Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

After Náli left to search for Kénan and Kórin, Lóni wandered around the halls aimlessly. He intended to head towards the gate, but his thoughts wandered far and to different times, in history and in his memories and in tales and legends he remembered. He did not even think inentionally about Balin, the thoughts were just swirling through his head. He recalled the moments he and his brother and Trór fought in the Battle of the Five Armies, and Balin emerged among the rest with Thorin Oakenshield out of the gate of Erebor. He recognized him rightaway, he looked exactly the same as in the day Lóni first saw him fighting in Azanulbizar. And here it was again, in Azanulbizar, that he had found his doom...

Suddenly, Lóni stumbled and fell to the ground with clunging of iron. Only now he realised that he is alone in a completely dark corridor. Just where was he? The place did not seem familiar, but it was just a corridor, one of the many in Moria, even now he still could not find a way to identify them all. Something furry and wet touched his knee. Lóni jumped up. Two gleaming eyes blinked at him from close distance and then they disappeared with a sound of soft running pads. Lóni shook his head. Blind in the darkness, he bent forwards and by touch found his mace lying on the ground; he felt he had lost it when he fell. When putting it back, Lóni realised it must be still stained from the skirmish by the Mirrormere. Once again he sighed, knowing that in the darkness he cannot evaluate the condition of his weapons and armor. He was certain they would be in the need of polishing. But duty calls, who knows where he had strayed and the others may be already waiting for him. First the council, then other things.

He turned around and strode back from whence he came.

[Arry]

Only the light from the small fire still burning in the kitchen grate pushed back the shadows gathered in the room. It lit her face, leaving only the deeps of her eyes clouded as she looked at him, and then away. Sparks of it glinted in her hair and for a moment he wished only to entangle his fingers in that familiar mass of coppery curls. And on some other night, some other safe, familiar night he would have done so.

But now foul murder had undone his sense of safety, and what was once familiar, so accustomed, so solid and so ordinary had now slipped sideways. It was not just the body of his slain Lord which had been borne in upon the shoulders of his men, but the possibility, the grim reality, of death for those Vitr held dear.

And so, instead, he clasped her hand between his own and spoke softly with more reassurance than he felt. ‘You know, dear heart, I will be among them.’ He reached a hand toward her, touching her cheek gently for a moment. ‘Duty deems it so; there can be no other way for me. It will be the last call to duty from my Lord Balin and the first for the new Lord who will now lead us.’ Vitr pulled at his beard as he tried to picture who that might be.

‘Oh, I do not envy him!’ he went on, shaking his head at the thought of the heavy mantle the new Lord would don. ‘And just as great is my duty is to you and to Tíva and Tív . . .to keep you all safe from harm.’ For brief moment a glint of a smile eased up the corners of his mouth as he spoke. ‘I promised your father and your brothers I would do so, you remember . . .under threat of some horrid and painful punishment if I did not.’

‘But come, let’s put away these heavy thoughts at least for tonight,’ Vitr said in a lighter tone. ‘When I left the hall, the elders were gathering together for counsel. And our worrying here in the dark will not help them make what plans as they deem are needed. I’ve every confidence that they will figure out what we need to do. And I’m quite confidant too that steps have already been taken to keep the hall safe for now.’

Vitr stood up, gathering both their mugs. ‘You go on to bed; I’ll be there directly.’ He held up the mugs with one hand, their thick clay sides making an emphatic clunk as he did so. ‘I’ll just put these in the sink . . . and bar the door. It won’t take but a moment.’

[Groin Redbeard]

The frozen expression of shock did not disappear from Adela's face, as Nisa hoped it would when she approached. Rather it worsened, and when Nisa took a step towards her friend Adela jumped back and mumbled something that Nisa couldn't understand, then promptly fled.

Exasperated, Nisa fell to her knees. The walls of the very hall itself were pressing in around her, the towering columns seemed to fall down; Nisa felt panicked at what she was imagining and tried to stand but promptly stumbled back to her knees. She began to cry. Nothing could shake the horrible feeling of despair that she was feeling at the moment: left utterly alone to deal with her sorrow, but Nisa did not want to be alone. She wanted to throw herself in the arms of someone who loved her and share her feelings with that someone, but no one could fill that place. Tror had left and Adela had ran. Svior! but where was he to be found, and would he approve of her throwing himself in his arms, after all, there was another who was closer to Svior's heart than she was. Oh where was Tror?

Still crying, alone and forsaken, Nisa stood as best she could after the fainting spell had passed. She made her way to a nearby table, where moments ago she had been feasting merrily with her friends, and buried her head within the confines of her hands. Perhaps the loneliness wouldn't feel so terrible if the rest of the world was shut out.

[Lilly]

Wasn’t that just like him....trying to smooth things over. Well this wasn’t something to be smoothed over now was it. Lord Balin was dead....from an Orc’s arrow. And where there was one Orc, most likely there were many....even more than the hairs in Grandpa Forgefire’s long bushy beard.

