Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Thinlómien]

She did not return to the kitchens. Vyra would not be there, nor would Adela, the kitchen girl she had just met. There would be just some people she did not know, and she did not feel like talking to strangers now. She decided to head home.

She walked the corridors to the craftsmen's quarters. She took a turn left, walked for a while and stopped. Slowly, she picked the heavy key from her belt and opened the door, then stepped in and closed the door behind her.

Her apartment was more like a room than a house. There was nothing unnecessary there. A small, neatly made bed. Two chests, one for her most prized tools and her weapons, one for clothes and other personal belongings. A chair and a table with a bright oil lamp, a short piece of candle and a tinderbox on it. A small fireplace and a cupboard with very limited household equipment. She hardly ever made her own food, it was not something she liked doing or was good at, like most of the other craftsmen, she ate at the public kitchens.

Even in the pitch dark she knew her way to the table and managed to light the lamp. Then she walked to the cupboard and took the bottle of rum and a small wooden mug she had had since being very small. She smiled at the silly carvings on the mug and poured just enough rum to cover its bottom. She put the bottle back to the cupboard and went to sit on her chair. The bright, almost cold light of the lamp started to bother her. She took the tinderbox and lighted the candle, then put off the lamp. Normally, she only used the candle if she had run out of lamp oil, but now she preferred the weak, warm glow to the heartlessly efficient lamp light.

But of course, candlelight brought back memories. The still, solemn features in the candlelight, the hint of a smile playing on his face. The yellow glow on the white beard, the kingly rigidness, all draped in red, his colour. That image would haunt her forever, she knew. She drank her rum in one gulp. It was better to go to sleep now. She took the glass back to the cupboard and returned to put out the candle.

Then, another memory. The same candlelight, this time in a small room with a wooden roof. The glow playing on her unbraided hair, him by the doorstep. He had come late, later than was customary or appropriate. Dressed in red as usual, his hand stroking his white beard, he had apologised for the hour and pleaded her help. Flattered and excited, she had quickly cast her black cloak on herself and followed him to the darkness. They had walked the tunnels together and he had...

The flame was extinguished with a hiss. She did not want to remember more now. She brought the tips of her fingers to her lips. They hurt, she had managed to burn them. Burn them while putting out a candle the first time after she had turned ten. Pitiful, she told herself.

She made her way - just a few steps - to her bed and crawled in. She could feel tears running down her cheeks. No, not now, girl. Calm down. Now, you will sleep. Sleep, a refreshing nap. Then you will wake up and start working and remember. You will pour all your memories to the stone. But now, now you won't cry, now you won't remember. You will sleep, you will forget, you will let it be.

[Groin Redbeard]

“I will be equally as brief in my response: no. I don’t know what has prompted this, but thou knowest full well that the request is ridiculous. It is Kór, not Kórin, who I need.” Nali glared at Onli for overstepping his bounds. Kórin was still bitter over something and it annoyed Nali to have to deal with her problems—he had so many other pressing matters on his mind.

“Onli, escort Kórin back to whence thou hast found her, Kór will stay. Return when it is done.”

Onli bowed and left with a reluctant Kórin; Kór stared sorrowfully after her. Kórin’s brother appeared to have none of her sister’s rebellious traits—or perhaps he kept them better hid. Nali immediately began to size up Kór: he was by no means a warrior, but he looked eager to learn if given the chance. The best position for him in battle would be behind a stout warrior to defend him from any blow; put him in the front lines and he would be killed.

“Thou shalt see Kórin again,” Nali stated comfortingly, gaining Kór’s attention. “The attack today will not be the fiercest—the first day never is—stay low and all will be well.”

Nali turned and was about to go with Kór to find him a weapon and armor when to his amazement he saw Ori and Óin step out of the shadows. Nali froze in disbelief.

