Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Boromir88]

"Lord Balin...dead!? How is this possible?" Gror began studdering, "I mean I know it's possible, of course it's possible, but how did it happen?"

"He was shot with an orc arrow in the back."

"Cowards!" grunted Gror, and anger swept through him. "No good, rotten, Orcs! They know any dwarf could easily dispatch one of them in melee, I bet someone like Balin could take on ten orcs! So, they have to -..."

"What is your business here in Moria?" Gror was cut off by Ori. You're doing a fine job, starting on the right foot with everyone today Gror. You embarrass yourself in front of Oin, and now you're making another respectable looking dwarf impatient because you're rambling. Now get on with it...

"I was sent by King Dain to gather news about the Moria colony. However, I fear only more woe will come to you before the end of the night. There is more pressing news and I must speak with the commander of the colony."

"Anything you have to say to Tror, you can say to me." Ori replied.

Gror nodded to try to make up for his ridiculous behavior earlier - if father were here he'd probably pretend he didn't know you. "A large Orc army is coming up the Silverlode. They will reach the East Gate by night fall. I don't know their numbers, I didn't think it important to find out, but there is a great host of them. I came across a dwarf, Oin he said his name was. He told me to hurry, warn Balin, and he went to check out the enemy himself."

"Tror is now in command. He went inside, with a precession, to announce Balin's death to the colony. Tell him this news immediately! He should not be hard to find. I will make sure the guards let you in."

[Dimturiel]

Bain had gone to the feast in high spirits. He had already persuaded himself that day was blessed and nothing could go wrong. He could hardly wait to tell Lord Balin he had finished his work. He wanted him to be the first to know. Well, Onli had been the first to know, but no one did beside him and no one should before lord Balin. That was what he was feeling before the message came, before the world seemed to turn upside down.

When he had first caught sight of Tror, Bain had assumed the latter had come to announce his lord’s arrival. He shifted in his chair, eyes glinting. So the moment had come, he thought.

But he had been wrong. The only thing that had come was a dreadful announcement, one he had never expected to hear, one he had never even imagined to be possible. Lord Balin was dead! He was dead and-how strange!-the world seemed unchanged, going on as if nothing had happened, as if such a death was not reason enough for all the lights to fade and darkness to fall over all. Bain barely understood the rest of Tror’s speech. It seemed to be coming from somewhere far away, a different world, perhaps.

Balin’s body was brought in and Bain entered the line of mourners so that he too could have one last look at his lord. He saw that many of those around them had tears in their eyes. Others were too stunned by disbelief to think of weeping. Bain felt the same way too. As he looked at his lord’s white face, Bain’s thoughts went suddenly to his forge and the now finished helmet that lay there. He shook his head, feeling tears in his eyes.

“He’ll never know now.” he mumbled. “And I thought he would be so pleased…”

[Himaran]

Ignoring his aching thumb, Dalin rushed to his quarters and changed into fresh linens. There was a celebration on hand at the Twenty First Hall, and he was missing it! The flustered dwarf only hoped that some of his favorite malt beer would be remaining upon his arrival. Essentially tripping over his own short legs, Dalin stumbled out of his room and hurried down rough hewn passage. As he neared the supposed festivities, however, a thought struck him. There was no shouting; in fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. Parties, and especially this feast, were generally boisterous, cacaphonous and the like. But on this occasion an eerie silence hung throughout the darkened corridors, as if all the mines had been hushed into quiet submission.

Dalin couldn't help but feel a little uneasy; it was becoming clear that something wasn't right. A creeping sensation tickled the hairs at the base of his neck, growing stronger by the second. Heart racing, he neared the large double doors with a mixture of blind dread and inquisitive curiousity. What could have happened? Had there been an attack? Were orcs invading the mines? Dalin paused as he reached for the handle; one way or another, he was going through that door. The dwarf took a heaving gasp of air, gathered his nerves, and pushed inward against the heavy stone frame. Responding to his reluctant touch, it creaked open, revealing the tragic scene beyond.

