Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Boromir88]

Gror's long journey from Erebor was just about over. Gror had lost count of how many days it's been since he left. With no company, it felt like he had been following the Great River for years. He had turned west before reaching the Realm of that Sorceress Witch. Nasty place it was, he had heard, much worse than Mirkwood, and the thought of Mirkwood (which Gror had avoided as well), brought a sense of bitterness in him.

However, Gror had long forgotten about the Elves, he had spotted an Enemy that filled him with an even deeper hatred - Orcs, and a great host of them. He had spotted them not two nights ago, heading up the Silverlode. He then had headed straight for the East Gate with as much haste as possible. He didn't want to explore the matter further; someone had to warn Balin. Such a large gathering of Orcs could only mean one thing - they were out for blood.

He did feel at ease, being in the mountains again. It brought a feeling of relief that he hadn't felt since leaving his home. He doubted Moria would have the splendour of the Lonely Mountain, but the thought of being in the halls of Durin and in the presense of Balin filled Gror with excitement.

Gror was in such a day-dream state he took no notice that someone else had been watching him, until he heard a shout:

"By Durin's beard! It's a Dwarf!"

That couldn't have been the voice of any other, except a dwarf. Gror was just glad to be in the company of another dwarf again. He had practically forgotten what it had felt like. The dwarf introduced himself as Oin. Gror noticed that he was a much older dwarf, and with him was a special aura that Gror couldn't describe. In truth Gror was filled with excitement, but he didn't want to come off as giddy, and embarass himself in the company of someone like Oin.

"Gror, at your service." He said bowing, remembering what his dad had taught him about showing respect to his elders. "Yes, I am here by the orders of King Dain, and am to speak with Balin. But, there are more pressing matters, I fear. A terrible threat approaches, that I was not expecting. A great army of orcs is heading up the Silverlode. I suspect they will be on top of you by nightfall."

"That is a threat indeed!" said Oin. "There is a feast taking place in celebration of Durin's Day. I suspect that is where you will find Balin. Go and warn him. I should like to check out this rabble myself!"

"Yes, sir." Gror bowed again, and raced towards the Gate. But as he sped off he stumbled, and fell face first. He looked up, his beard and face, all wet and muddy - Great, Oin saw that, you just made a great first impression...fool. Gror, got up, brushed himself off and this time slowly walking away. That is, until Oin was out of sight.

[Groin Redbeard]

The fellowship of mourners walked up the steps to the great gate where they saw Kenan bare headed and bowing his head in reverance. The gaurds of the gate approached startled to see that Balin was not with them, and wished to see the dormant figure they carried. An exclamation of horror were uttered by the gaurds as Nali and Loni lowered Balin from their shoulders, some threw themselves on the ground and wept while others stood and looked on in horror. The hareld lifted his horn and with tears in his eyes blew a mightily on his trumpet, signaling the return of lord of the Dwarrowdelf.

"Kenan, my friend," Tror said as the old dwarf approached them, "I am glad that it is you that we must break the news to first, but what a loss... what a terrible loss is ours!"

"How did it happen," asked Kenan in a horse voice.

"Orcs, an archer shot him while he was alone at on the banks of Kheled-zaram. We were not with him to prevent it, we failled him, I failled him."

A cold wind was coming down from the north as Tror spoke. The sky of overcast with a grey sheat of clouds and the sign of snow was in the air. No birds except the distant caw of a raven could be heard, perched somewhere withing its mountain haunt. As the company mournfully paused at the gate the raven flew above them and screeched a loud, "Graw!"

One of the gaurds gave and pointed out across the dale, there was a lone figure making his way up the winding road to the gate, no doubt it was Oin coming in; that dwarf was always absent from the halls, wondering afar in search of excitement. Tror turned to Ori.

"Would you mind staying here to brake the news to Oin," Tror asked, "he knows you better and it will be a comfort to be with a friend when he hears of what was done. I must go and give an accounting to the colony."

