Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Dimturiel]

“There!” Bain exclaimed on a very pleased tone. “That’s done to!”

With that, the dwarf impatiently brushed his long hair out of his eyes to have a better look at his handiwork. His new creation was a helm on which he had been working for quite a long time. It would have taken him much less, of course, if he had not wanted to make it full of intricate patterns. Some would have said that was a useless feat, but he of course did not think so. “If you have beautiful things in your mind and if you can do beautiful things with your hands, then it would be wrong not to do them.” he would always say to any who cared to listen to him. And anyway, was he not in Moria to make beautiful things for the colony? That was the reason why he had agreed to come with Lord Balin.

“I think he’ll be very pleased when he sees this.” he muttered, holding the new-made helm lovingly in his hands. “He’ll know he had been right when asking me to come.” And to have finished it exactly on Durin’s Day too! That was surely a sign, proof of good things and prosperity coming to Moria. Oh, Lord Balin would indeed be very pleased when he found out the helm had been finished on such a day. He could not wait to tell him.

And that night, of course, he was going to celebrate with any who wished to join him. He was in a good mood, as it usually happened when he finished something. Now all he had to do what to decide what to make next. He had received orders from those of the colony, of course, but he also wanted to do something for himself, that he would make just for the sake of seeing it take shape before his eyes. Perhaps he should start working on a chain. Yes, that would be pleasant. But that could wait. Now the only thing he looked forward to was to announce that he had finished the helm he had been working for so long. He could hardly wait to see the pleased look on Lord Balin’s face when he heard that.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," a voice resounded from behind Bain. Like all too often, Onli appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Standing in the doorway, wrapped in his green cloak and with this large golden belt buckle which was just impossible to overlook, he must have been watching Bain for a while now. Now he moved forth, his big brown boots making a clunking noise, and without much constraints he started to examine the newly finished helmet closely.

"Oh, what a master piece of craft," he repeated, not caring at all whether Bain approves his presence or not. "Such a be-au-ti-ful decorating! And look at this tiny... err... ha, I forgot it, memory does not serve as well as it used to. I know what it is called," he added, as if to prove that he can understand well a smith's work and thus is the right person to evaluate it. He smiled widely, showing the white teeth shining amidst the bush of his short red-colored beard. "Anyway, you sure put much effort into it. Say, perhaps it won't be bad, as soon as you have finished all the other tasks you currently have, to start making these in larger numbers?" he added in a hopeful tone. Then he set on a more educated face and started to speak fast in a mentor-like voice; like an old master talking to a young apprentice - despite he was only some fourty years older than Bain, and definitely not his mentor.

"You must imagine that once this city is fully re-occupied, there will be too many smiths to make competition for your craft. But now you are just one of the few, and this," before Bain could react in any way, he knocked on the helmet, "is going to be a very valuable piece of art in the future. An artifact from the early days of the reoccupation of Khazad-Dûm! But it will be foolish to leave it just like that. One helmet is nice, but why not make more? Since you can do it, and I can see well you can! And if we want to show King Dáin and the folk under the Mountain our progress, such a piece of craft would serve all too well for it! And just imagine how interested many of our kind will be to purchase such a thing..." Onli's eyes gleamed. "A perfect chance for a young craftsman like you to show his worth."

A loud banging sound from a nearby corridor interrupted Onli's dreams of helmet-business (which he would help to organise and distribute). He stopped, raising his wide eyebrows and shaking his head fast so that he resembled a startled red-furred squirrel. But he immediately knew what happened: it was Vriti once again sneaking around in the corners, looking for something to eat or to play with, or who knows what was it that she was doing. Onli smiled. Despite his mind was on business just a moment ago, and you could say that was the only thing that might interest him, he completely forgot about it now. Just for a short moment, though. But Vriti was his only real friend, or that was what Onli would have told you had you asked him. He knew he should go to catch her and feed her, for he was sure she did not find much to eat in the empty corridors of Dwarrowdelf.

Onli turned back to Bain. "Think about it, my good friend," he said, giving the young Dwarf an encouraging look and walked away, as if he did not even expect Bain to reply.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Balin ascended the slope the band of nobles began to look about uneasily. Although Tror was accustomed to fighting and to travel in the open it was not a prospect that thrilled him, he would rather get back to the safety of the great halls of the Dwarrowdelf. Ori was looking uneasy; Nali was gazing on with interest at the sky for the sun and moon would soon cross each other’s path, casting a cold shadow across the earth. Tror looked back to the eastern gate from which they ushered forth longing to get his lord back into the safety of its walls, why was Balin taking so long?

The dull twang of the bow string was heard, and it sent a shot of terror up Tor’s spine. Without thinking he grabbed his spear and was at that instant horror stricken as he beheld the body of his lord slump to the ground. Silence mastered the nobles for a moment, Ori stood for as stone at the fall of his friend, but only a moment for Tror felt a fit of rage coming on.

“Attack, Kill him!” he yelled in a voice that almost cracked.

