Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[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.’

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Trór's shout brought him to his senses.

A moment ago, he was just watching the skies, observing the heavenly lamps, as they were hanging high in the sky on Durin's Day. A rare sight, and here, by the Lake Mirrormere, it was as if the history and all the tales of Dwarvenkind he had heard from his brother suddenly came true, and as if it was here, present, now. Durin, Náin, Borin, Thráin, Frosti, Helmi... all the names of the Dwarven heroes of old, who have ever stood in this place, came to Lóni's mind. Their tales, their fates. The legends. Some lead the Dwarven folk into deep caverns beneath Caradhras, some built marvelous halls, some fought nameless monsters in the darkness far below the world of the Sun and the Moon. Some have stood even here, maybe where he is standing now, or by the great Mirrormere itself. There were also those who fought here, in Dimrill Dale, and Lóni remembered them all. Some who fought victoriously, some found their deaths, but now the time seemed to disappear, they were not past, they were all here, both living and dead, right here and right now.

Thrór, Thráin, Thorin, Dáin... and Balin.

He did not hear the hiss of the arrow, and it was only Trór's cry which brought him back to reality. He had only a moment to see the Lord fall. He heard how Náli hissed next to him with his breath. Then Trór's mighty stature covered his sight.

And then he saw them. Goblins. Rushing down from the steep slope, they swarmed like black ants. They moved towards the lake.

Náli by his side moved. Lóni followed, automatically. The Dwarves ran towards the lake to be there first, to cut off the black enemies from lying Balin. Cowards, a thought fled through Lóni's mind. Shot him when he was unexpecting, unarmed. Unknown fear shook him. Balin was wounded. The great Dwarf of this age, cowardly attacked like that... there was no time for him to worry, but deep inside, almost unconsciously, Lóni hoped that Balin's wound was not fatal.

They have reached the place and stopped, like a wall they stood to block the attackers' way. Swiftly, Lóni pulled out his light mace. Right in time, as the first enemies came. A tall, long-legged orc thrusted his spear against Lóni, but was unbalanced by Náli's strike. Lóni seized the opportunity and countered. He was fast, but the orc succeeded to parry with a small round wooden shield. Looking around, the enemy stepped back and left space to his incoming companions.

"Hold your ground! Defend the king!" Trór shouted.

The goblins swarmed about them, surrounded them, yet neither of them could reach the body of Balin. We have to dispatch them, Lóni thought, we have to crush them and then carry Balin inside, fast, before he dies.

Left and right, left and right he directed his strikes.

The sun and the moon seemed so big, as they crossed the heavenly path, and the water of the lake was dark as night. Cold was creeping out of the surface of the lake, and Lóni could have sworn that he felt the chill stealing the heat of the body of the fallen Lord of Moria, who lay next to him.

Left, right, left, right. The two mountain goblins with scimitars kept attacking him from both sides and did not give Lóni a moment of rest. But he was fast, swinging his light weapon and parrying their blows. The yellow stone in his helmet gleamed like a twin of the great yellow stone in the sky. Suddenly, he heard a warning cry from Náli. He turned right in time. The long-legged orc who attacked him before, managed to move towards his right, and got into Lóni's blind spot when his attention was directed elsewhere. Now, the Dwarf could only try to avoid the spear. Not fast enough. The steel rings of his hauberk made a chiming sound when the enemy's weapon was forced against their protective shell with full strength.

But they held. Feeling pain in his right side, Lóni swung with full strength from the right. The orc was too tall. The mace hit his side and there was a crushing sound. The enemy fell on one knee and Lóni led his strike for the second time. The orc's head swung in a funny way and he fell to the ground.

Lóni's helmet rung like a bell and his eyes darkened for a while. He turned and saw a goblin with scimitar. Had there not been Náli, whose presence distracted the enemies from focusing solely on Lóni, the goblin's strike would have surely been directed in a far deadlier manner. From where he stood, Lóni turned and using the energy of the blow, he hit the goblin's head. He could only notice the fear in the enemy's eyes when he realised that he cannot parry Lóni's blow. As the mace hit the goblin's face, he gave out a loud shriek and with a disgusting sound, he fell to the ground, wincing. After a few heartbeats he stopped, motionless.

[Arry]

At the celebration

‘Can you see who’s here?’ Tív poked at his sister’s leg, tugging too at her pant-leg. ‘All I can see are belts and the backs of tunics down here.’ He bobbed and weaved a bit trying to peer around the adults in front of him or at least get a glimpse of some familiar face through crooked elbows.

Tíva had cajoled her father into letting her ride on his shoulders on the way to the area of the great hall where the Durin’s Day party would be. So she had a bird’s eye view of the goings-on and the revelers. ‘Well, just about everyone got here before us! There’s tons of food!’ Her eyes sparkled as she pointed toward one of the tables. ‘Ooh, lots of pies, and sweet buns, and cakes, too!!’

‘How can you two still be hungry?’ laughed Vitr as he swung his daughter down beside her brother. ‘You have enough of your Mami’s cookies in you already to turn you each into lumps of sugar!!!’ He tapped each of them lightly on the tips of their noses.

‘Aw, Papi!’ Tíva grinned up at him. ‘You know, it’s just like you always say – we filled our bellies and now we’re working on our hollow legs!!’ She ducked as his hand came round to give her a friendly cuff on her cheek. ‘Missed me!!!’ she crowed, laughing.

Tív grabbed at her hand and pulled along, further into the room. ‘Hey, come on!’ he urged her. ‘Let’s see if we can find Nîsa. She might have remembered its our birthday, you know.’ Tíva took the lead, then, saying she thought she had spied her over where the meats were being roasted.

Vitr took from Lys’ hand the braided rope handle of the little wagon they'd brought. In it was a small barrel of Lys’ special bright amber ale she always brewed to celebrate this day and beside it a smaller cask of his own brewing. Dwarven spirits – a strong concoction with the traditional flavor of juniper berries and a secret mixture of his own making of various spices. It was a quite delightful drink, a bracing one, and sure to make the festivities all the more merry for those who imbibed.

He handed Lys her platter tucked securely between the barrel and its smaller neighbor. Covered by a brightly embroidered cloth, she'd heaped it with the cookies she’d made for the twins’ birthday. ‘I think we’re near the sweets’ table,’ he told her, nodding off to his right. ‘We can drop these off there, then go set up your ale and uncork my little cask.’

They nodded and smiled at friends and neighbors as they passed through the crowd. And often they stopped for a few moments as they were drawn into the various knots of conversation.