“Óin! Praise Mahal you have returned!” They embraced as Nali rushed forward, forgetting all about Kór, joyful energy filled Nali at Óin’s return. “We feared that thou wert lost. Has Trór returned with thee?”

~~~~~~~~~~
Nîsa

Tears still flowed Nîsa’s cheeks and it shamed her to do so when so many other women had husbands and brothers who might die. Bain was very comforting; he was a good Dwarf one whom she admired and wanted him to come back.

“Promise me you will keep your head down, I hear that the Orcs far outnumber our own soldiers. The women will doubtlessly be busy with preparing food and wine for the soldiers for later tonight and I will see that I will be one of the maids who brings the food to the soldiers so that I can see you.”

Nîsa reached into her pocket and pulled out a ruby studded sheath with an elegantly made dagger. “Trór gave this to me before we set out for Khazad-dum with Balin. I have had little use for it, but I think that it may do you greater service if you are in enemy hands. It is sharp and easily reached when in a tussle. Please take it; perhaps, it will help you come back.”

[Durelin]

Kórin was truly surprised this time. Nali’s response had been harsher than she expected. Foolish girl, she thought, admonishing herself, you thought this old dwarf would show you any respect? Once again he twisted her words and her actions. How had her statement that she was here as another soldier been a request? She was not here in supplication!

She was about to explode on the old dwarf, but held herself back in an attempt to put words to her screaming. Her head was pounding now, and as she stood there it felt as if all the energy was dissolving out of her body. Unfortunately a moment’s hesitation left her interrupted, as two older dwarves whom she recognized as Óin and Ori, companions of Balin, approached Nali and quickly drew his attention – away from Kór; he was long done with her.

“We feared that thou wert lost,” he told Óin. “Has Trór returned with thee?”

“I hope not,” Kórin rudely interrupted, continuing to ignore Onli and any attempts he made to escort her away, and then addressed Kór, “I’ll have your back on the battlefield. Don’t let anyone push you around.”

She turned and left, walking quickly but not hurriedly to where the rest were assembling for war, though she would stop along the way to retrieve her hauberk and mace, prized gifts from her father. She would figure out a way to be in the same unit as Kór…

~

Kór found himself almost laughing at Nali’s comment about seeing his sister again, until he ended with, “…stay low and all will be well.”

He certainly did not know what to say to that. He could not really tell Nali that he was not afraid. Kór turned back to his sister and raised his eyebrows at her. Right now he was more afraid of what she might do than what might happen to him. She looked ready to explode. Nali did have a way with words…and seemed to be an expert at snubbing. He now appeared blissfully unaware of Kórin’s state.

But everything was interrupted. Thankfully, perhaps. It gave Kórin another moment to think, at least, if not really cool off. He winced when she spoke, though – wishing death upon the new Uzbad Khazaddûmu! Kór turned back to her from the newly arrived Óin and Ori, and smirked as she addressed him. He said nothing, though, and simply watched her walk away.

She always needed the last word, and was a master at exerting control over whatever situation she was put into. He knew she could not stand it if she was not. Kór really didn’t mind being pushed around a little, at least in Kórin’s terms, as they included simply being told what to do.

He sighed. She was also a master at leaving her problems behind on others’ shoulders. He turned back to Nali, Óin, and Ori, but avoided their gazes.

[Gwathagor]

Shrill orc-cries echoed through Dimrill Dale, bouncing back and forth off the high walls of the valley and disippating into the black night sky. In the darkness and swirling snow, it was impossible to tell whence the echoes came, and when the fighting began, Frar's band had lost track of Tror and his dwarves. They stood close and silent now, listening and watching for any sign that might lead them to the skirmish. To some of the less hardy, it almost seemed that evil spirits were on the air, riding on the frozen wind, shrieking and cursing as they went. The muffled clash of weapons also reached them: spear on shield, sword on hauberk, drifting down to where they stood among the ominous boulders, and sounding then like but a memory or rumor of battle - perhaps the hills spoke thus to each other on wild nights, mourning the death and strife that they had observed through the many ages of the world all unable to intervene?

Frar shook himself - his mind was wandering. He brought his thought to bear once more on the urgent situation at hand. Where was Tror?

Did the cries come from the left? Or from down the valley? Or from behind them? Frar stood frozen in indecision, his jaw tight with concentration. He had to make a decision, they could not afford inaction, not now. He looked now left, now right, and cursed himself. Where was Tror?