[Gwathagor]

The body of lord Balin weighed heavier than it should have upon the giant shoulder of Frar as the Lord of Khazad-dum passed through his gates and entered his halls for the last time. Frar felt a strange burden upon his heart also - but whether in foreboding or simple melancholy, he could not say. It seemed that with Balin, something greater had died, for under his direction, the dark soul of Khazad-dum had flared up again and showed itself bright and steady. Perhaps Frar felt then the beginnings of what would be another quenching of that light, as the darkness of Mordor spread west, north, and south. They were leaderless now, and the flame was beginning to flicker.

"Carefully now," said Frar in a deep rumble. It irked him to speak now, to interrupt the private grievings of his fellows, but they were nearing a steep flight of stairs, and, beyond, the Bridge of Khazad-dum. The solemn band proceeded down the stairs without incident.

None had been injured in the Dimrill Dale skirmish, but they had all been badly shaken. Hardly a word had been spoken since Balin had fallen. However, Frar imagined that they were likely dwelling on similar questions: who lead them now? Whence came the orcs? And why? Why had they come for Balin? Had it been a mere band of marauders? Or was it the vanguard of a larger force? Instinctively, he began to plan. Guards and watches would need to be doubled, at the very least. They had not had to fight for many months now, since the last scrawny goblins had been driven out of the caves, and so weapons and armor would need repair and sharpening. Arrows fletched, spears carved, shields layered. Just to be safe, he told himself.

As he considered, and as he planned, the sorrow began to subside, driven off by the twins need and action. And almost immediately, though he did not notice at first, a deep-seated anger took its place - burning, as yet, only quietly and dully.

[Folwren]

“We failed him,” Tror said. “I failed him.”

Kénan did not know how to answer. They had all failed him. It was not something any dwarf should bear alone, and yet it was a burden that each one bore independently from the next.

“I must go and give an accounting to the colony.” He walked on, beside the six dwarves carrying Balin. Kénan turned and fell into step beside him. They were drawing near the bridge.

“But surely,” Kénan began, and then stopped. His voice lowered almost into gentleness in the presence of the dead body. “You do not mean to take him up there? Before all the children?” He thought of his grandchildren. Kéni - well, he could manage - but Iari! She was but a little girl! Still unhardened and unprepared for death. Kénan looked at Tror, hoping that he did not intend to take that course of breaking the bitter news.

[Arry]

Vitr raised his brow as Lys tipped back yet another mug of ale – one from her own cask this time. He wondered if she’d restocked their medicine box, if there were a good supply of white willow bark to put a damper on the raging headache he could see brewing on the horizon of the coming day.

Ah, let her have her fun, man. he chided himself, reining in the inclination to warn her off drinking so much so fast. She’d been a little down of late, or so he thought. Though when asked she’d said it was just some little chill she couldn’t seem to shake.

That worried him some; it wasn’t like her. His own Gran had had a bit of the ‘sight’, or so his mother called it . . . the knack of seeing into shadows, somehow knowing when something hurtful were coming. The one time, though, she’d had a chill as she described it, it was a dogged feeling of doom that she could not shake nor pinpoint as to its cause. ‘Feels like some cold wind from somewhere’s blowing cross my neck.’ In her last days Gran had talked about her heart going pitter-pat in her chest for no reason along with the wicked chill that raised the hairs at the nape of her neck and crept down her spine. ‘Some big, old hairy legged rock beetle just skittered over my grave,’ she’d say with a flick of her hand as if to pass it off as nothing.

It hadn’t been nothing, though. Death had come for her . . .

Vitr shrugged his shoulders in an effort to throw off his unpleasant thoughts. This was a day of celebration, he reminded himself. Durin’s Day and the day of his son and daughter’s birth.

As he raised his own mug with the others, Vitr put his free hand at the small of his wife’s back, wanting to make concrete the affection he felt for her. He only sipped at the brew, looking often at her face from the corners of his eyes. A smile curved his lips. Her cheeks were quite pink, from the heat of the crowded hall, he thought, as well as the ale she’d drunk, and no doubt from the sheer pleasure of being out and about with no tasks to be taken care of. Her brown eyes glittered merrily it seemed in the highly lit room, and as merry was her laugh at something someone had said. There against her near cheek lay a coppery tendril of hair having escaped from her thick, neat braid he noted, resisting the impulse to draw it back behind her ear. Seventeen years together, he smiled and, so far, more filled with sweetness than with sorrow.