With his spear ready he sprang ahead of the group, intending to reach the archer first. They ran swiftly between the boulders and obstacles that time created, already Tror could see a number of orcs swarming down the slope to retrieve the fallen king. The orcs saw the hasty approach of the dwarves and some sent their arrows whizzing at the band, Tror felt a dull thud as an arrow tested his hauberk of steel rings, but glanced off his shoulder. The dwarves quickly cut off the orcs, (who Tror now believed were a small raiding party) who did not number more than fifteen, from Balin’s body.

“Hold your ground, defend the king!” yelled out Tror as he skewered the first orc on the end of his spear. Ori brought up the rear of the group but came in swinging and was fighting fiercely at Tror's side cutting down all who ventured within the reach of his axe, while the two brothers, Nali and Loni, stood directly next to Balin crushing all their opponents.

Orcs swarmed around them in a mass of unorganized groups endeavoring to break upon Tror, who was now seen as the leader of the group, but always fell as the cold metal of the dwarves found a weak spot in the orc’s armor. Tror was unconsciously weeping, the fall of a great leader and companion, known to all for his generosity and kindness; never again was such a leader to be had as he and to fall on the very day of Durin, Tror could only wonder what this omen might mean.

From the decreasing number of orcs a huge Uruk emerged and rushed at Tror, its huge scimitar wielded high aloft his head. Tror thrust his spear in hopes of subduing the Uruk quickly but it was glanced aside with a stroke and was quickly dropped by Tror, who was by now unslinging his axe. Ori rushed at the Uruk intent on saving Balin’s lieutenant, but a smaller goblin rushed at him and as Ori quickly dispatched him the Uruk changed targets; if not had not been quick to react, the Uruk would have brought the full force of the scimitar upon the dwarf’s head. Tror was stationary no longer and sprang to help his comrade.

“Today is a good day to die, foul minion of the shadow. Come closer, and grapple with me, if you dare!”

The Uruk stunned seemed stunned by his predicament, his yellow eyes faded as they met the determined hatred in Tror’s and with desperate attempts he rained down blows but the Tror soon proved the better, and after many traded blows the Uruk fell dead beneath the weight of Tror’s axe.

[Thinlómien]

The passageway echoed softly when Vigdis strode along it. She held the special chisel she had fetched from the mason's storage room and she was fingering it as she walked. Finally she would get to fix the uneven corner of a stone block that had been troubling her all day.

She arrived at the place where they had been working on the cavern chambers. Forin and Farin, the twin masons that always kept to themselves, were still at work, but Magnar and Vitr, the two others working there, had already finished their day's work. For all she knew about Magnar, Vigdis suspected he would already have started celebrating Durin's Day with his friends and some beer. And Vitr, he would be with his family now.

As she was working on the edges of the block, Vigdis kept thinking about that. She had no family of her own, and that, she knew, was entirely her own decision. Not that she would have craved for children or husband. She liked children well enough, but they made a lot of noise and restricted their parents' lives. As for a husband, well, she wouldn't have minded having a companion to share her joys and sorrows, but she was able to cope alone as well. Besides, she had given her heart to the greatest dwarf of their age, and when he had not returned her love she would not take another man for husband. No one compared to Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Khazad-dûm.

Today was Durin's Day and the day he would look at the mysterious waters of Kheled-zaram. She hoped he would see whatever it was that he wanted to see there, and that when he'd return to celebrate the New Year with his people, he would hold his head up high and there would be a new determination in his eyes. Then she would celebrate not only the New Year and the first and greatest King of Dwarves, but also the high Lord to whom both her loyalty and her heart belonged.

Something warm was moving down her palm. Snorting with annoyance, she wiped the thin trail of blood to her sleeve and licked the few red drops off her fingertip. Vigdis could not be called clumsy at any rate, but whenever she got too carried away, she started maiming herself. She allowed herself a wry smile. Her body seemed to have a protective mechanism of its own that reminded her when she was concentrating on something nonsensical instead of her work.

Her finger was still bleeding. Her handkerchief was grey with stone dust, but she wrapped it around her finger nevertheless. She would see to the small cut later, now she wanted to finish the block. The corner was still more than a little uneven, and she would not call her day's work done before it was finished.

[Gwathagor]

Frar pounded down the hill, axe in hand, eyes ablaze, long black hair streaming in the wind.

Only moments earlier, Balin had stood like the lords of Khazad-dum before him, gazing into Mirrormere, where the sun, the moon, and the evening stars all shone reflected. It was Durin's Day and the start of a new year, and a quiet peace lay over Dimrill Dale.

Then in the stroke of a hammer, the vision was shattered, upended by a single arrow. The Lord of Khazad-dum lay dead in a patch of green grass on the granite slope.

