Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Orual]

Óin crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against a tree while his companions had a bout with the Elves. He had no wish to get into a scuffle with the denizens of Mirkwood. Besides, hadn't he said that going into Mirkwood was a bad idea? He surely had. It wasn't his fault that they had gone off into this forest. A forest was no place for a dwarf anyway. Nothing but trouble could come of it!

But trouble had come of it, and now his friends were in a bit of a fix. Óin had a feeling that the Elves did not truly mean violence--nothing that would leave scars too deep, at least--just a little mischief and fun for them. Typical of Elves, that sort of behavior. For all their talk of being the Firstborn, all their wisest-fairest-eldest bibble-babble, they really could be very juvenile sometimes. He rolled his eyes and sighed deeply, and slid his axe out of his belt.

"Baruk Khazad," he said without much vigor, and raised his axe, and joined the fray.

[Pyroclastic]

Deep in the caverns of Khazad Dum, Uzgash sat in his office cave, the ruins of his supper before him. The great orc chief sighed as he leaned back against the cavern wall, contented. He reached up to scratch his head, "Donk!" His hand hit the iron helmet he wore and bounced off of it with a resounding noise. Uzgash glared at himself. He felt so stupid. Almost as stupid as Turgrog, or Nazklash. Orcs like them made him ashamed to an orc in Moria. In the outside world, orcs had to be sharp, swift and strong. These Moria Orcs were softies, they would never survive in the wilds. Uzgash longed for his old band of minions, and the freedom to raid whenever and wherever he wished. Uzgash didn’t think much of Nazklash. He would just use him because he was easily disposable. Lugnush, he didn’t even bear mentioning. Except…hmmm, Uzgash thought about Lugnush for a moment. He might be useful after all. His rivalry with Nazklash could be a great advantage.

Uzgash snorted as he remembered that he had a ‘meeting’ to attend later that day regarding plans for the revolt. He was not looking forward to it. "Meetings, what useless things," he thought to himself. "Here’s the plan: kill Turgrog. Allow mayhem to spread. Nazklash takes the blame. He and Lugnush fight for power…" In the middle of his thoughts, Uzgash suddenly got bored. He found that he just didn’t care anymore. He picked up a bone left over from supper and flung it across the cave, just to hear it shatter against the opposing wall. Moria was so dull! He was a warrior, not a politician. This all reminded him of Gondor, where you could raid anywhere you pleased, because it would take three weeks for the men of Gondor to decide who was responsible for seeking out the raiders. Plans for the revolt faded from his mind as he remembered his glory days of fighting and pillaging, now there was the life for an orc!

[Pyroclastic]

Uzgash watched the orcs mass toward the armor chambers. He knew he should be excited and enthused about the impending ambush, but it all seemed so petty now. He had gone to the meeting in full armor, anticipating that there might be some trouble, but for the most part it had been fairly peaceful. Now the orcs were trouping out, on their way to the massacre. Uzgash had had enough. So many squabbles, and he had allowed himself to get sucked into one at last. No. This was not how he was going to live his life, always sneaking around, never actually doing anything. That was the behavior of a stinking Elf. No, that would not be him. He picked up his axe, a double headed one he had taken from a hidden Moria Armory, and began walking. He was leaving Moria for good. This was it, the end of Moria at last. The captain almost smiled.

As he approached the gates Uzgash’s mood deteriorated quickly. Where were the guards? He heard an orcish shriek, followed by a deep "ARRAGHHH! Take that!" Dwarves! Uzgash slowly peered around the gate, taking survey of the battle. A small band of Dwarves was being beaten back by the Moria guards. The guards were ill prepared however, and had become separated into scattered small groups. Uzgash stepped out of the Moria Gate and leered down at the Dwarves below. At last! Some real fighting! Now this was life for an orc!

[Orual]

Óin had been lost in thought for a long while since they had parted with the Elves. A sick feeling had been rising in him, some sort of foreboding. It was not his previous grumpiness or obstinance. It was something different entirely.

He watched the other Dwarves as they carried on their way, and the sick feeling grew stronger. Nothing good would come of this trip. He thought of his young nephew, Gimli, and wondered what he was doing. If he'd only stayed home, he might know.

Caught in the middle of these thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard an arrow whiz by Balin's head. Orcs, he thought, his heart dropping to the toes of his thick, sturdy boots. He heard his thought echoed by Narin.

"If we win this, Moria and all its spoils are ours," Narin cried, and Óin groaned, but it was half-hearted.