By chance, or mayhap some uncanny design, a small, stray breeze curled its chilly finger down the collar of his tunic. Perhaps from one of the ventilation shafts that drew the outside air into the caverns. He shivered, taking his hand from Lys’ back to rub at the nape of his neck.

‘Mahal, be between us and harm,’ he murmured quickly, an old oath of protection coming readily to his lips. ‘And protect us from all baneful foes and their workings.’

And as quickly, his arm went round about his wife’s waist, drawing her close against him. His gaze flew round the room, seeking out the figures of his son and daughter.

[Lilly]

‘What are you looking for?’ Lys leaned against Vitr’s side for support as she stretched up on tip-toe to see where his gaze wandered. She could feel how tense he held his body, as if there were something quite unwelcome coming.

Shoulders and heads and arms raised in toasts, in greetings obscured her view at times. But for the most part, all she noted as she looked about were the smiling faces of people happy and at ease. ‘Is there something happening? Something I should know about?’ Lys tugged on the sleeve of his tunic. Some little fear began to niggle at the back of her mind.

‘Vitr!! It’s not Tív and Tíva?!’

Relief flooded in as her daughter’s voice called out to her, followed close on by Tív’s gleeful shout to Vitr. ‘Mami! Papi!’ they cried out. ‘Look at what Nîsa’s given us!!’

[Thinlómien]

"Would you mind staying here to break the news to Oin? He knows you better and it will be a comfort to be with a friend when he hears of what was done. I must go and give an accounting to the colony."

"I will see to it," he said quietly, inclining his head a little. He wondered if he should have added "my lord" since Tror would now become the head of the colony. Ori had never had to call Balin "my lord" - he had tried it a few times, but his old friend had forbidden such behaviour, saying it was silly and unrespectful to their long history together. Even when becoming a high lord among his people, Balin had kept his warm and down-to-earth approach to people without losing his lordly dignity that commanded respect.

Ori wiped the corner of his eye with his sleeve. There would be time for mourning, but it was not right now. He would have to stay composed to see the practical things well done and to break the news to Óin. It was his duty.

He turned to look at the direction Tror had pointed at. He knew immediately that it was not his old friend who was coming.

Who could be out on a day like this, unannounced? Not anyone with respectful purposes, Ori concluded grimly and gripped his axe. He said nothing to the guards at the door but started walking towards the newcomer determinedly.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew he was acting recklessly, that he was not being himself, but he walked on and called out: "Who are you and what do you think you are doing out on a day like this?"

The newcomer hesitated a little but kept coming towards Ori. When he was closer he shouted in reply: "I bring a message from King Dáin. My name is Gror." Ori lowered his axe, gritting his teeth.

They met and Gror nodded at the older dwarf.

Ori said nothing.

Gror's look grew sligthly uncertain. "I am to talk with Lord Balin," he said.

"Lord Balin is dead. He fell this very day when he went to look in Kheled-zaram," Ori said.

[Kath]

Svori:

Svori had been desperate to get to the celebration for hours. He had been working away on the same part of the wall in front of him for almost as long, entirely distracted by the thoughts of the entertainment that would be on offer that evening ... and the chance to see Hepti. The woman of his dreams had been avoiding him recently, having stated a few days ago that Svori was still not responsible and hard-working enough for her. Had Svori been any less confident in himself he might have started to wonder whether he ever could meet Hepti's exacting standards, as it was he was standing in front of a piece of rock staring at it blankly.

"What are you doing?" He asked himself with a grin, stepping back a little and lowering the chisel he'd been holding motionless for the past few minutes.

Feeling the tension in his arms and back Svori stretched out a little. He had worked hard in the months preceding the quest to retake Moria to become an experienced miner and he had suceeded but his body wasn't quite used to it yet. He had found himself glad that he was a good fighter as the arm strength and steady hands gained from learning those skills had helped him improve his mining, but fighting tended to involve broad sweeping motions rather than the often minute actions that mining required and he found that his body was still adjusting to the newer actions.

