Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Imladris]

Orgilion, 2989,

We drove out orcs from the great gate and guard room -- we slew many in the bright sun in the dale. Flói was killed by an arrow. He slew the great troll. We buried Flói in the grass near Mirror mere. Balin gave an eulogy, in which he praised Flói’s braveness. We lopped the troll’s head, and impaled it upon a steak, which marks his grave. Balin, I think, is quite upset with his death…I honestly believe he thought Moria was just abandoned, and that no danger lurked there. Now he thinks it is just a handful of orcs to be gotten rid of…I hope he doesn’t do anything foolish.

Oranor, 2989

We mourned a day for Flói and to give a chance to heal the other dwarves’ wounds. It was a good decision, even though it gives the orcs a chance to gather their troops together and to come up with a devilish plan to exterminate us. But, honestly, orcs are not the brightest of folk and they certainly aren’t the best tempered.

Orithil, 2989

The orcs of the North End have been driven away. We have taken the Twenty-first Hall of North end to dwell in. There is a shaft that the morning sun pours through. Rather fitting since Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Orgaladhad, 2989

Dwarves have been scouting the North End -- some have even dared to explore the other, unknown parts of Moria. We have discovered gold and Óin discovered Durin’s Axe; he wandered far into Moria, and was beset by an orc scout, who shot his helm.

Oraearon, 2989

Balin is now lord of Moria.

Ormenel, 2990

Some orcs have been bold enough to attack us, but to no avail. We are too strong for them…I wonder how many of them scurry in the empty mine shafts. I am full of misgiving…we are few, yet why do not the orcs (if there are more) do not combine their strength and attack us?

Oranor, 2990

We have found Truesilver and weapons that are well forged. We have begun again to mine mithril. Balin sent Óin to seek for the upper armories of Third Deep, Frar and Loni were ordered to go westwards, to explore the way to Hollin Gate, and to reopen the gate.

Orithil, 2990

We have been trying to repair the great gates, but the orcs bother us, and tear down our work in the night. When we fire upon them, they slink off into their caves, and return again when we tire of waiting for them to appear. They never attack in the daylight, naturally. They are smart enough for that.

Ormenel, 2990

I have sent letters to the King, describing our progress.

Oraearon, 2990

Balin has been missing for the last two days. Today, he finally appeared. His face was haggard, smeared with dirt. His eyes glinted with fever, and he rubbed his hands as if he was toying with a ring -- yet there was no ring. I suspect he was searching for the Ring of Power.

Orithil, 2990

Nali and myself were exploring certain passages today, when we heard strange rumbles within the deep. There was also a drum…but the noises ceased after a few minutes. It seemed to announce our incoming doom -- but Balin passes it off as delusional fancies. There are nothing but orcs down there, he says. But his eyes have a faraway look to them. I believe he would go down to the deepest depths to find the Dwarven Ring.

Rodyn, 2991

A mine tunnel collapsed today, nearly suffocating Alrik and Oin. Mali looked over the crumbled structure, did some figures, and said bluntly that if it had not been tampered with, it would never have collapsed. There is no traitor among us -- a denizen of the deep did it. Balin refuses to leave. He will not eat, and his beard is falling out. He will not cease his feverish search. I wonder if the Ring is still here.

Orgilion, 2992

We have finally given up repairing the great gate. Mali figures that we have already rebuilt it three times, so Balin ordered it to stop.

Orithil, 2993

Linsie has been discovered to be a female dwarf. The details are rather hazy…but as far as I can figure, Narin and she got into a dreadful row, and fists flew. He knocked her false beard off.

[mark12_30]

By the light of a small lamp, Lînsie squinted at the vein of Mithril that shone in the rock. The Mithril was so much brighter than the surrounding rock, it was sometimes hard to see the rock itself, and she moved the lamp often. Sometimes she worried that she would lose a precious peice of the Mithril down the endless pit to her left. She was balanced on a narrow ledge, so she had a rope around her waist. The updraft from the pit made the lamp flicker.

