[piosenniel]

Carlas' post

The sun rose slowly, bathing the Misty Mountains in a soft light. The air was crisp and cool, and the sky was clear, no clouds for miles, and the Misty Mountains stood tall and proud in the morning light, but none of this could be seen from within the deeps of Moria.

Inside the old mine it was dark and damp. Moria, once filled with dwarves and beauty, were now cold and wet with cobwebs all across the walls and ceiling. The tunnels, where precious stones and jewels were once mined, were now empty and lifeless. The halls, where dwarves had once danced and sang, were silent. None now dwelled in the deep mines and shafts of Moria, none except the orcs who had taken it years ago for their own.

The orcs of Moria now prowled in the deep halls, watching and waiting for any that would dare to enter in their domain. They had come to Moria years before, and would not let anyone take it back from them, so they always had eyes watching even in the darkest of tunnels.

“Why we have to sit ‘ere all day? It’s not like anyone’s going to come down ‘ere anyways. No fool would dare enter Moria now!” Nazklâsh turned his grotesque face to the other orcs crouching beside him. He had always hated having to sit and watch for intruders, when there never was any intruders, thinking it was pointless and a waste of his time. He yearned for a fight, for a battle, to feel his weapon in his hand as he cut deep into another’s chest. He hated staying in the mines and waiting for beings that never came, he wanted to go attack the villages and cities around the mountains.

“Ah, something’ll come Nazklâsh, one of these days, then we’ll fight, and have our way with ‘em.” The orc sitting beside him said as he pulled himself up into a deep crouch. He was larger than Nazklâsh, but that never bothered him, he knew he could out-maneuver those lugs any day. The orc smiled, with the thought of a battle, his dark, slimy teeth reflecting the only bit of light coming from a window high up in the large room. “The chief said we take no prisoners, if anything comes in here, they’re ours.”

“If.” Nazklâsh muttered through his clenched teeth. “If anything comes in ‘ere.”