His officers and soldiers were watching him anxiously when suddenly a goblin came scampering out of the darkness from their right. It lurched to a halt some 15 yards before the dwarves. For a brief instant, the dwarves stared at the orc in surprise and it stared back. It was, evidently, just as bewildered as they were. Then, with a cry, it spun around and leapt off into the mist, vanishing as quickly as it had appeared. The dwarves blinked. Had they imagined it? No - the orc's exclamation (had it been malice? Fear? Or something as common as surprise?) still echoed about them.

Frar acted, seizing upon this as a kind of sign. "This way!" he shouted, the officers passed the word down, and the dwarves pounded off after the orc. "Find Tror!" roared Frar. And sure enough, the sounds of battle grew clearer and more distinct. The dwarves began to find scattered bodies and weapons - but no Tror. It seemed that he had led his dwarves some distance in pursuit of the orc skirmishers.

"Spread the line!" shouted Frar. "Two ranks deep, stay together!"

The dwarves obeyed as they ran with a smoothness born of discipline, spreading out into a heavy line of iron death. And over a low rise in the rockey ground, they came upon the orcs and dwarves tangled together, living and dead, struggling violently among the tall boulders and drifting snow.

Frar did not need to give any command. Without a word, his troops swung down upon the battle making no noise but that of their boots against the ground. They hit the lines, however, like a clap of thunder, as they trampled down the first orcs they met and crushed the next ones with heavy blows of their axes. They killed professionally, swinging this way and that through the press, laying orcs out every which way as they went. Frar found Tror in the middle of the battle standing upon a pile of crushed orcs, swinging his axe about him like a lunatic - only to the movement of his axe there was a deep and deadly logic, as subtle as the playing of a harpist and as brutal as the hammering of a smith. Orcs fell upon him in astonishing numbers and died with just as astonishing a rapidity. There were too many, though, and they began to press too closely about him, more warily now, holding him at bay with long spears. The slow anger that had been burning in the deep mine of Frar's heart all day blazed higher. Khazad-dum will not lose two lords in one day! This thing will not be! and he rushed towards Tror with an extra spurt of speed. A gently sloping boulder was in his way, but he could not be stopped now. Indeed, he could not stop himself, such was his anger and determination. He ran up the boulder and hurled himself from its peak upon the mass of orcs that surrounded Tror.

The backs of the first two orcs broke under Frar's iron-shod feet. The next orc, which tried to wrestle Frar to the ground, had his skull cracked, and the last thing he remembered was Frar's massive black fist exploding into his face. The next three had their heads torn from their necks by a single swing of Buzunimbar. This is was all before the other orcs noticed that something was wrong; the seventh orc tried to skewer Frar with his spear and caught Frar's reverse swing in his midsection. Frar leapt through the enormous hole he had just single-handedly cut in the orc ring and ran to Tror's back. The two old warriors did not even need to exchange a word, neither of thanks nor of greeting; they had been through this before. They knew, and they both settled down to the work of killing as many orcs as possible.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin smiled at Náli and cast a brief look after departing Kórin.

"Just what is going on here?" he muttered, partially to himself. Then he looked directly into Náli's eyes, penetrating him with his bright sky-blue gaze.

"Trór did not come back with me," he said quickly. "I must have missed him in the darkness and the snow. I am not worried about him, Náli, but perhaps somebody should be sent to bring him back. Especially considering what I saw."

Quickly, Óin explained to Náli all he knew about the Orc army. Drawing out from his memory all the important details, not omitting a single thing, he recounted on the danger approaching Khazad-Dûm.

"I am sure I do not need to tell you what should be done," he finished.

"And the leader should also get to know about it," he added after a short while.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali’s heart sank when he heard Oin’s response and was even more disheartened hearing the news of the approaching army.

“Send more men out?” Nali asked in amazement. “No, dear heavens no! It will be to little avail to send more warriors to be lost in this storm that thou hast described. Trór is capable as thou sayest; yet, his skill will be tested more than once this day, still it is encouraging to think that he is not alone and surrounded by loyal and able assistants. All we can do is hope for his safety.

“I am indeed glad to see thee, Oin, for thou hast no need of searching for Trór’s second for thou art him! Besides the fact that thou art a good friend of his, it was to this purpose that Trór went searching for thee. The city will doubtlessly be under thee’s control in Trór’s absence, may it be a short one; meaning no disrespect to you my friend. Tell us what more we need do, so that Ori and I may get back to work. An army of Orcs, as large as you say it is, is no trifling matter to remain idle about. ”