Now Lys had never seen an Orc but there had been plenty of stories she’d heard about those foul creatures. That they were savage killers, delighting in inflicting as much pain as they could on their victims. That they had no sense of honor at all. Anyone was fair game. Young, old, male, female – it made no difference. She shuddered, recalling one particularly grisly tale of how they’d butchered some wee little babes and....and....eaten them.

No, this was not something to be smoothed over as a mason would a block of stone....

‘Wait....sit down, Vitr, please.’

Lys grabbed hold of his sleeve before he could step away from the table. She looked up at him and cocked her head toward his chair. ‘Just for a moment. I have something I want to tell you, intended to tell you after the celebration....before this gruesome, awful thing happened.’ She shook her head, a look of overwhelming sadness in her face. Sadness....and fright, too.

‘It’s Durin’s Day, a happy day in itself; a day to celebrate. And made even more glad, or so it should have been, by the celebration of our son and daughter’s birth day. I’d thought to add another level to this gladness. I....’

She squeezed his arm.

‘Look,’ she blurted out. ‘I don’t want you to go hunting those Orcs. Even if the next Lord asks you. I don’t want you away from us. I don’t want you away from me, Vitr....and our new child....’

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Onli was treading the corridors, here and there, all over the place, up the stairs, down the stairs, back to Twenty-first hall and out again, and he was angry. He could not find Vriti, despite all of his effort; which was understandable, as she would have probably left the place as soon as the celebration turned into a cacophony of unpleasant noises. Now she was hiding in some of her secret places or wandering around tunnels. Let her wander. But Onli had meanwhile the time to sort his thoughts. It was not that he would be completely heartless. He pitied the loss of Balin. Maybe that was a part of the source for his anger, which seemed to surface for unknown reasons.

All right, not just unknown reasons. When Onli thought about the situation, he concluded that life goes on. Life in the colony goes on. And the colony will have a new leader in no time. And who is this new leader going to be seemed clear to Onli: the second in command, Trór. That arrogant warmonger guy with unpleasant gaze. Onli's first thought was that it hardly could have been worse. He never liked Trór and never worked out any special relationship with him, mainly because there was no need to. Trór minded his business when it came to military things, Onli tried to keep on good terms with Balin who was at the top of things. Of course, he would have never imagined that things are going to turn out like this, otherwise he would have paid more attention on forming his relationship with Trór.

But on his second thought, he reevaluated. Because this fellow certainly knew nothing about running the colony, of course, he had some experience, but Onli was convinced that most of all, Trór is a military officer and as a military officer he is going to need somebody to advice him on the more subtle matters of economics, managing the trade and craft and development of the colony.

And this is why Onli has been looking for Trór, for quite some time already, but with no results. Neither could he find any of the Elders. He was fed up with this already when he once again entered the great hall. The sounds of crying were heard already before he entered, and in fact, Onli could hear them almost everywhere now, or so it seemed to him. Quickly, he looked around the room, in vain hope to notice the face of Trór or any of the Elders. At one moment he stopped, catching a glimpse of... yes, that was Trór's cousin, Nîsa. Intuitively, he started to walk towards her, but before reaching her he stopped. No, first, this was no place - and by her looks, it seemed also like not a good situation to ask, but then, possibly she could tell him where Trór was? But now she once again put her head in her hands. Onli frowned.

I wonder if I can get a single word out of her now, he thought. But who of all people should know better where Trór is than her?

Onli cleared his throat and put on the most comforting smile, although inside him, everything was boiling.

"I am very sorry to disturb you in your grief, young lady Nîsa," he said in a most polite and calm voice. "This is a very sorrowful day, and I despair too. But I sought you out because you might be able to help me. I need to speak to your cousin Trór in an important matter, but I could not find him. Might you perhaps help me to learn where he is now?"

[Gwathagor]

"Frar, are you alright?" Tror was speaking to him. He had been standing alone for some time now, and his mind had been wandering. Frar started and already had his hand on his axe before he realized it was Tror. He smiled and shook his head.

"Tror, my friend. I am well enough, that is of little concern. How does the colony? How have they taken Balin's death?"

Tror sighed heavily and looked away. He pulled his beard.

"Very ill, I fear," he said at last. "Very ill. His death has cast a shadow upon the hearts of our people."

Frar nodded. "I have felt it," he said. "It is upon my heart also. Some foreboding - I cannot put a chisel on it - some darkness looms close."

"We must give them hope, Frar, you and I and the others. They are not leaderless, after all." Tror paused for a moment, his forehead furrowed.

Frar realized then that Tror it was who would take Balin's place, and already he could see that the helm of authority weighed heavily upon his brow. He considered mentioning this, but let it go as Tror had said nothing yet.

"Forgive me, I was lost in thought for a moment. I had come to find you," said Tror. "I - we are holding a council and your experience is needed. Come."

"Of course," said Frar. "A council of war, I hope?"

Tror grinned wryly. "I imagine that will come up."