As he broke down in heavy sobs, Dalin couldn't help but fancy that he'd have given away both thumbs if only to avoid this horror.

[Arry]

Tív and Tíva shrank back from Trór, seeking the shelter of their mother’s skirt. A flimsy barrier at best against the piercing glance that had been aimed their way. Yet, they took comfort in the fragile protection it afforded them from his attention and his words.

'A generation that our leader gave his life to protect' they had heard Trór say '. . . a generation whose children will dwell in these halls after our bones have turned to dust . . .'

‘Why did he die for us? We did not want him to do that,’ they whispered into the soft dark folds of material. ‘It wasn’t our fault, was it Mami?’

Their Great Lord was dead. They understood that . . . impossible not to. There lay his body, still as stone, resting upon the shoulders of the bearers. His face seemed carved cold as it passed by; his sightless gaze cast up through the great mountains which arched up above it.

‘But it wasn’t our fault,’ Tív whimpered.

Vitr ushered his little family away from the procession. His own emotions were raw from this awful news of Balin’s death. Anger twined with deep grief at the manner and fact of his Lord’s death. He pushed these feelings aside for now, wanting to first deal with the more pressing need of his children for reassurance, for explanation.

He shepherded Lys and the twins to a quiet corner of the hall. The children huddled near their mother still, one hand each still grasping onto her skirt. Tív and Tíva’s eyes were wide as Vitr knelt down on one knee so that they were on a face to face level.

‘No need to be frightened,’ he told them softly, inviting each into the comforting embrace of his arms. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. It was one of our foe, a foul Orc and his fouler arrow which slew Lord Balin.’ The pinched, pale faces of the twins relaxed a little. Still their dark, deep-pooled eyes stayed fixed on their father’s face.

‘Orcs! Here?’ Tív asked, hastily wiping at his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his tunic. ‘Will they get us, too, Papi?’ Tíva’s tear glistened eyes flashed fearfully as she waited for her father’s response.

‘Not in here, not in the halls,’ Vitr assured his son. He drew his daughter in, hugging her close against him. ‘There were only a few, or so I understood from what Trór said. Outside the mountain. And they were swiftly taken care of. They cannot harm us any longer.’ Vitr looked up at Lys, his eyes clouded with concern. Where there were one or a few Orcs, they both knew, there would surely be many more as yet unseen.

He stood up, taking one each of their little hands in his larger ones. ‘Come,’ he urged them. ‘Let’s go back to our home. I’ll see you to the hallway and you can walk with Mami then to there. I should go back to the hall . . . see if there is anything I’m needed to do.’

The children walked between their parents until they came to the hallway leading to their home. Vitr kissed them each on the cheek as he left them to their mother’s care. And kissed Lys, too; a quick brush against her cheek and a few words murmured in her ear.

‘You make sure Mami gets home safely,’ he charged the twins. ‘I’ll be back very soon . . . before you go to sleep. I just need to take a little time to pay my last respects to Lord Balin.’ Vitr ruffled their hair affectionately.

‘And remember . . . don’t you worry about anything.’ He smiled and nodded as he spoke. ‘Papi will take care of it . . .’

Vitr watched a little while as the trio walked away from him. With a heavy heart he turned away and made his own way toward the chamber where Lord Balin was now laid. Grief trumped the previous anger that had vied with it. Tears threatened at the corners of his sad, downcast eyes as he trudged along. And as he drew near the empty shell of his Lord, those tears escaped, sliding down his cheeks unbidden, wetting his beard.

‘What will we do now . . . without your direction and your steady hand?’ Vitr murmured as he gazed on Balin’s face. ‘How will we keep our homes and hall secure? And my family, my Lord . . . how will I keep them safe?’

He shook his head sadly, knowing there would be no words of reassurance to allay his own fears. Vitr reached out his right hand and touched the sleeve of his dead Lord’s tunic. ‘Always your man, my Lord . . .’ he whispered, and then passed on quietly as another stepped up to take his place.