~~~~~~~~~~

Trór

The motion of his axe halted in surprise for an instant at the arrival of Frar. His friend had flung himself with reckless bravery upon the spears of the enemy and amazingly evaded harm. Trór’s attention quickly turned back to the enemy as Frar’s opponents began to quake and run before him. Side-by-side Frar’s tremendous axe and Trór’s swift arm dispatched many of the shifty Goblins which encircled them.

Suddenly, amidst the din, Trór heard the familiar voice of Gror. “My lord, look to the sky!”

Arrows ! thought Trór, but he had long since lost his shield and would have to trust to fortune. He could hear the whistling of the incoming missiles but they did not sound like arrows. Without warning, a black rock fell from the sky in front of him! The rock exploded into many sharp fragments killing many of the thick masses of Orcs around him and Frar. A second rock hit the ground and Trór shielded his eyes with his gauntlets.

His eyes were uncovered and he swung his axe with one hand at a small Goblin; Trór swung a second time hitting the Goblin in the side. A spasm of pain shocked his nerves and brought him to one knee as he twisted his shoulders for another strike. Trór felt for the wound but there was none to be seen. His mail was pierced in a thin slit, but no blood protruded from the hole. Nevertheless, the pain was great and only through hacking and stabbing was he able to ignore the pain.

Frar had not been affected as the rocks fell, using the momentum from the chaos that they brought to both sides to press further amidst the Orcs in front of Trór. Gror had since joined them and yelled wildly at the oncoming Orcs and swung with great effectiveness at their unprotected knees. All around Trór the Orcs began to break; no more of the black rocks fell amongst the two enemies, the slingers having long since taken to their heels. The defiant shouts that the Orcs had shouted were traded with cries of dismay and they fled in every direction.

Trór sank to one knee, saving himself from falling by supporting himself with his axe. Frar’s strong hands quickly grabbed Trór, but were pushed away by Trór.

“No, my friend,” Trór said. “I must not show weakness in front of our warriors!” With a heavy groan his lifted himself up. “My thanks to you my friend, but do not look so glum: I am not hurt. It was close that’s all, just a scratch.” Trór grasped Frar’s hand. Trór was inarticulate when it came to thanking his good friend, but he did smil and nod his head as if to say: ‘Thanks. Well done my friend.’ Trór did not offer Frar anything, for it would have been an insult to his honor to accept a gift for doing his duty--Frar had distinguished himself as the stoutest of warriors and his value was worth far more than any gift that Trór could bestow upon him.

Trór turned to Gror and smiled. “You have fought well and have saved my life, along with Frar, when I was sore pressed, for this you have my undying gratitude. I will have you by my side in the next battle.” Gror bowed deeply but did not say a word.

“What of your warriors?” Trór asked, viewing the dead carcasses of the Orcs and the bodies of the Dwarves. “I think my warriors had the worst of it, being smaller in number; yet, I could not have lost more than ten stout warriors. Your coming saved me from disaster, the Orcs far exceeded our numbers, even with your coming, but the confusion which your warriors wrought upon the Orcs was the winning stroke.”

Not a Dwarf was killed of Frar’s warriors, for the enemy was routed with their coming, but the victory was short lived. Horns were heard on the wind and shouts of a large multitude were heard chanting ever closer. Trór ordered for the dead Dwarves to be stripped of their armor and weapons (for he said that it was far better for the Orcs to gain a warrior’s mail and axe than to defile their bodies) and to be carried by the stoutest of the surviving warriors.

