“Orcs, Ori!” Oin shouted, bursting into the Chamber of Records. His face was white and he panted. “They are gathering around the gates like flies to fruit,” he added. “I’ve barred the gates.”
Ori nodded, and shot a glance at Flori. The orcs had done well killing Balin. The fire that usually burned in the heart of the dwarves was low, nothing but embers in the wake of Balin’s death. That did not bode well with Ori. Dispirited dwarves could be easily vanquished. “We can still hold Moria,” Ori said. “But we must fight bravely, not letting our grief weaken our arm. Station yourselves at the Bridge,” he ordered, picking up his journal and picking through the leaves. “Linsie and Mali, you do not have to go if you do not wish to,” he added.
Finding the empty page he wrote:
We have barred the gates from the scurrilous orcs. I fear that at the death of Balin, they have rallied themselves together to attack us. We can hold them long if they do not attack us in an orderly fashion. But even if they burst through the gates, they cannot hope to cross the bridge without a great loss of their own. If they do break through the gate, I expect we will die a horrible death and maybe even suffer for a time in their cruel hands. However, we can always escape towards Hollin if we cannot defeat them at the Gates.
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