"It had better, because anything else will be a waste of my time. War is all I know," grumbled Frar as they turned and began to walk towards the council chamber.

Tror laughed briefly and abruptly. Then Frar laughed as well; long and loud and booming, his roar rang through the upper halls of Khazad-dum, and stirred the gloomy coals of not a few dwarven hearts.

[Groin Redbeard]

So focused was Nisa on the darkness that seemed to envelop her through her closed eyes that she did not hear the heavy footfalls of a dwarf drawing close.

"I am very sorry to disturb you in your grief, young lady Nîsa." She jumped at the mentioning of her own name and quickly turned, nocking over a glass full of wine in the process, but the dwarf continued on as calm as ever.

"This is a very sorrowful day, and I despair too. But I sought you out because you might be able to help me. I need to speak to your cousin Trór in an important matter, but I could not find him. Might you perhaps help me to learn where he is now?"

Nisa focused on the face for a second, trying to put a name on the familiar voice. The skin of the dwarf was dark as if he had been working in the mines, but a closer look revealed that it was his true skin color and not soil that people wore when they worked.

After a moment of her studying him the dwarf smiled again, probably in hopes of her recognizing him, and it came to her. Onli! although his ferret was not on his shoulders as was usual, she couldn't mistake that smile. Nisa had often seen him with the company of Balin, mostly offering generous gifts. Trór had not spoken kindly of Onli, and Nisa dared not question his word, but now that she actually came face to face with Onli he didn't seem that bad, in fact he seemed very kind.

"Might you know where Trór is?" Onli repeated.

The tears came welling back up in Nisa's eyes as he said this and again she covered her eyes with her hand and cried. She heard the dwarf exhale loudly, probably in disgust, and why shouldn't he be disgusted? Just look at yourself girl, he asked you a question, answer it!

"I," Nisa started to quiver as she said this, "I don't know where my cousin is, he was watching over our lord Balin's body, but it has been a long while and I don't know if he still stands there or not." Onli smiled courteously but she could see that this is not the answer he wanted.

"Why don't you try Kenan?" She said after seeing the look in his eyes. Nisa tried to grab hold of her emotions and stood up as straight as she could, as was usually expected of her when she was addressing someone. "I know that they are good friends and I'm sure he could grant you a better answer than I."


Trór

Frar’s company and confident laughter comforted the troubled Tror. During all this time the realization of him being the lawful ruler of Khazad-dum had not struck him, but from his own mouth the situation was made clear. A terrible blow it was to his mind, like the premature smote of the hammer on a piece of iron it dented, rocked, and shook him to his very core. Although his friend comforted him somewhat he could not shake the full load of the subject off. How could he, a mere soldier, govern the mason, the crafter, the miner, and the soldier alike? Could he, who commanded the dwarf to fight, also command that dwarf to kneel in loyalty to him?

These, and others, were the thoughts Tror dwelt on as he walked with Frar. So concentrated was he that soon his voice was ringing within the confines of his tick skull. Was Frar speaking? He could not tell, Tror did not care. I am a fighter not a ruler! This Tror repeated until he was deep in debate with himself.

Upon the king was placed the lives, the debts, the carefree wives and children, and the sins of the people. I must bear all! Oh hard condition! Was I born for this greatness? Subject to the breath of every fool. All the ease and comfort that I have ever known must be cast aside, all that private people enjoy must be neglected. Then what have kings that private people have none of, save ceremony, and what is idle ceremony? A drink that is not sweet: poisoned flattery! Be-sink great greatness and bid your ceremony, that comes with you, give you cure.

Proud dream that plays so subtly with a kings repose. I am, now, a king that finds you and I know it is not the bar, the scepter, or the ball, the axe, the mace, the crown imperial, the robe of gold and pearl, the facet title running for the king, the throne he sits on, nor the tide of pomp that beats upon the high shores of this world. No not all these doubled could compete with the hard tradition of ceremony. Not all these laid in bed together can sleep so soundly as the wretched slave, who with a body filed and a vacant mind gets him to rest. Next day, before dawn, will he rise and serve his master, and follow so through the ever running year with unprofitable labor to his grave, but with no ceremony. Such a wretch, winding up days with toil and nights with sleep, had the forehand advantage of a king!

Here Tror gave up his fruitless argument. Duty must always be his first role. Yet, he would not procure the crown for himself if the people would not have him. Unity was what the people needed, he would still command his army, no on would take that from him, but the crown must go to the worthiest whether it be him or not.

The massive stone gates were opened outward by two guards at the pairs approach. Ori and Gror were revealed to them by the torch light that was all around. At first Tror was very displeased, not even Loni or Nali were here, but before he could express his frustration Loni and Nali ushered past Frar and were standing by Ori and Gror. A first Tror thought that the third figure with the brothers was Kenan, but he now saw that it was just a woman. He glared at Nali, and the woman, thinking that the scholar had misheard his orders and would have chastised him but for Tror noticing another absent dwarf.

“Where is Oin?” Tror asked Ori a bit puzzled. “Has he not come back yet?”