Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Himaran]

Ignoring his aching thumb, Dalin rushed to his quarters and changed into fresh linens. There was a celebration on hand at the Twenty First Hall, and he was missing it! The flustered dwarf only hoped that some of his favorite malt beer would be remaining upon his arrival. Essentially tripping over his own short legs, Dalin stumbled out of his room and hurried down rough hewn passage. As he neared the supposed festivities, however, a thought struck him. There was no shouting; in fact, he couldn't hear anything at all. Parties, and especially this feast, were generally boisterous, cacaphonous and the like. But on this occasion an eerie silence hung throughout the darkened corridors, as if all the mines had been hushed into quiet submission.

Dalin couldn't help but feel a little uneasy; it was becoming clear that something wasn't right. A creeping sensation tickled the hairs at the base of his neck, growing stronger by the second. Heart racing, he neared the large double doors with a mixture of blind dread and inquisitive curiousity. What could have happened? Had there been an attack? Were orcs invading the mines? Dalin paused as he reached for the handle; one way or another, he was going through that door. The dwarf took a heaving gasp of air, gathered his nerves, and pushed inward against the heavy stone frame. Responding to his reluctant touch, it creaked open, revealing the tragic scene beyond.

As he broke down in heavy sobs, Dalin couldn't help but fancy that he'd have given away both thumbs if only to avoid this horror.

[Arry]

Tív and Tíva shrank back from Trór, seeking the shelter of their mother’s skirt. A flimsy barrier at best against the piercing glance that had been aimed their way. Yet, they took comfort in the fragile protection it afforded them from his attention and his words.

'A generation that our leader gave his life to protect' they had heard Trór say '. . . a generation whose children will dwell in these halls after our bones have turned to dust . . .'

‘Why did he die for us? We did not want him to do that,’ they whispered into the soft dark folds of material. ‘It wasn’t our fault, was it Mami?’

Their Great Lord was dead. They understood that . . . impossible not to. There lay his body, still as stone, resting upon the shoulders of the bearers. His face seemed carved cold as it passed by; his sightless gaze cast up through the great mountains which arched up above it.

‘But it wasn’t our fault,’ Tív whimpered.

Vitr ushered his little family away from the procession. His own emotions were raw from this awful news of Balin’s death. Anger twined with deep grief at the manner and fact of his Lord’s death. He pushed these feelings aside for now, wanting to first deal with the more pressing need of his children for reassurance, for explanation.

He shepherded Lys and the twins to a quiet corner of the hall. The children huddled near their mother still, one hand each still grasping onto her skirt. Tív and Tíva’s eyes were wide as Vitr knelt down on one knee so that they were on a face to face level.

‘No need to be frightened,’ he told them softly, inviting each into the comforting embrace of his arms. ‘It wasn’t your fault. Not at all. It was one of our foe, a foul Orc and his fouler arrow which slew Lord Balin.’ The pinched, pale faces of the twins relaxed a little. Still their dark, deep-pooled eyes stayed fixed on their father’s face.

‘Orcs! Here?’ Tív asked, hastily wiping at his eyes and nose with the sleeve of his tunic. ‘Will they get us, too, Papi?’ Tíva’s tear glistened eyes flashed fearfully as she waited for her father’s response.

‘Not in here, not in the halls,’ Vitr assured his son. He drew his daughter in, hugging her close against him. ‘There were only a few, or so I understood from what Trór said. Outside the mountain. And they were swiftly taken care of. They cannot harm us any longer.’ Vitr looked up at Lys, his eyes clouded with concern. Where there were one or a few Orcs, they both knew, there would surely be many more as yet unseen.

He stood up, taking one each of their little hands in his larger ones. ‘Come,’ he urged them. ‘Let’s go back to our home. I’ll see you to the hallway and you can walk with Mami then to there. I should go back to the hall . . . see if there is anything I’m needed to do.’