“Hasten back to Khazad-dum. Good fortune will meet us there. The time will soon come for you to pick up your axes—for my anger is twice as great at the slaying of Oin. Hasten back to the city!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin

Óin listened to Náli's words with surprise, partially, and partially with a sort of disbelief.

"By Durin's beard, Náli," he said when the Dwarf finished. "Who am I to give orders to you around here? Who am I to be in command of all this realm? This does not belong to me, I am only a scout! I am sure many of you know more and better what should be done. Even you, or your brother Lóni, or even Ori here. I was never into leading. I have told you what I know: the Orcs are coming, and had it not been for the snowstorm, you would have their rams already battering our gates."

"You ask me what to do? Defend them! You ask me what to prepare? Let us disrupt the foul beasts, let us not let the Orcs get close with their battering rams to the gates. Let us not fight in the open, so that they cannot use their warg riders to too much advantage. But most of all, by Durin's beard, let Trór come! Because this is where we need him. Náli - I have been inside Erebor with Thorin Oakenshield, and I can tell you - there is only one who might defend a fortress as proudly as he did: and that is Trór."

***

Onli

Onli paced through the corridor, only rarely casting a look back over his shoulder to see Kórin who followed him. Lucky me, he thought, even though it did not go very well, at least Óin and Ori showed up and perhaps helped to save my reputation. Náli certainly was not very much pleased when he saw Kórin coming along, but it did not end in any too disasterous manner. I just have to be more careful from now on.

They took a sharp turn and at that very moment, something small and orange charged into Onli in full speed. He lost his balance and fell flat on the floor.

"Vriti!" he picked himself up. "What are you doing here, silly? Where have you been?"

The ferret blinked at him with her small eyes. Onli noticed that there is something strange in her behavior, she seemed somewhat nervous.

"Come on, what is that?" the Dwarf addressed Vriti, not intending to spend too much time with her when there was Kórin to take care of, but wishing to comfort the ferret or at least find out what was wrong. He bent forward and touched her, but on closer proximity he suddenly sensed strong odour, a disgusting and foul stench of indiscerneable origin, which no doubt came from the poor creature. Also, on touch, and also when he looked more closely, Onli realised that some of the hair on her back seemed weird on touch, and was greyish black hue and curled, seeming almost as if it was burned.

"Just where have you been?" he shook his head. He stood up, turning back at Kórin. Vriti started to attack his shoes, but Onli did not want her to climb him up right now, not when she smelled like this. He pushed her away with his shoe, but the ferret did not want to let herself being chased away and started to run in circles between him and Kórin.

[Groin Redbeard]

Great was the rejoicing of the soldiers when Trór and Frar emerged from the blizzard. Horns were blown at his arrival and the blast echoed shrill and long in the First Hall. More shouts welcomed Trór when the horn was heard and the undying swell of joyful cheering rose as his face became clearer to see amidst the snow. In his heart Trór felt little hope in a defensive battle against the Orcs, but upon seeing bright hopeful faces and hearing the courageous hollers of his subjects Trór began to take heart. Whether the outcome of their plight be good or ill, he was glad to live to lead such a proud host of dwarves!

Trór was satisfied to see that adequate bulwarks were constructed along the base and top of the stair. The dwarves could now sally out and hold a position outside of the gates. Boulders, both large and small, had been quarried from the mountain side and rolled a short ways in front of the stair leading up to the gates. The boulders were so closely packed that only two or three dwarves abreast could squeeze threw the larger of the spaces. This, of course, could not stop the Orcs of the Misty Mountains (for they could climb with uncanny agility) but it would stop the Orcs from launching an organized body of Uruks—the Orcs would have to come piecemeal.

Trór climbed over the bulwarks of stone and scanned the warriors dressed for war staring at him and Frar as they proudly ascended stair. There were around 200 dwarves gathered at the gates, but Trór knew that there would be more coming, if his original calculations had been correct. He marveled at the craft of the armor that most of the soldiers were wearing; Trór guessed that Ori had brought out the armory that Óin found in the Third Deep.