"But!" He said as he began to put away the equipment he had been using. "At least it proves I've been working hard. If I'm hurting then Hepti is wrong about that."

Nodding decisively Svori made his way out of the area he had been working in and back home to drop off his work tools and have a quick clean up. He was heading out again within minutes thrilled at the prospect of an evening of celebrating - and was even more thrilled when upon arriving at the doorway of the cavern in which the party was being held he bumped right into the person he had been thinking about all day.

Hepti:
Unsure just how in the mood for a loud gathering she was it had taken Hepti a long time to decide whether to attend the celebration. It hadn't helped that people had kept coming in to her little workshop to ask her questions and just generally talk at her about the events planned for that evening, making her less inclined to go and causing her to get behind with the work she had intended to finish that day. The one thing that had finally convinced her to leave her work and go and have some fun was hearing the laughter coming from the celebration hall. There was something in Hepti that meant she just couldn't let a laugh go by without finding out what had caused it, and so she was convinced.

She was extremely pleased with her decision when she found herself standing next to Svori just as she was about to enter the party hall. Hiding a smirk she returned his surprised greetings.

"So ... may I accompany you in?" Svori asked Hepti, rolling his eyes internally at the strangely formal language he so often found himself using near her. He knew she was the one for him just because of how nervous he got whenever they met, something that never happened with any other woman. He held his breath as he waited for an answer.

"Why not?" Was Hepti's response, and she had to smile at the grin that blossomed over Svori's face.

"Okay!" Svori replied, and then lowered his voice as he realised how loud he'd been. "Okay then, let's go in."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli was happy. This was the obvious beginning of the great celebration, all the dwellers of Moria were coming from all directions to join in a singing, drinking, eating and chatting choir. Onli felt good, like in the old days in the Blue Mountains, when he was invited to banquets along with his mentor Vill. They have been meeting with various important Dwarves; there Onli got to know Dwálin, brother of the current Lord of Moria, and Dúvi, the Dwarf with mysterious past and connections. And there it was also where he had once seen Thorin Oakenshield, shortly before his last, but fortunate journey to Erebor. Fortunate, because even though the honourable Thorin died, his brave deed opened the Dwarves the door to Erebor. And without that, Onli wouldn't have been where he was now.

The hall seemed really full. Onli registered most of his "favourites", that is, the craftsmen whom he was keeping especially good relations with, seeing the potential in them and hoping to make fortune on promoting them. He greeted everybody, smiling cheerfully, thinking inside himself that he should try to get close to the Lord as soon as he arrives. Today would be a great opportunity for strenghtening his good relations with the "high ups". Onli smiled, as he picked himself a mug of beer. He's going to join Balin, and won't let him go until they talk properly. Onli already started to think what he's going to tell the Lord, recalling his knowledge of proper etiquette. Yes, he thought with a smile, this day is going to be great...

*******************
Vriti

There was plenty of food scattered on the ground, when the heedless Dwarf stumbled and dropped the plate he was carrying. Despite his cursing, and despite the fact that it was her over whom the Dwarf tripped (and her back was still hurting a bit), Vriti accelerated, chasing a rolling bun filled with meat. She caught it, the bun was far, far slower than the rats and frogs she hunted (sometimes just for fun) in the empty caverns. Spitting the distasteful crust, she started to chew happily the bun's contents.

But there seemed to be some unusual amount of noise gathering around. Vriti quickly evaluated the situation, and grabbing yet another piece of food, she made her way under the feet of the Dwarves to a safe corner.

A small dwarven child spotted her and pointed at her, shouting something in a high voice, but Vriti hissed at it. She did not want to be interrupted while eating.

[Groin Redbeard]

The feast had begun mere moments ago! Nisa found her place next to Adela, a typical dwarf women who Nisa found intriguing. Although they had little in common, Adela was capable of the occasional good deed, and although Nisa surely appeared as stuffy overly formal to Adela, they had struck up a friendship and had kept it strong during those five years of the colony.

Both of them were busy devouring a piece of roast mutton when the sound of a horn was heard, it was the signal of the return of Balin. Adela and Nisa exchanged excited glances, they knew that the best part of the feast was to come now that the lord of Khazad-dum had returned.