"If we lose, all our toil was for nothing," he added in an undertone. The comfort he usually derived from his moaning and peevishness was gone. He clutched the hilt of his axe tightly. Now for it, he supposed...

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik was nearly quivering with excitement as they neared the gates of the ancient citadel, but held his composure. What would the beardlings, let alone the more elderly dwarfs of the lot, think if they saw him give way to such impulses? They would laugh like drains.

In one hand he grasped his great axe, using its shaft as a walking stick of sorts. His bag was slung on his back and he was wearing his full suite of armour. On his head was perched the winged helmet, incorporating the terrifying war-mask he had made as a gesture of respect to all those ancient dwarfs who had fallen in the long years of war that had slowly eaten away at the dwarf race.
Suddenly there was a metallic ping a little to his left. Turning his head he saw an arrow rebound from Balin's helmet. He saw one of the young 'uns pick it up, and noticed the black feathers that had been used for the arrow flights. He did not need the collective cry of 'Orcs!' to tell him what they faced in the depths.

He reached up and pulled down the mask. It was made of the finest steel, polished to shine like a mirror, and carved in the likeness of a roaring, guttural stone statue. His beard flowed from beneath it like a white river, the gold and bronze rings gleaming in the late sunlight.
He gripped his axe with both hands, brandishing it aloft as a challenge to their hidden agressors.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!". The guttural roar rang from his throat. Atlast, a real fight!

[The Perky Ent]

Orcs flew out from the mountain like snow on a mountain. It was all very poetic to Nali. So poetic, that Nali almost didn't want to pull out his ax and fight. But duty calls. The dark night blinded some orcs from Nali's eyes, and if it wasn't for the "Look out!" cry from Ori, Nali would be a forgotton name.

Just as Ori had screamed, a large fat orc jumped from behind Nali. In a swift movement, Nali brandished his ax and sliced the orc literaly in two, while he was still in mid-air. The two pieces of orc body plumited from the air as a fountain of blood gushed from the twisted body. "At last! This is what i wanted to see on my ax!" Nali said as more orcs ran to the battle.

At this point, all the dwarves were involved in their fight. As another orc ran at Nali, Nali stood without moving. As the orc was inches from his face, Nali pulled out his faithful club and wacked the orc across the face, killing him. "Two!" Nali said as he heard echoes from the others. "4" "1" "7" "6" "2" It looked like the other dwarves were having sucess.

"Ori, what is your count?" Nali asked looking for Ori. "Ori? Ori?!?" Ori was nowhere to be seen. After a minute of looking, it appeared that an orc had pinned his down. Without a second of hesitation, Nali thew his ax, which planted in the back of the orcs head. As Nali removed his ax, he found Ori, lying. Eyes closed, but still beathing. "Ori!" Ori woke up. "Nali? Nali is that you? Don't worry i'm fine....he just....suprised me!" Nali gave a smile. "Well then, i guess we're even now!" "Guess so!" "Common, there's orcs to kill.

And as Ori got up, they re-joined the battle before the gate.

[Orofaniel]

Lugnush liked the thought of a real Orc battle, and ran off to gather some Orcs that were ready to kill. "’urry!" Lugnush cried trying to sounds a bit bossy. It worked because the Orcs were now storming towards him. "Let's make it painful..." One of them said evilly. The others laughed brutally while thinking about this. "Let’s break their filthy necks, and then lets...chop 'em! All of 'em!" He continued, now seeming proud over his own proposal. Lugnush didn't think this was a bad suggestion either so he decided that this was the way they were going to do it.

"Let’s do just that," Lugnush said, while he felt a sudden satisfaction.

"Take your weapons…. and only use 'em for killin'.." Lugnush said finally, trying to sound funny. The others growled and picked up their weapons. "..and, we'll do it as this Orc 'ere said earlier.." Lugnush continued pointing at the Orc that come with the brilliant suggestion. "Aye!" They replied in choir. "Then march on you filthy Orcs!" Lugnush commanded. He felt powerful and this delightened him. The Orcs were soon walking while humming merrily; ”Chop chop chop..”

It didn't take long to kill the Orcs that had turned their backs on Nazklash. Much blood had been spilt from both sides, but none that Lugnush had set out to kill had survived, which was a good sign indeed.

When it was finished, Lugnush ordered some of the remaining Orcs to clean up the mess; the rest of them followed Lugnush back to Nazklash. On the way over to Nazklash they were shouting about victory and about the extraordinary battle. Never had Lugnush been prouder; here he was leading the great warriors of the battle into the hall. They were under his command - or they were, until Nazklash told them to "sod off".