The pain in his side had been burning during his flight back to Khazad-dum; however, upon entering the First Hall the burning lessened and he was able to stand fully erect. Trór could now see more dwarves entering from the deeper halls of the city. The torchlight fell upon their faces and Trór cried out in joy and disbelief.

“Óin!” Their eyes met and Trór pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes still fixed upon Óin.

“My dear friend!” Trór exclaimed as he embraced Óin, “We thought you had fallen somewhere on Azinulbizar. Never have I been happier! Now I know we can win this fight!” Trór thought that he should say more but instead he stood gazing into Óin’s eyes, soaking up long memories and thinking on what would await them.

“Come with me,” Trór said after a time, acknowledging Ori, “Let us survey the defenses. I must know everything concerning what you have seen, Óin.” Suddenly Trór noticed the presence of a dwarf standing behind Ori and Óin. They eyed each other with curiosity, though there was a note of fear and anger in the other’s stare.

“Who is this?” Trór asked, stepping closer to take a closer look. There was something familiar in the dwarf’s face.


~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

As Nali, Ori and Óin began to make their way to the First Hall, Nali suddenly remembered a pressing matter that needed to be dealt with as soon as possible. Without telling his friends, Nali left them and made his way back through the hall.

There was no sign of Onli, but Nali did not care, so long as Kórin did not accompany him on his return. Nali felt his temper rise at the thought of Kórin and he clenched his hands into fists as he thought of the current situation he was trying to put aright.

Nali walked hard and fast until he reached his destination. The door stood closed to him and Nali knocked hard. The door opened to reveal the figure of a small boy, behind who cowered an even smaller girl.

“Fetch thine father.” The children obeyed and soon brought him.

“Kenan, why doest thou linger in the comfort of thine home?” Nali asked in amazement at not seeing him wearing his signet armor. “Already our lord hath returned. Quickly, we must hasten to him!”

[Durelin]

Kórin

Onli had rushed to make sure he was ahead of her, so that he could feel like he was leading her back. But Kórin was going exactly where she wished. She was completely lost in a cloud of anger and other dark thoughts when Onli suddenly fell down in front of her and she saw something slight darting across the ground. She stopped and watched the creature – it was a ferret.

“Vitri!” Onli addressed it, and Kórin could not help but smile a little at the animal as it ran around even her own feet. It was adorable, but… What is that smell? Kórin wondered as she caught several whiffs when the animal circled her feet.

“Is it alright?” Kórin asked, not assuming its gender as she certainly hadn’t gotten a close look at it.

~

Kór

Kór learned a great deal from Óin, Ori, and Náli as Óin informed the others what he had observed about the approaching army of orcs, and they discussed how to proceed. Kór wondered if they even realized he was still there, and if they should be concerned about him hearing all of this. A mix of fears simmered in his stomach. There truly was an army marching on Khazad-dûm.

Finally Trór arrived, whom the others greeted happily, and Kór was suddenly noticed again. Trór eyed him oddly, and Kór looked back, trying to read what was behind his strange stare.

“Who is this?” the new Lord of Khazad-dûm questioned, taking a step closer to Kór, who sighed inwardly. His sister and he did bear a resemblance, at least sharing the same hair.

“I am Kór, my lord.”

[Folwren]

Kénan looked at Nali a moment and then stepped back and invited him inside. Nali stepped just within the door.

“If you think about it,” Kénan said, “I am not skulking in the comforts of my own home, as you may assume. It is only yet early morning, and most dwarves on a normal day would still be a-bed.”

“But this is not a normal day,” Nali said, a hint of anger or annoyance fringing his voice. Kénan looked keenly at him. The dwarf had obviously been up all night. Kénan knew things had been afoot – the hall had been alive with feet most of the night, but he and his grandchildren had not stirred from their door.

Finally, he nodded, and a serious expression settled lower on his brow. “Nali,” he began, speaking slowly and with calculation, “I was just dismissed from the council and had little realization that lord Trór had gone out. He sent me from him, shamed before my peers, did you expect me to wait around?” Nali seemed to bridle at this, but Kénan continued. “But, I will come. There is more at stake here than Trór’s life or his honor. I will go with you, and I will fight. Not for him, but for them.” He nodded towards Kéni and Iari.