The children walked between their parents until they came to the hallway leading to their home. Vitr kissed them each on the cheek as he left them to their mother’s care. And kissed Lys, too; a quick brush against her cheek and a few words murmured in her ear.

‘You make sure Mami gets home safely,’ he charged the twins. ‘I’ll be back very soon . . . before you go to sleep. I just need to take a little time to pay my last respects to Lord Balin.’ Vitr ruffled their hair affectionately.

‘And remember . . . don’t you worry about anything.’ He smiled and nodded as he spoke. ‘Papi will take care of it . . .’

Vitr watched a little while as the trio walked away from him. With a heavy heart he turned away and made his own way toward the chamber where Lord Balin was now laid. Grief trumped the previous anger that had vied with it. Tears threatened at the corners of his sad, downcast eyes as he trudged along. And as he drew near the empty shell of his Lord, those tears escaped, sliding down his cheeks unbidden, wetting his beard.

‘What will we do now . . . without your direction and your steady hand?’ Vitr murmured as he gazed on Balin’s face. ‘How will we keep our homes and hall secure? And my family, my Lord . . . how will I keep them safe?’

He shook his head sadly, knowing there would be no words of reassurance to allay his own fears. Vitr reached out his right hand and touched the sleeve of his dead Lord’s tunic. ‘Always your man, my Lord . . .’ he whispered, and then passed on quietly as another stepped up to take his place.

[Kitanna]

"Our lord, and mighty ruler, Balin has fallen!"

Kéni was among those who issued forth a roar of disbelief and horror. Balin dead? It hardly seemed possibly. He had been strong and full of life, a just and mighty dwarf. Kéni wanted to call Trór a liar and a power hunger miscreant. But that wasn't true or fair. Trór would not do anything to harm the colony or Balin.

“Of my friend I can say only this: of all the kings I have served, of all the dwarves I have known, he was the most...worthy!”

Kéni felt Iari clutch his hand. She squeezed it as hard as she could. Kéni looked down and saw his sister staring ahead, fear reflecting in her eyes. Balin's body was being led in, Kéni was not sure this was something little Iari needed to see. "Iari, do you want to go home and wait for Grandpa?" Iari shook her head slowly and allowed Kéni to lead her into the line with the other mourners.

Dead. Iari remembered that word very clearly from her early years. That was what they had said her father was. Now Balin was dead too. If those as strong and brave as her father and Balin could die who was to say one so weak and young as herself could survive?

Kéni held her hand all through the line. Upon seeing Balin at the foot of his throne Iari started to cry. That was how death looked? Though Balin wasn't twisted in agony and his eyes were closed as though sleep had taken him, there was something terrifying in his cold look. Kéni stroked Iari's hair and gently led her away so other mourners could pay their respects and so the little girl would not have to be exposed any further to the dead body of their fallen lord.

Kéni knew it was time to seek out Kénan. He was dying to know what had happened and if their grandfather knew anything. He also wanted to Iari home and as far away from Balin as possible.

[Folwren]

Kénan hung back away from the body, although he could have been among the first to pass it, as he had been just beside it. As yet, he had not looked upon the face of the dead lord. Finally, he stepped forward by the marble upon which he lay. He paused briefly and looked upon him. A deep sense of doom settled finally upon his breast. It had been hovering there, barely touching, ever since he had first seen lord Balin.

What did it mean? What doom was there beyond the death of Balin? Something awful - something far worse. This was only a beginning. Whether it was some gift of foresight given just briefly to this dwarf, or perhaps it was just the mood into which he had been cast, or perhaps it was his aging years and he felt his own death he felt - whatever it was, he felt that it was certain and more deaths than this one would be taken in the time to follow.

He bowed his head and stepped away from the stone.

He nearly ran into Vitr, a dwarf he knew very little. “Excuse me,” he said, and just about stepped past him. But something caused him to turn. “You have two little ones, have you not? Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.”