"It's done," Lugnush said smiling at Nazklash. Nazklash however, didn't seem as happy as Lugnush would have thought, but it didn't really matter. "Good...good..." Nazklash said now, nodding sternly.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik gave a deep, guttural roar and charged the nearest of their silvan adversaries. The elf let loose his bowstring, and his arrow embeded itself into the ground at Alrik's feet. Obviously the pointy-ear intended that he should come no closer. Such a warning was lost on the old dwarf, who merely gave a thunderous bout of laughter before ploughing into the elf.

"Use your arrows on me, would you, you yellow-bellied pointy-ear?!" He roared before planting one of his stony fists into the elf's belly. His opponent doubled over as air wooshed out of his lungs.
His opponent recovered quickly, though. Before Alrik had the chance to pound his face, the elf lashed out with his stringy arm, catching the dwarf on the cheek. The blow was more powerfull than he would have expected from an elf, but in his time Alrik had taken far worse punishment. His cheek stung angrily, but he forgot about it when he realised the audible crunch the elf's knuckles made at contacting his face. He grinned.

"My face has been attacked by things far mightier than your reedy fist, coward."

Before his adversary could come up with a suitably nonchalant rebuke, Alrik smacked his fist into the pointy-ears chin. The elfs eyelids drooped and he sunk to the ground, knocked out cold.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the skirmish was over, the elves not being able to match dwarfish toughness or strength in a fistfight. Regrettably, it had not gone on long enough for weapons to be used in earnest. A pitty. He would have dearly liked to test the strenght of his axe-arm, and if testing involved dissemboweling a few elves, well, so much the better. Still, he supposed he woud get a chance to make that test soon enough.

"Durin's folk! For the kingdom to be reclaimed, do not waste any more time! We have showed these so-called warriors a thing or two to remember the people of Dain by!"

He regognized the voice of the king's kinsman, Flori Bronzeshield, and gave a thunderous roar of approval. As one, the dwarf party turned from the elves, marching deeper into the underbelly of the dark forest, hurling insult's and abuse at their would-be captors left behind.

[Imladris]

[b] Balin [b]

The elvish circle broke before the dwarves as they rushed into the depths of the forest, leaving bruised and unconscious elves in their wake. Balin turned, and shouted, “Tell your flower crowned King Thranduil that’s thanks for the last time the dwarves passed through his dreary forest!” With a loud laugh, he turned and followed the dwarves through the forest. “Slow it down, lads!” he called. “Old Mirkwood has a knack at taking the strength out of one. Besides, wouldn’t want this to look like a retreat when we beat them fair and square, but they’ll probably say they won.”

Taking his place at the head of the column, besides Ori, Floria, and Alrik, Balin said, “There, Flori, I told you I wouldn’t create trouble.” He flashed them a smug smile and then broke out into a dwarvish marching tune.

They tramped through the forest for several days, passing as quickly as they could underneath the murky darkness. At night, there were always two dwarves on guard, though they only saw glowing green eyes flicker and glow in the darkness. On the third day, when they saw thick, sticky spider strands clinging languidly to the rough bark. Balin shuddered and eyed Ori and Oin nervously. They merrily buttoned their lips and increased the pace.

He once thought he saw a slim, slightly glowing body, vanish between the trees, but he couldn’t be sure. He narrowed his eyes and stroked his beard, but then decided that the elf, if that is what it was, was nothing. He could not bring them all single handedly to Thranduil’s halls.

Suddenly, Balin paused and said, “I thought that we’d be through the forest by now.” Behind him, Mali gave a satisfied snort.

“In other words, we’re lost,” Ori said with a sigh.

Balin bit his lip, peered up into the branches and said, “Yes we are.”

[mark12_30]

Thorgeleb
Thorgeleb smiled sadly as Balin's words reached his ears. Yes, he thought, they were indeed lost. With all their bluster, they were pitiable, in their own pathetic way.

He sighed. They'd end up going in circles, or providing breakfast for the spiders. And then he'd be late for his wedding. Not good.

He swung his heels idly while the dwarves argued below.

Lîs

Lîs had stayed on the fringe of the group ever since she and Balin had had their encounter. She was feeling very chagrined about the whole thing, and tried to behave more like a responsible older soldier and not a rascally young one. The trouble was, she was young. Jewellry was her first passion, of course; but she also liked mischief. If only she could have clobbered somebody besides Balin. Anybody besides Balin.