Nali nodded and turned to go. But before he had completely exited the door, he turned back around. “It would be wisest if thou wouldst reconsider thy loyalties,” he said. “To fight against Trór would be as detrimental as not fighting at all.”

Kénan looked at him steadily a moment and then nodded once. “I will consider what you say.”

Nali turned and left. Kénan stood for a moment in silence. Kéni approached him slowly. “Grandfather,” he said. When Kénan looked at him, he continued. “I will go and fight with you.”

[Kitanna]

“Grandfather, I will go and fight with you.” Kéni's declaration shocked Iari. Obviously it was Kénan's duty to fight, but her brother was supposed to stay and watch over her.

Iari grabbed hold of Kéni's hand. "No! You can't go!" Her vision blurred, but the little girl fought hard so no tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Let go, Iari. I have to do this." Kéni pulled his hand away and stepped closer to Kénan, drawing himself up to his full height.

Iari rushed to Kénan's side. Fear of her grandfather subsided and was replaced with fear for her brother's life. Surely she could count on the old dwarf to be her ally when Kéni was acting so rash. "Grandfather, do something. He's not a warrior, he can't fight."

Kénan patted Iari's head gently, but he moved away from her. He took Kéni by the shoulders. "You understand the danger involved with this decision, do you not?" Kéni nodded. "You are so very young, Kéni. Yet, it is time for you to grow up."

Iari gasped in horror. She pulled one of Kénan's hands off her brother's shoulder. "No!" She cried.

"Iari, please," Kénan pulled his hand away from his granddaughter. "Kéni we need to have you outfitted for battle. Iari, go stay with the neighbors until we return.

Kéni's face was filled with an intense pride, as was Kénan's. Iari had a combination of fear and anger swelling behind her eyes. She stormed off to her room and slammed the door, afraid she would cry in front of Kénan and Kéni. After a few minutes of hushed tones from her family she heard the door close. They were gone, leaving her alone again.

[Folwren]

Kénan and Kéni fought side by side, inching back together step by step as the forces of the orcs continued to press forward. Kénan knew from the beginning that they could not win. The only reasonable thing to do was to retreat back within the mountain and barricade the gates, but the order was never given.

Kéni was wearing out. Kénan saw his strokes become feeble and sweat poured down his beardless face. The suddenly a large orc broke through the seething lines of dwarves and goblins. He lunged towards Kénan. The old dwarf parried the thrust of his spear, but the orc brought the shaft up hard against Kénan’s chest in a back handed stroke. Kénan stumbled back, almost thrown off his feet. Before he could regain his balance and attack the orc again, the creature had turned to Kéni. He swung with the butt end of his spear at Kéni’s head. The boy jerked back to avoid it and tried to parry with his axe. He missed, and as his wielding arm went wide with the stroke, the goblin took advantage of his opened guard and plunged the spear deep into his chest.

Kénan hurtled himself forward with a roar of fury. With one blow of his axe, he hacked the head from the spear’s shaft and then with the second swing, removed the head from the orc’s neck. He fought as thought he had gone mad, his eyes blazing and spit frothing at his mouth as with each stroke he cursed the orcs and all their descendants.

But after he had killed many and cleared a circle about Kéni, he returned to his grandson. The broken spear protruded from his chest, but he was still alive and conscious.

Kénan hung his axe on his belt and stooped and lifted Kéni in his arms, as though he weight no more in his armor than a little child. Then he bore him back to the gate.

Inside someone met him. Kéni changed hands to be carried in for help, if possible. “How goes it?” Kénan asked. “Do you know?”

“Lord Trór has been brought in wounded. He says we are not to retreat.”

Kénan looked at Kéni, gasping and struggling for breath, and he shook his head.

“No. We will not retreat.” His hand tightened around the haft of his axe. He stooped and kissed Kéni’s brow, murmured, “Goodbye, son. You fought well. I will meet you in the halls of our fathers.” Then he turned and strode back out into the cold night of blood and snow.