[Kitanna]

"Our lord, and mighty ruler, Balin has fallen!"

Kéni was among those who issued forth a roar of disbelief and horror. Balin dead? It hardly seemed possibly. He had been strong and full of life, a just and mighty dwarf. Kéni wanted to call Trór a liar and a power hunger miscreant. But that wasn't true or fair. Trór would not do anything to harm the colony or Balin.

“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!”

Kéni felt Iari clutch his hand. She squeezed it as hard as she could. Kéni looked down and saw his sister staring ahead, fear reflecting in her eyes. Balin's body was being led in, Kéni was not sure this was something little Iari needed to see. "Iari, do you want to go home and wait for Grandpa?" Iari shook her head slowly and allowed Kéni to lead her into the line with the other mourners.

Dead. Iari remembered that word very clearly from her early years. That was what they had said her father was. Now Balin was dead too. If those as strong and brave as her father and Balin could die who was to say one so weak and young as herself could survive?

Kéni held her hand all through the line. Upon seeing Balin at the foot of his throne Iari started to cry. That was how death looked? Though Balin wasn't twisted in agony and his eyes were closed as though sleep had taken him, there was something terrifying in his cold look. Kéni stroked Iari's hair and gently led her away so other mourners could pay their respects and so the little girl would not have to be exposed any further to the dead body of their fallen lord.

Kéni knew it was time to seek out Kénan. He was dying to know what had happened and if their grandfather knew anything. He also wanted to Iari home and as far away from Balin as possible.

[Folwren]

Kénan hung back away from the body, although he could have been among the first to pass it, as he had been just beside it. As yet, he had not looked upon the face of the dead lord. Finally, he stepped forward by the marble upon which he lay. He paused briefly and looked upon him. A deep sense of doom settled finally upon his breast. It had been hovering there, barely touching, ever since he had first seen lord Balin.

What did it mean? What doom was there beyond the death of Balin? Something awful - something far worse. This was only a beginning. Whether it was some gift of foresight given just briefly to this dwarf, or perhaps it was just the mood into which he had been cast, or perhaps it was his aging years and he felt his own death he felt - whatever it was, he felt that it was certain and more deaths than this one would be taken in the time to follow.

He bowed his head and stepped away from the stone.

He nearly ran into Vitr, a dwarf he knew very little. “Excuse me,” he said, and just about stepped past him. But something caused him to turn. “You have two little ones, have you not? Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.”

[Arry]

Vitr was lost in thought, his gaze cast down at the smooth stones set in the chamber’s floor. His accustomed calm and thoughtful nature had taken the upper hand now, pushing away for the while the initial shock of Lord Balin’s death.

He thought now of his duty . . . his duties, rather. First to his family, both the responsibility for the welfare of his wife and children and for his father and his father’s father’s family extending back through their strand of the Longbeard clan. The clan itself – that it should remain viable and strong. And finally this small community which had given him and his family a place to grow and prosper. He wondered who would step up now to be their leader, an unenviable role to fill he felt.

Mahal grant him the strength and wisdom to see us through he murmured And us the same to follow where he leads.

‘Excuse me . . .’ The voice of one of the elder men pulled Vitr from his ruminations. ‘You have two little ones, have you not?’ Kénan asked. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.’

‘Master Kénan!’ Vitr reached out to clasp the man’s arm. He was glad to make contact with something more substantial than his own thoughts.

‘We came late to the celebration. It was my son and daughter’s birthday and we had a little party of our own at home. Sorry to tell you, but I don’t think Tíva saw your granddaughter - Iari, yes? - this evening. We had not been here all that long before . . .’ He glanced toward the throne, at the marble stone at its foot which served as Lord Balin’s bier. ‘. . . before the awful news was brought to us and Lord Balin borne in.’

Vitr fell silent for a moment.

'And sorry, too - that Tív and Tíva are not here for you to ask. I sent them home with their mother.' He gestured about the chamber. 'This was too much for them. They're too young to take this in all at once, and they were frightened.'