaggeration.

"Maybe it would help if we knew the name of the old miner who has disappeared..." he muttered more to himself than to anyone else. The echo strengthened his voice though, and everybody could hear it clearly.

Vigdis spoke again: "I do not know the name of the miner, nor that of his grandson, for that matter. However, it should be easy enough to find out - I doubt there are many one-legged old men among the miners."

Ori glanced at her. "Lord Trór," he said. "If I may, I will fetch this head of miners, Tófi. Maybe he will be able to tell us about this old man, and his grandson. And if you will, I will also send someone to enquire after the boy in question."

Both Frar’s and Ori’s words were expressions of what Trór was already thinking. He held up his hand, a single to wait—he was thinking. Too many rash decisions have led to this crisis. The woman had an honest face, but Frar and Ori were trustworthy officials. Frar was his close friend: a brother in arms; therefore it is logical that he would prefer to stand and fight. However, Ori was also experienced in these matters. No more time could be wasted—Trór’s decision must be decisive, not rash.

He spoke at last. "I don't think so Ori."Trór looked at Óin and smiled.

"I thank you for your council, my friend. It was most helpful," he turned to the rest of the group. Trór was evidently sure of choice, it was only a matter of time before he chose this road.

"Frar, you mentioned that the army is weak. I agree. In another pitched battle we could not win. Whether or not Vigdis is correct is no longer the question. Terror in the mines or impending battle with the Orcs, I'll choose the mines." There was a silence. There was an air of regret.

"I realize that this is a choice that Lord Balin would never choose, but," his voice became low and growlish, "I am not Balin!

"Óin, Frar, you go with Vigdis get the colony up we move immediately!"