She chipped and fussed at the rock around the vein. The Mithril did not give way. When all the rock was removed from a vein of Mithril, the vein stood out like a thin tree-branch, or a strand of hair, and then it had to be cut. She had nine foot-long strands in the pouch that she carried under her jacket; a fair day's work. She was getting weary, but she hated stopping even to eat.

She cast a glance over her shoulder; Narin worked perhaps fifty feet away. He treated her differently ever since he had knocked her beard off.

So did Balin. Now openly paternal, he had a tendency to lecture her; but with all his endless searching his lectures were short and absent-minded. She wished his attentions had been something other than paternal. Her father was right, he would have made a good match. But Balin's desire was for something in the caverns far below.

Frowning, she moved the lamp again. Several of the dwarves had complimented her lately, their courtesy tinged with shyness. But something held them back; perhaps it was the skirmishes with the orcs; or the distant rumblings in the deep; or that she still wore her beard, even to dig.

For his part, Narin hadn't complimented her at all.

[Orofaniel]

How many days had passed since the chief has fallen? Lugnush couldn’t remember. As a matter of fact, he didn't really bother to count either. The most important thing was that the Chief was slaughtered, and that there would be a new, and hopefully better time, in Moria. He laughed in an evil way as he thought about the Chief and about the battle that Nazklash, him and the other Orcs had won. Even tough he was uncertain of when the event had taken place he could remember the battle itself as it was yesterday.

Nazklash had given them all straight orders that all of them had to "Shut their filthy mouths while waiting for that foul Orc." (Meaning the Chief, Turgrog) If not, Nazklash had threatened them all to kill them the same way as he would kill the Chief. I would be painful, that he had assured them. There was nothing but silence from then on.

Since Turgog had arrived later than planned the Orcs soon got annoyed and doubted that the plan would work. But then, finally the Chief arrived. He was then unknowing, of course, that he would die that same evening.

Turgrog walked down the Hall with some of his guards. He seemed a bit annoyed, and commanded one of his guards to bring food and something to drink. The guard was afraid and certainly didn't want to disobey the Chief so he hurried out from the Hall right away. What the Chief didn't know, (nor the guard for that matter) was that Turgrog had just saved his life - well, if Nazklash’s plan went smoothly; No one that obeyed the Chief or was in his league would survive. This evening was going to be their last.

Nazklash stepped into the Hall, while the Orcs were waiting right outside, trying not to make the slightest sound. "I can see you're back...." Nazklash started. Even thought the Orcs were waiting just outside with the doors closed, it was easy for them to hear Nazklash voice. "Yes, even a filthier Orc than you would notice that," answered the Chief sternly.

This answer was to great amusement for the eavesdroppers outside. They tried to cover up their laughter by hushing at each other. They knew that the Chief would regret that insult pretty soon.

Nazklash smiled in a mischievous way. "Now now..." he laughed. "Is that an insult?" Nazklash asked teasingly. "If so, don't you have anything better than that?!" Nazklash growled. "Not now, you filthy Orc. I'm hungry and you ought to know better than to tempt the Cheif," he said angrily.

"Oh, then I apologise..." Nazklash said in a polite manner, and raised his hand. "I better go, so that you can enjoy your meal then, eh?" Nazklash proposed. Now The Chief seemed calm, and Nazklash thought this was amusing. Who wouldn't?

Nazklash waked with stern steps out the Hall trying to hide the smile that appeared around his mouth. Right before the exit, he turned and growled: "You'll never see daylight, nor nightfall ever again, you foul Orc! This is the time where you regret all your insults, and die in pain!"

Before the Chief could reply or say anything at all, the Orcs that were waiting outside stormed the Hall. Lugnush was one of the first in the rows and he ran towards the guards that were still too shocked to do anything. He killed one of the guards with his axe. The head rolled on the floor. Before Lugnush could look up, a guard has seized his axe and was now coming straight towards Lugnush. Luckily the guard missed him, and turned his back on Lugnush. He should never have done that because Lugnush was fast and hewed him in the back. The cry of pain roared in the great Hall.