Trór

The precession continued through the gates in reverent silence, Trór still felt the aching pain in his heart as clearly as if it had been that moment that Balin had fallen. Again he felt tears run down his beard, but his figure did not quake with weeping, he still stood proud and tall. They were descending the stairs that led to Durin's bridge, beyond that lay Twenty-Second Hall, and then the Twenty-First Hall, no doubt there would be much merry making and celebration going on, all of that will be shattered within a few moments. Trór suddenly felt someone grab his arm he was about to lead the group across the bridge, it was Kenan.

“But surely, you do not mean to take him up there? Before all the children?” he asked.

Trór stared at him for a long moment, he was right, this was not something that the children should be subjected to, but thus was life and there was no hiding it.

"What would you have me do then?" Trór asked coldly, "would you have me leave our lord's body here to lie upon the cold stone floor?"

Kenan reared himself proudly, he did not deserve this treatment for a simple remark. At this Trór's expression softened.

"No, my friend, we will bring his body with us. However, I will not bring his body in with me at first. You shall wait in the Twenty- Second Hall with..." Trór glanced at Balin's lifeless body, "with our lord. I will break the news to the colony alone."

They crossed the bridge and strode in silence through the hall until they came to the entrance of the Twenty-First Hall. Trór slowly raised his hand, signaling for the others to stop. His body shook at the thought of announcing such news, he felt his cheeks go red with nervousness, but he overcame it. Fearlessly, Trór slowly walked to meet the masses of his kin awaiting the return of Balin.

A loud cheer arose as he entered, many were there that he knew, all of them wore bright expressions of glee on their face. Trór stood as if he were at attention until the cheering subsided, and then his body shook. At once the crowd knew something was out of the ordinary, it was not like the hard soldier to show any feelings of fear, yet that is what he showed. He opened his mouth, but for no words came from him for a moment and even when Trór began to speak he started almost at a whisper.

"The needs of many out weigh the needs of a few, or of one," he began, the crowd immediately guessed that this was a speech about about a significant figure, but who: Durin, Thorin, Thror, Balin. They stayed silent and waited for him to continue.

"This is a concept that our noble lord, Balin, has always upheld. It is because of him that this great colony, this great city of our ancestors has been reclaimed and restored to us, their inheritors. We are gathered here today to pay respects to our honored father, Durin. Though something else has happened today that we shall remember as long as Durin's Day is celebrated. Our lord, and mighty ruler, Balin has fallen!"

A loud cry of horror arouse from the crowd, some of the men exchanged doubtful glances at each other as some of the more older dwarves began to openly weep.

"It was not thirty minutes ago that I witnessed the fall of our lord, who stood upon the banks of Kheled-zaram as an orc arrow pierced his heart. The orcs were swiftly and justly slain, but how can their deaths lessen the pain that we feel at the loss of our great leader?

"The words that I say cannot fully express the loss that I feel, he was my ruler... nay, he was more than a ruler, he was my king. It is only right and fitting that we should mourn the loss of our king, but I pray that his vision shall not be forgotten with his death. Khazad-dum is our home, and through his sacrifice, Balin has given us new hope for the future of our race. It should be noted that in the midst of our sorrow, that this death takes presence in the shadow of new life: the sunrise of a new generation." Trór stepped forward to the two young twins, Tív and Tíva. Trór had not forgotten his cousin's news of their birthday that morning.

"A generation that our leader gave his life to protect, a generation whose children will dwell in these halls after our bones have turned to dust. I know that Balin did not fear his sacrifice, never has the death of one who has died so that his brother may live be ashamed of. We should not forget his profound wisdom too quickly, and we should not fail to remember his devotion to us, his people.

“Of my friend I can say only this: of all the kings I have served, of all the dwarves I have known, he was the most...worthy!”

Balin’s body was led in, his white face seemed radiant when reflected with the torches that lit the great hall in splendor. A long line of mourners followed the body as Trór led the bearers to the end of the great hall and to the Chamber of Marzabul. There they laid him on a great marble stone at the foot of his throne and one by one the people came up to pay their respects to the dead king.