The overwhelming sense of shock did not prevent the dwarves from taking immediate action, and now, driven by speechless rage, they were systematically hacking the marauding orcs to pieces. Loni and Nali were already standing over the body of their fallen lord, feet planted and weapons swinging. Tror was a short distance in front of them, and the other dwarves had spread out into a rough crescent to meet the advancing orcs. Frar took up position near Tror and settled into his work, immediately dispatching two orcs who rushed at him from his left and his right. A third leapt from the top of a boulder at Frar with a spear and a yell - which was cut abruptly short by a tremendous blow from Frar's great double-edged axe. The broken body of the orc was slammed to the ground, raising a cloud of grey dust. Frar spat, turned, and kept swinging.

[Groin Redbeard]

The hall was in a flurry of commotion, Nisa had been with the cooks all day helping with the magnificent feast that was to come that evening when the lord Balin returned. Everyone was very excited, even for dwarf standards, the men hastened around carrying the large caskets of ale and dried goods on their shoulders and getting helping the women with the tables and stools. Though for the most part it was the job of the women to arrange the feast, the men had not yet gathered back from the mines or many crafts that some occupied themselves with.

Nisa sat on a stool in the far corner helping the other women with the meats, turning them on a spit and making sure that none of the men ventured near enough to snatch an early piece for themselves. She looked all around her, there was the greatest gaiety and merriment amongst her people and she was glad that Tror had consented to taking her along, of course the dwarves celebrated Durin’s Day every year but to do so in these magnificent halls seemed to make the effect greater upon her. Her cousin, Tror, always told her to be proud of her people and had instilled in her a deep sense of patriotism.

Although small band that Balin had brought from Erebor could not fill the vastness of the hall, in-fact they had only filled up a small part of it, it seemed as if the whole of the Twenty-First Hall was filled with their joy. She wondered at how it would have been to be present in the days of Durin when the whole hall would have been filled.

One of the kitchen maids leaner over to her, “I wonder when our lord Balin will return?”

“Oh, I do hope soon,” Nisa said with a smile, “this waiting in making me anxious, lord Balin has never ushered forth to Kheled-zaram before in the last five years. I hope that Oin comes back soon too; he’s been gone for the better part of the day. But I guess the waiting will do me good,” she said with a laugh, her clear voice echoing off of the walls, “it makes it all the more merrier when they arrive, wouldn’t you say?"

[Lilly]

Dinner at the Silverfist home was done; the dishes washed and dried. The twins were itching to unwrap the present they’d discovered in their father’s bag. A soft leather pouch secured with buttoned flap hid it from their view. They’d felt it, and weighed it in their hands, and shook it, all to no avail. They could not tell what it was. Now a nod from their mother and a wink from their father gave them permission to open it.

‘Oh, Papi! What is this?’ Tív took the large, rectangular wooden board from his sister’s hands and held it out toward his father. It was light in color, made from beech wood and just about the thickness of Tív’s hand. There was a large circle drawn upon it in gold paint and within the circle lay a six pointed star, the edges of which were made of small inlaid pieces of gems; the edges of each of the star sections being lined by a different color of stone – red, orange, yellow, green, blue, violet. And the middle formed a six sided figure bounded by each of the colors

‘It’s a game, Tív,’ Lys said, clapping her hands in delight at the sight of their birthday present. ‘My brothers and I had one when we were little. Though not,’ she said, turning to Vitr, ‘one so lovely in the crafting.’

‘Here, daughter mine,’ she went on, sitting down on the homespun rug. ‘Let me see that little bag you’re holding.’ She undid the leather strings which bound it and poured the contents of the leather pouch out onto the rug. Crystal marbles rolled out in a glimmering heap. Sparkling globes each one a different hue of the rainbow.

‘See,’ she said, placing the wooden board before her on the run. ‘These red crystals go here in these little carved out holes here in the red part of the star.’ She patted the ground to each side of her, encouraging the children to sit down. ‘You, too, Vitr!’ she went on, smiling up at her husband. ‘It’s much more fun with more players!’

A rousing game ensued. Slow, at first, with the hesitancy of the children at unfamiliar rules; then more decisive and a great deal more boisterous as Tív and Tíva mastered the fine points of frustrating their opponents’ moves. There were groans, too, as plans were foiled. Marbles sent back to their starting places; others of the players quietly and steadily moving their marbles slowly into their winning positions.

When the game was done, and Lys declared the winner, Tív grabbed up her red marbles in his hands. ‘Next time I get to use these,’ he declared. ‘Aw put them back in the bag, brother!’ Tíva ordered, holding open the leather pouch. ‘You know it wasn’t the red ones that won for her.’ She looked at her mother admiringly. ‘She’s just a much better player than you are!!!’ Tíva stuck her tongue out and just as quickly leaped back from the little punch her brother aimed at her shoulder.

‘Here! Give me those!’ Lys reached out for the marble pouch just as it escaped her daughter’s grasp.

‘Vitr, dear, see to them won’t you?’ she nodded to where the twins chased each other round about the room. ‘I’ll just get this put away,’ she went on, securing the game board in its leather pouch and the smaller leather bag within, too. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. ‘I’ll load up the basket with the cookies and nut cakes I’ve made, then you must fetch my ale and your spirits. We’re already late to the start of the party, I fear.’