[Groin Redbeard]

Long have we heard the glory of the Longbeards, now listen to this testimony of their worth.

From the time of the Lord Trór’s wounding the battle stood against the Dwarves. Long did the brave leaders stand against the tides of darkness, praying for the dawn. The steadfast Lóni, his brow wet and weary, firmly held the center. In vain did all the host of the foe strive to break the resolve of the Dwarves, but the Orcs reckoned without the great wrath of Frar--prowess more skilled than an eagle in vaunting flight against sparrows. See yonder foe stayed by so few defenders. Without Lóni and Frar the heroism yet to be mentioned would not have happened.

Yet, not all great deeds were done by nobles this day. Kórin fought bravely within the Dwarven ranks. Many Dwarves fell about her, yet she did not shirk and continued bravely at the fore of her companions. Likewise, Kénan, stripped of all noble trappings, begrudged this not when duty called and gave great testimony to the strength of his generation.

Doubtful the battle stood; as two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke each other with all their art. All seemed lost till the Lord Trór emerged from the Mountain seemingly unscathed by battle or fatigue. A banner was in his hand, for he had lost his spear in battle, and his axe was held aloft. The Orcs wondered to see his hardy figure displayed so swiftly after seeing him fall and swiftly born away. The Dwarves cheered and pressed ever forward into the stunned Orcs.

The merciless Orcs--worthy to be such creatures, for, to that, the multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon them--from the Northern realm of Gundabad of Hobgoblins and Wolves is supplied; and fortune, on their quarrel smiling, showed in their favor: yet all were too weak; for brave Oin, --well he deserves that name. Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valor's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the leader of the Orc rabble. Accompanied by Ori was the brave Oin and together sifted through the body guards as a sickle does to wheat ripe for the harvesting. Face to face stood Oin against the Orc leader, Gorfang was his name, which never shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, till Oin unseamed him from the crest the the nave and fixed his head upon the battlements!

At this the Orcs, though greatly superior in numbers, succumbed fatigue of their long march and stout fight against the Dwarves-- they eagerly fled the field. Loath was Trór to restrain his warriors from routing his foe, yet he saw for himself the thinned force which he now commanded. Then was the diminished Dwarf host drawn within the curtains of Narvi’s Gates --never again to usher forth from their halls. The Goblins set siege to the mountain and with crude picks and hammers started biting into the mountain.
Thus ended the Second Battle Azulbizar.

May it please you gentle listener to hear of the second day of our story and the great undoing of Khazad-dum.

[Groin Redbeard]

“Ori,” Trór reached out and grabbed Ori’s arm. “Would you mind coming with me? I have to show you something.”

Trór led him across the bridge and towards the chamber of Marzabul. The guards where still standing at the entrance and both snapped to attention as the two nobles approached. They both knelt once within the entrance in respects to Balin, whose regal body lay on the tomb that Vigdis had built. The tomb was indeed a marvelous accomplishment. Trór wondered how the mason could finish it within one night.

The chamber’s shelves, in which at one time held so many records, were empty except for a few books which had been brought from Erebor. One book in particular looked worn on the inside and some of the pages were sticking out. Trór took the book and opened it. There were many different handwritings: Balin, Trór, Ori, Kénan, Lóni, Oin. Maps, ledgers, and journal entries, all with different opinions. Trór handed the book to Ori.

“I do not have the moral courage to enter an account of these terrible two days. You have a way with words that I do not, write our story.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór's words were a command, not a plea.

Ori bowed low. "Yes, my lord," he said quietly.

He held the record in his hands, the book where he had written so often so light-heartedly about some small news, about finding a new vein of silver, or discovering a room, or defeating a band of orcs in the corridors. Now much heavier news lay on his quill, and he would have to write them down as well as he could.

He did not ask why he had been chosen to write this. It didn't seem to him he had any external merit to point at himself, but who would have? Who would be any more fit to write the saddest tidings this far?

Ori could feel tears forming in his eyes but also words were shaping in his mind. "I shall take the book to my keeping for now and record the story of our recent woes."