[Arry]

Vitr was lost in thought, his gaze cast down at the smooth stones set in the chamber’s floor. His accustomed calm and thoughtful nature had taken the upper hand now, pushing away for the while the initial shock of Lord Balin’s death.

He thought now of his duty . . . his duties, rather. First to his family, both the responsibility for the welfare of his wife and children and for his father and his father’s father’s family extending back through their strand of the Longbeard clan. The clan itself – that it should remain viable and strong. And finally this small community which had given him and his family a place to grow and prosper. He wondered who would step up now to be their leader, an unenviable role to fill he felt.

Mahal grant him the strength and wisdom to see us through he murmured And us the same to follow where he leads.

‘Excuse me . . .’ The voice of one of the elder men pulled Vitr from his ruminations. ‘You have two little ones, have you not?’ Kénan asked. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen my two grandchildren - my granddaughter may have played with your little girl tonight, and I have not seen either of them.’

‘Master Kénan!’ Vitr reached out to clasp the man’s arm. He was glad to make contact with something more substantial than his own thoughts.

‘We came late to the celebration. It was my son and daughter’s birthday and we had a little party of our own at home. Sorry to tell you, but I don’t think Tíva saw your granddaughter - Iari, yes? - this evening. We had not been here all that long before . . .’ He glanced toward the throne, at the marble stone at its foot which served as Lord Balin’s bier. ‘. . . before the awful news was brought to us and Lord Balin borne in.’

Vitr fell silent for a moment.

'And sorry, too - that Tív and Tíva are not here for you to ask. I sent them home with their mother.' He gestured about the chamber. 'This was too much for them. They're too young to take this in all at once, and they were frightened.'

[Durelin]

Silence fell over the hall in waves as Trór and some others who had accompanied Lord Balin entered the hall. Their lord was not with them...there were so few of them, and their faces were so grim. Kórin swallowed Lys’ ale, and did not remember how it tasted. Kór’s harp was one of the last sounds to die in the Twenty-first Hall. He stood up from the stool he had been seated on, and gazed around.

Before he saw anything that could cause an entire celebration to cease, Kór heard those terrible words: “Balin has fallen.” The painful silence dragged on for several more moments, as everyone stood stunned and silently mourning, still determining how they should react, how they should vocalize their sadness, or what should be done. As sound slowly started to return to the hall, as weeping and angry questioning and words of despair filled the hall, Kór hurried to find his sister.

He found Kórin in a rather sorry state. She had returned to filling mugs, but now they were mostly for herself. She had started tipping back mug after mug at a startling rate almost immediately after the news arrived. Kór could only thank Mahal that his sister held her ale much better than he did…and that Kórin actually started to grow quieter beyond a certain limit.

She glanced at her brother, but did not acknowledge him as he approached.

“This isn’t going to make you feel any better Kórin,” Kór said sadly, then added in more of a murmur, “It’s not going to make anyone feel better.”

“Oh shutup and have a drink,” Kórin muttered. “Maybe it will make you less of a prude.”

Cradling his harp in his arms, Kór plopped down on the bench next to his sister. The body of their lord was carried through the hall, and nearly every dwarf in Khazad-dûm at that time crowded around and formed a great procession. The siblings sat quietly, watching.

“Balin dead, just like that, eh?” Kórin suddenly broke the silence between them. “I bet the orcs have finally come back for us,” she added surprisingly lucidly. Kór could not think of a way to reply. He leaned forward and grabbed a mug.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali

Never before had Nali felt as helpless as he did when he laid the dead Balin upon his throne. There was no shame for those that wept for this man and Nali wept bitterly so that the tears stained his face, he wept like a mother over the prostrate body of a dead son. Only the comforting words of Loni could draw him away, although Loni himself felt remorse it had not drained all the strength from him.

“Come, my brother,” Loni said. “We must stay strong for the people’s sake.” His brother left Nali leaning against a pillar in the great hall before Loni left him to pay his own respects to Balin.