"Do NOT kill the Chief! Take him alive!!!!!" Nazklash cried. He saw that the Chief had managed to escape and that he was running towards the stairs. "TAKE HIM!" Nazklash cried and pointed at some of the Orcs. "TAKE HIM!"

Shortly after, the Chief was handed over to Nazklash. He wasn't harmed, just as Nazklash wanted it. Meanwhile all the guards had been killed, or some of them may have escaped.

"Any last wishes?" Nazklash asked the chief innocently. He has been tied up and they had thrown him on the floor. He was lying in a circle of revengeful Orcs. There was absolutely no way out. The Orcs laughed at Nazklash little remark, but stopped when the Chief spitted in Nazklash face.

Nazklash hit the Chief in his skull, just to show him that he was in charge, and that spitting Nazklash in the face wouldn't be the wisest thing to do.

"Well, well...I promised you to do this as painfully as I possibly could..." Nazklash started, while the other Orcs laughed evilly. Nazklash raised his hand to make them shut up. Silence fell again before Nazklash continue; "We've decided to cut you....piece....by...piece....." Nazklash said teasingly, walking closer to the Chief, trying to look him in the eyes. "And, my fellow Orcs here have found a very merry " Nazklash didn't finish the sentence before the Orcs were growling;” CHOP CHOP CHOP!" Then they all laughed.

The Chief seemed scared after these words because he tried to escape. The ropes around his ankles and hands were soon tied all over again. "I hope you managed to do this properly this time then..." Nazklash growled at the Orc that had failed at tying the Chief up properly last time.

"Okay, as for the chopping...well, we've decided that each Orc will have the pleasure of cutting one piece each...from YOUR body, if I didn't make myself clear earlier..." Nazklash said and laughed at his own joke. The Orcs that surrounded the Chief seemed very pleased by this arrangement.

And then the chopping began. Nazklash was so decant to let Lugnush cut a piece from the Chief's body first. Lugnush went straight towards the head, but Nazklash told him to stop. "We'll not take the head first...he won't be able to watch his one limbs be cut off, if you do that. The whole point is that our Chief here is going to suffer....pain..great pain!" Nazklash suggested innocently. "Start with a finger...or an ear for example..." One of the Orcs in the crowd suggested.

Lugnush thought this was a rather good idea and went for one f the ear.

The rest is history. The Ors didn't quit know if the Chief died because of the great pain or if he died as a result of the great loss of blood.

**


Moments after they had thrown out the loose limbs, and got rid of the rest, Uzgash entered the Hall. First he seemed a bit disappointed that he'd missed the whole slaughter, but was cheered up when the Orcs gathered around him and told him everything in detail.

Uzgash had frankly forgotten what he was supposed to tell Nazklash, but when he remembered it, Nazklash looked worried. Dwarves had been too close...

When Lugnush again woke up from the day dreaming, Uzgash was poking him on his shoulder. "What do you want?" Lugnush asked. He felt annoyed by Uzgash suddenly interruptions and demanded to get an answer quick. "What?" he asked once again.

[Amanaduial the archer]

Flori came wearily up from the mines where he had been helping the others, wiping a worn rag across his face in an attempt to remove some of the dust from his eyes. As he crossed bridge, he couldn’t help walking a little faster than he had before, not looking down. It isn’t that I’m afraid…of course not…why, we have no idea if there even is anything to be afeared of in that deep, yawning chasm of darkness whose bottom is so shrouded in depth that no one would even hear you hit it if some being leapt out and grabbed you…

He shuddered, stopping his thoughts hastily as he came to the end of the bridge. Fool of a dwarf, he chuckled slightly to himself, shaking his head. Why, they had been here for years now: surely anything that terrible would have surfaced by now? The orcs had been driven off into hiding in some deep, dark place that the warrior didn’t like to trouble himself about, and had barely been seen over the last few weeks. Balin had optimistically declared them gone.

“Sometimes even the most craven beings know when to stop!” he had announced wisely to the other dwarves. Flori raised an eyebrow slightly even though he was alone – he wasn’t sure Balin was completely sure even in his own mind, but there had been something very heartening about hearing their Lord speak so solidly. And ‘Lord’ he was now, not just a lord of Erebor, but the master of Moria, and wielder of Durin’s axe. “Not that you’d suspect it had gone to his head at all,” murmured Flori to himself with a grin.