Round and round her thoughts went, making her feel more and more alienated from the group. She wandered the perimeter of the group again, looking outward, restless. She put more and more distance between her and the group, til she barely had them in sight. Then she stopped. No good wandering off and getting lost, she thought; even though Balin had gotten them lost, at least they were all lost together... She stood in the dark and listened to bits of the argument that came her way.

"There's no sense going on if we don't know where we're going."

"Let's backtrack, then."

"How will we do that if we don't know which way is back and which way is forward!"

The argument went on. Lîn stood under a large tree trying not to worry. The darkness closed in around her, and she imagined webs, and spider-feet. She looked up at the branches above her, and saw a faint glimmer; two faint glimmers. A pair of eyes! she realised with a nasty start. She shrank against the tree, clutching the handle of her axe. But she looked again; and saw heels swinging and kicking in sheer boredom. An elvish face looked down from the tree.

It took several deep breaths before her fear subsided enough that she could whisper, "Why, hello, Silver Eagle. How pleasant to find you here."

Thorgeleb whispered back, "Hello, and well-met, Opal Setter. It would seem that your illustrious leader has gotten lost."

Lîn replied with a wry nod, and the elf smiled. "I don't suppose he'd consider asking for directions, " Thorgeleb said.

"It's not a dwarvish strong point," agreed Lîn.

"Well, I am glad you are an axe-wielder and not an archer; you mistook me for a spider, did you not?"

Lîn smiled, and waved her axe at him. He smiled back.

The argument between Balin and Flori continued, and they listened, the elf's eyes twinkling merrily in the darkness.

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

"Now that was a fight." Flói was gushing before Nali. Did you see the way I felled Thorgeleb like a tree? Serves him right for daring to challenge the helm I wrought."

"The first time one encounters combat is quite memorable."

"Will you tell me your first experience in combat?"

Nali smiled, and remained silent.

[Imladris]

“Well this is a fine, sizzling frying pan we’re in,” Flori snapped. “I may not have actually been here when you and Ori and the others were in Mirkwood, but Ori told me plenty about it and it’s not good! Balin, we could die out here!”

Balin brushed the comment aside and retorted, “Nonsense. The chances of dying are not great…at least I’d imagine they’re not. If you don’t believe me, you can ask Mali to compute the odds for you. And while you’re at it, why don’t you call a meeting.”

Flori, bursting with unprintable comments, swung on his heal and made his way to the dwarves who were clustered together in nervous groups. Balin counted them, and noticed that Lîn was missing. With a frown that broke his forehead into gnarled creases, he went some ways away from the general assembly of dwarves and called, “Lîn! Lîs!”

There was a snapping of twigs and she appeared, dead leaves clinging to her false beard. He stared at her for a moment: her eyes flicked from his own to the ground and back again as she edged away from him. Balin stroked his beard. What is the matter with her? It’s as if she’s avoiding me. A sudden grin flashed on his face and he said, “Lînsie! Are you still worried about that punch?”

“I didn’t mean to hit you,” she said, “I would never purposely show you disrespect!”

“I know, Lînsie,” he said, as they walked back to the camp together. They walked in silence for a few moments before he said, “You do know we’re lost, don’t you? But a few expert calculations from the expertise of Mali should hopefully set us straight again.:

Lînsie nodded, but her lips buttoned into a thin line. Balin sighed. “Yes, I know you probably think we shouldn’t have gone through Mirkwood, but it had to be done.”

Her cocked an eyebrow at that and said, “It’s bad business quarrelling with prospective employers.”

“The elves know we have the best jewel setters and cutters this side of the mountain,” Balin retorted. “If they wish to loose quality because of a quarrel caused over a stupid formality, it’s not our fault.”

“It’s still bad business,” she protested.

By this time they had reached the other dwarves and Balin cried, “As you all probably know by now, we’re lost, but we may be able to find our way through. However, I’d like to hear your opinion about how to go about doing that before I make any drastic decisions.”

[The Perky Ent]

The pleasant talks were all too short
and because we weren't hiding in a fort,
we went all out, and i called one a wort.
they fired their slim clean arrows,
and I wish i was far off in the Barrows,
but all of a sudden the fighting stopped
and then we stood with our axes dropped.
And we agreed on a way to get us through
the forests of Mirkwood, wet with dew.
The through the green we staggered as we walked
and all the way, nothing but talk,
But then the forest grabbed our minds
and on our schedule we were behind,
for we were lost.
And so now we wander
alone and sad
but something tells me we will soon be glad