Nali felt tired, his sobs that racked his body had robbed him of strength. There was a dull nagging pain in his stomach and he left in search of food, he did not have to go far, delicious delicacies lay across the massive tables. He examined a piece of cold half eaten mutton before he cut off a piece and eagerly gnawed at it. It would have been a happy moment if Balin had been alive. He smiled for a moment as he envisioned the happy scene that would have been, but tears came into his eyes as the reality struck him that it was not to be. Nali slammed the piece of mutton on the table angrily, he felt new vigor enter him.

“This cannot be tolerated,” he muttered to himself. “Vengeance must be had for our king!”

Out of he corner of his eye Nali noticed that he was not alone. He glanced at across the table at a dwarf he had never seen before. The dwarf wore a dark brown beard, which had been tucked into his belt, and wore a ridiculous leather cap to protect him from the elements of the early winter weather.

“Who are you?” Nali asked, but not crossly or unfriendly.

“My name is Grór,” the dwarf began. “Ori sent me to find someone name Trór. Do you know where I can find him?”

“Grór, art thou from Erebor?”

“Yes, I was sent by King Dain to obtain news from this colony. Alas, I am afraid that the news is not a pleasant one.”

“Ori has told you then of our lords death?” Grór nodded his head. “Then come, my good Grór. The event of this evening has grieved me, but it has also reenergized me. Revenge will be had for our lord and such a matter must be brought forth to our new leader Trór, therefore follow me and I will show you where he is to be found.”


Nisa

Nisa had been one of the loudest of mourners for the dead king, her wails of lamentation echoed through the great cavern along with the other women. She proceeded in the long line leading up to Balin’s body, she kissed the stone on which the king laid on and offered a few words of silent praise of him. Trór stood proud stern next Balin.

“Trór,” she screamed, and threw her arms around him. “How is this to be endured, how are we to live without our leader?”

“Hush girl,” said Trór, gently removing her grasp. “We will survive this tragedy as we always have, if this colony falls because of the death of one leader, may eternal shame rest on our head! Go now, I will come soon.”

Nisa left him, but she still could not stop crying. She saw Adela standing a little ways in front of her standing alone, Nisa didn’t want to bother her but she felt as if she needed to be with someone in this hour of grief.

“Adela,” she called. “Adela, are you alright? You look pale.”


Trór

The long line of mourners proceeded without much event, only twice did he have need of fending off a couple dwarves who were clinging to the body of Balin. Presently, he asked for one of the guards to relieve him, and left in search of Nisa. As Trór exited the Chamber of Marzubul he saw Nali approaching with a stranger.

“Nali, by Durin’s beard, you look awful! Rest my friend do not wear yourself out.”

“I will rest when I choose, my friend. First I must introduce you to this dwarf with me: his name is Grór, a messenger from Erebor sent by King Dain.”

Trór was surprised, it had been a long while since the colony had heard news of King Dain. Grór bowed graciously to Trór, who returned the gesture with an even deeper bow.

“I only wish that I had pleasant news to give you.” Trór said. Grór fidgeted with his cap as Trór spoke, he was swallowing nervously and breathed in quick short gasps of breath. This made Trór comfortable, he often had an intimidating presence about himself, it made him feel confident that he wasn’t the only one who was nervous.

“My lord Trór,” Grór began, making another bow. “Ori has told me of the tragic news, I am sorry for your loss, Balin was a great dwarf, his death will be met with much sorrow in Erebor.”

My lord? Trór was startled by the words. Why did he say that? he wondered to himself, but decided to let it slide. Trór was about to answer when Grór interrupted him and started talking very excitedly.

“My lord,” Grór began again, it had begun to get on Trór’s nerves. “I have more bad news for you, a huge Orc army is approaching Khazad-dum as we speak!” Trór quickly grabbed the dwarf’s arm and firmly led him away from the crowd, such news was not to be made known public yet.