“Oh, now that is unkind, Flori Bronzeshield.”

Despite all his fine thoughts about not being afraid, Flori couldn’t help it: he jumped. The speaker chuckled slightly and Flori turned hotly to see his brother sitting at the edge of the abyss, swinging his legs slightly. Instantly Flori’s brotherly instincts leapt up and he nearly jumped forward to pull his younger brother away from the depths. Instead, approaching, he replied, “What is?”

“’Not that you’d suspect it had gone to his head at all’,” Ori gave a passable imitation then raised his bushy brows at his brother. “Oh, the sarcasm…”

“How do you know who I was talking about?” Flori replied guiltily. Ori grinned mischievously back, his eyes glinting.

“I don’t.”

“Then how do you know that I was being sarcastic?” the older dwarf continued, a little suspiciously this time.

Again a nonchalant shrug and a toothy grin. “I don’t.”

“Then how can you say it was unkind when you don’t even know those two fundamental points of information?!” Flori exploded, gesturing wildly at his brother. The scribe laughed and Flori had to join in, before dropping down beside him and noticing the chunky, leather-bound red ledger sitting on his brother’s other side. He nodded his head towards it then rolled his eyes at Ori. “You don’t go anywhere without it, do you?” he asked, jokingly.

Ori shrugged, smiling, but his expression was still serious. “It’s important. For future generations – they need to know what happened.”

“You make it sound like some sort of accident is going to happen!” Flori laughed, then stopped suddenly, biting his lip as he realised what he had just said. The silence afterwards hung in the great cavern for a few moments more than was comfortable, with all its hidden implications. Like something dire is going to happen to us…

“Anyway, it certainly gets you out of work,” Flori continued quickly, changing the subject, then added in a singsong, teasing voice, “ski-ver…”

“Shut up!” the other dwarf replied, shoving his brother. Footsteps nearby made them both look up to see Balin, Lord of Moria, come down the stairs. Even in the darkness Flori could see the older dwarf’s eyes glinting slightly. There was something a little manic about his expression recently, and Ori had confided to him that he had found Balin wandering the corridors at night, poking into nooks and crannies and muttering to himself. He had not admitted it, of course, but nonetheless, Flori was no longer completely sure where he stood with the dwarf who had been such a close friend.

“Good day, Lord Balin. How goes it with you?” he inquired politely, rising.

[Imladris]

“Not well,” Balin replied with a smile that faded quickly. He sighed. “I have looked everywhere for it, Flori…and I cannot find it. It eludes my grasp it would feign rest unknown in the darkest cavern than to glitter upon a dwarf’s finger.”

Flori eyed Ori and cleared his throat.

“I am going to look into the Mirror mere,” Balin said, with a sigh. “I have not yet looked into the Mirror.”

Where could it be? I have looked everywhere, looked in every known cave, searched in every fissure, sought amongst the rubble for it. But it was not there. Did it still dwell there? He approached Mirror mere and kneeled beside the water.

The Mirror did not show his own unworthy reflection, but revealed the mountains, snow still sparkling upon their peaks. The crown of Durin rippled in the dark water. The seven stars glimmered faintly within the depths, as if it was lit with starlight.

What had the dwarves awoken in Moria’s depths? Had Durin’s bane died? Or had it left the bowels of the mountain? Balin shook his head. His own dwarves had made great progress, except for the orc skirmishes that continued to annoy them. He figured that the Great Gate would always lie in a bed of rubble.

Balin wondered if Ori had continued to send messages to King Dain. Balin himself wrote the words, deciding to leave out the continued annoyance of the orcs, but he could not help but wonder if Ori would add his own messages at the end of the notes. Would these messages, if he did indeed write them, sour his honey-sweetened words? It wasn’t as if progress had been going badly. It had been going on quite well, but darkness yet lingered within the passages. Doom seemed to lurk in the caverns. Contentious were ripe among the dwarves. And the Ring continued to elusively haunt his memory.

