Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Nilpaurion Felagund]

Flói had been quiet from the time they left Erebor. His head had been swimming in thoughts - recollection of a past Age, and ideas for the future; all based on one thing - the great realm of Khazad-dûm. His mind is now focused on an ancient - and relatively unknown - relic called Durin's Axe. Reputedly made by Durin the Deathless himself, its blade was of pure mithril, with a handle crafted of ivory. It said in his ancestor's journals that...

He had been unaware of his surroundings for some time now, until the last vestige of his peripheral senses reported that something was amiss in the group. Apparently a scuffle had broken out between Narin and Lîn.

"What happened?" he asked someone.

"Words. The wrong words." the Dwarf answered.

Don't they all start that way? he didn't ask. "What started it?"

Someone behind him - the singing one - answered that.

"We were debating whether to go through Mirkwood or not. Someone - Malí, I think her name was, said that we'd be wandering through Mirkwood for three years. That young one," - he pointed to Lîn - "disagreed, and -"

"So, how come they aren't the ones who're fighting?"

"That I don't know," Nali reponded.