Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Imladris]

Ori

Ori’s spirits swelled, then ebbed back into uneasiness at Balin‘s speech. The dwarves roared fiercely, some laughter was sprinkled throughout; a dwarf that Ori recognized as Nali began to sing a song that had the lusty air of a tavern tune. The words were different and Ori, with a brief half smile, realized that a dwarf after his own heart was among them.

Slipping quietly away from the celebration, Ori slowly made his way toward the Lonely Mountain. With a murmured greeting to the guards, he passed through the gates and though the winding passages into his room. Shutting the door, he began to pack. An extra hood, warm clothes, some blankets, mining tools, and a bit of food. Ori smiled wryly at the cram as he stuffed it into his sack.

He picked up a leather bound book filled with soft white empty pages. It would be a journal for the dwarves to tell of their journey and of their lives in Moria. He held it for a moment, brushing his hand against the dark leather and smelling the new pages before he tucked it in a separate sack: it was made of green velvet with a golden tassel that sparkled in the light of dying sun.

Crimson streamers stretched across the dusky sky while an orange glow glimmered upon the edge of the mountains. A soft pink stole from the golden orb that slowly sunk behind the craggy peaks. His brown eyes wide, a little smile about his lips, a small frown on his brow, Ori watched the sunset, but then took his flute and began to pipe a haunting melody, a last farewell to the Mountain.

[mark12_30]

Lîn pulled her axe free from her fourth dead orc, and suppressed a grunt of pride. Time later to celebrate when they had all survived the battle, she thought grimly.

She saw Oin off to one side, and Alrik off to the other, leaving piles of bodies around them. "Now don't be selfish, there's enough for us all, " she thought with a smile. Another orc charged her, but she sidestepped and swung, and black blood told her she had found her target. Five.

A little to her left stood Narin, who had done his share of damage. As she pulled her axe free, she saw that two-- no, three orcs were charging him at once. "Two more-- Too three-- augh, kill them!" she shouted. Alrik heard her. Turning across her body, Lîn swung at the nearest one. Narin killed the one in the middle. Alrik turned also, and while he did not have time to swing at the third orc, his roar made the third orc glance sideways, and his scimitar missed its target. "Gah!" Narin said as it thudded into his shield, and then the third orc swung again. Awkwardly, Lîn caught the blow on her sheld, and then swung one-handed at the orc's face. She missed, but the orc was after her now.

That was his mistake, for he had forgotten Alrik. The orc fell headless.

Narin grunted his thanks, but more were coming.

"Six, " Lîn said, hefting her now-bloody axe.

"You'll do, son, " Alrik shouted, and then they were busy again.

[Imladris]

A rasping horn echoed through the mountain crags: a horn whose cry bade what remained of the orcs back into the belly of Moria. Balin leaned on the head of his axe and wiped his brow. Corpses dotted the rocks in the bright sun of the dale. Flies crawled within the blood caked wounds while vultures, crows, and ravens, circled over head. Ori’s raven alighted upon one orc carrion and plucked at the mottled flesh, but spitted it out in disgust.

The dwarves themselves had gotten off fairly well. A scratch here and there, a gash upon some limb. Balin nodded with approval, but frowned when he saw a tattered blue rag flutter from behind a boulder. … it was Floi. The corpse of a troll at his feet. Balin praised the dead dwarf for the brave deed, and mourned that he had fallen. He was the first of the company.

They buried Flói under the grass beside Mirromere.

[Saraphim]

Narin bowed his head as Floi was put to rest. While this was mainly a gesture of respect to the brave dwarf, it also served the purpose of hiding Narin's red face.

I wil never live this down. He thought, grateful that his surrounding comrades could not hear his thoughts. But it doesn't matter if thay can or not. They all saw the jewel-setter save my life. I'm just glad my brother isn't here. He'd never let me forget it. Not that I will anyway.

With effort, he pulled himself out of his shame. Balin was saying something about Floi, and Narin thought it would be best to listen.

[Taralphiel]

Maron

Maron stood in a strange daze as he saw one of the company being laid to rest. His axe still hung in his hand, still covered in black blood and mud. He did not know how he had made it through that battle. The flurry simply sent his axe moving, and sliding through orc-flesh. He noticed a good cut on his arm, but other than that very little to show.

Looking to the side, he saw a dwarf looking downcast at all that had come about. About to say something, he thought he heard Balin calling everyone together, and thought it best to listen.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik stood next to the grave of one of their comrades, Flói, his helmet in hand out of respect to the young one. It was sad to see one of their number fall this early in the expedition, but the thought of avenging him, if turned to the right direction, could be a powerfull ally indeed.

"Our path to glory has allways been opened with the blood and sweat of our kind, and paved with the bones of our enemies."

The words he had heard spoken, and spoken himself on several occasions, brought back to his mind the deaths of many a comrade he had witnessed during his career as a warrior. It was credit to the experience gained in a hundred battles that he had survived. And to that Malí girl, ofcourse. The thought almost made him feel embarassed, but he was thankfull for the young dwarf. He had survived to see the Truesilver, unlike poor Flói burried next to the Mirrormere.

He turned from the young dwarfs grave and walked away to the rest of the group.

[Pyroclastic]

"Tuurhuun! Tuuhurruunn!" A deep horn sounded across the slopes leading up to the gates of Moria. Uzgash blew it in vain hope of calling any surviving orcs back to the caverns. Though the dwarves had been few they had been tough, and Uzgash doubted that any of the scanty Moria gate guard had lasted the short battle. Uzgash wiped his ax on the grass while he waited for stragglers. They would return to Moria and regroup, but Uzgash wasn’t inclined to slaughter the Dwarves just yet. He wanted to know why they were there. Why return to Moria after all of these years? And why in such small force? Uzgash didn’t like the appearance of this, not at all.

The orc captain surveyed the remnants of the battle grimly. He hadn’t known any of the orcs on guard, but he had lost Grog. Once the dwarves had recovered from their surprise they had attacked with furry, and Uzgash had sent two of the orcs to get Grog before he had thought the action through. The Troll just hadn’t been trained enough for battle. Beyond eyesight Uzgash could hear the Dwarves holding a ceremony for their fallen. He heard one of the little creatures reciting a poem in honor of the dead. Uzgash snorted. Why did the elves and dwarves feud when they had so much in common? Always rhyming, always thinking that they’re better than everyone else. Well, they weren’t. Now the dwarves had come to invade Moria. His Moria. Uzgash felt a sudden loyalty to the place from which he had stormed out of not four hours ago. A bunch of short, fat, clumsy oafs with scruffy beards were going to just go and boot him and his fellow orcs out their caverns? Nope, not while Uzgash was around. He looked down at Grog’s massive body, blood still oozed from the troll’s severed neck. Several feet away Grog’s head lay, his eyes open and looking to the sky. He looked confused, as though he did not yet understand what had happened. Uzgash glanced over towards the unseen dwarves, still mourning their companion. Who cared about a miserable dwarf? Grog, now he had been a trouper. He deserved as much as that stupid dwarf was getting.

Deep in Khazad Dum
Grog was with out gloom.
But Moria needed his might
And so he met his plight.
He ended his life in glory
There is honor in the gory.

Uzgash smiled. No dwarf could top that. His friend properly laid to rest, the captain turned to trudge back to the depths of Moria. There was work to be done.