He leaned down and brushed the dark water with his lips. There was a silent sigh, a hidden whisper. Death crept within the dale. An orc drew an arrow to his ear and with a silent leer, loosed the string. The arrow flew and drove itself into Balin’s heart.

[The Perky Ent]

It was cold. A dark chill and a hidden presence loomed over the camping dwarves. Balin had been gone for quite some time. The dwarves were very quite. The silence stabbed Nali like a knife. "Where is he!" Nali said making an echo through the caves. A small chunk of the ceiling collasped and landed inches from Nali's feet. Theh dwarves were in shock.

"Nali what are you doing! Take it outside!" one dwarf said as he stared Nali down. "The fresh air would do you good! Why don't you go take a trip to mirro-mere. You might even find a ring of power!" Ori said before laughing very loudly. "Honestly! Balin is obsessed with those rings!" And then something crosed Nali's mind. Finding a rind of power. Surely it's worth is ten fold of mithril. "Yes, I think fresh air would do me good" Nali said walking twords Mirro-Mere. As soon as the dwarves were out of sight, Nali ran.

In a very short time Nali reached Mirro-Mere. "where is that Balin? i need to make sure he doesn't know what i'm doing!" And then he saw him. His hand dipping in the pool. Balin was dead. Nali didn't know what to do. He had been shot by an orc arrow in the heart. Suddenly, Nali saw an arrow land beside his feet. "Rats! Missed! Unlike that other dwarf!" an orc said as he ran off twords the Silver lodes.

Nali ran back to the camp twice as fast as he came to mirro-mere. He was panting so hard he could've died. "What is it Nali?" Ori said in a honey tone. "It's Balin! He's...He's...He's dead!" The dwarves were in shock. In a split second, Ori got up and said, "Where did you find him, Nali?" "In Mirro-mere. He was shot in the heart by an orc arrow." At once Ori ran, and the other dwarves followed.

When they all came, they were in shock. At once, Ori pulled the arrow out of Balin. "They will pay for this! Where did they go!" "They went down the Silver lodes!" At this, the dwarves drew their swords. "What are we waiting for? Let's get em! FOR BALIN!" bellowed one of the dwarves.

And into the night, the orcs charged to the silver lodes, leaving Balin's body. Surely, Nali thought, there would be blood tonight.

[Saraphim]

Narin sat restlessly at the gate, itching to join the fighting that was taking place below along the river. Only an order prevented him, a half-thought from Ori to remain and gaurd the entrance.

Out of boredom more than anything else, Narin walked the short way to Mirrormere to retrieve Balin's body, which had been left by the others in thier thirst for revenge. He trusted to his ears to hear any orc that would be foolish enough to approach the gate, and to the hope that they would alll have joined the fighting anyway.

Balin lay as Nali had found him, with an wound to the heart and a hand dangling into the water. Narin self-consciously closed his dead commander's eyes before attempting to maneuver the corpse on to his shoulder. It was difficult, as Balin had been a heavy-set dwarf, and his body was already beggining to stiffen.

As Narin slowly stood, he saw blood drip from the arrow-wound in Balin's chest, and fall into Mirrormere.

Narin froze. He watched helplessly as the droplets hung suspended on the surface for a moment, then dissolved into the water. He couldn't say whether it was balsphemy or a tribute to Balin, but he resolved not to mention it to anyone.

Hefting Balin onto his shoulder, Narin's thoughts wandered elsewhere. As he reached the gate again and set Balin's corpse carefully down, Narin remembered a sword that he had hoped to finish. It was missing something, perhaps a gem.

He could ask Lin to set it for him, but he had rarely spoken to her since thier last fight, the one in which had knocked her beard off. He shifted nervously when he thought of her, and of the fact that he still owed her his life. Narin blushed and took of his helm to scratch his head.

Come on now, Narin, He thought to himself, You've never been interested much in them before, why should now be any different? Besides, she's a proffesional, and definitly hasn't shown any interest in you...

Narin stood up suddenly, the noise of returning (and by the sounds of it, victorious) dwarves reaching his ears.