“An army?” Trór asked when they were alone.

“Yes, they should reach here by nightfall.”

“Then no doubt that the Orcs that killed Balin were an advance party, I suspected as much. But where is Oin? He would not leave us blind like this.” Trór spoke out-loud but it was more to himself, Grór perked up at the name Oin.

“Go,” Trór commanded the messenger. “Bring me Ori, and Oin if he has returned, I must find the other nobles. If what you say is true, you will have earned my undying gratitude and thanks, but this must be brought before a council. Summon what nobles you have met, as of yet, and tell them to head for the east gate, I will follow with the others.”

Grór nodded his head eagerly and sprang off as fast as he could towards the east gate, nearly tripping over himself several times. Nali and Trór watched with amusement at this, and chuckled to themselves, they had quite forgotten about Balin and the mourners for the time being.

“Clumsy little guy, isn’t he?” Nali commented.

“Hmm, but quite. Come Nali, let us find Frar and your brother, search for Kenan too, I would have his say on this crisis.”

[Groin Redbeard]

Trór had left in search of Frar while Nali stayed to meet Loni when he exited the chamber. There was not long to wait however, Loni's face showed evidence of crying but his face was as calm as ever when Nali approached him and quickly relayed to him the words of Grór.

“Do you believe this,” Loni asked him in disbelief.

“I do, brother. I look forward to the chance to avenge our king, but, nevertheless, I am greatly disheartened that a battle should happen soon after Balin’s death. We will need all the help that can be mustered.” Loni gave him a questionable look when he saw that spark in Nali’s eye that so often appeared when he had an idea.

“What do you mean?”

“The wailing and grieving of the women will greatly dishearten the men before the battle. Wouldn’t it be best if we have someone of prominence, someone who they respect, speak to them to stall their laments for the present?”

“Shouldn't Trór’s words will be enough to quail them down?"

“Yes, but it would be more affective if perhaps a women could break the news to them. She should then come with us to the council.” Nali furrowed his brow and bit his lower lip in thought.

“Aye, this idea is not half bad. Go then and summon who thy think is best.” Loni responded.

“Kórin, she is stout and will be able to bear this news best. You go to the gate brother, I'll fetch Kenan and the Korin” And with that Loni and Nali separated.

The next person for Nail to find is Kenan. The old dwarf may not have been a true warrior or noble like the rest of them, but he was rich and did hold a large part of Trór’s respect. Therefore, Nali searched for him until he found the aged dwarf talking to Vitr. He waited until there was a pause in the conversation and then intervened by placing his hand on Kenan’s shoulder and whispered in his ear.

“Excuse me, but Trór requests your presence in council.”

[Folwren]

“It’s their birthday, is it?” Kénan said. “Hm, well, awful thing to have happened on their birthdays. Aye, aye...Iari’s her name. I’m sorry you didn’t spot her, thanks anyway.” The two dwarves stood in momentary, awkward silence. Kénan’s thought wandered unbidden to the events of Balin’s death.

“It was foolishness. . .you know,” he said gruffly. Vitr looked at him, surprised at his abruptness. “Balin need not have died. It was vanity and foolishness.” Kénan could kick himself. He wanted to kick somebody. Presumably whoever had let Balin to go alone, as he had picked up that he had. Anger prevented him from speaking for a moment and he looked towards lord Balin’s body.

During that pause, Nali approached him and leaning in towards his ear, whispered quietly, “Excuse me, but Trór requests your presence in council.”

“Does he indeed?” Kénan asked, shooting a sharp glance at Nali. “Well, well. You’ll excuse me,” he said, turning to Vitr. The dwarf nodded and Kénan turned to go. As he turned, however, he spotted his two grandchildren, and Kéni was straining his neck to see over the crowds. Their eyes met and Kéni lifted his hand and waved urgently.

“Nali,” Kénan said, catching his sleeve. “Tell Trór I shall be there directly.” And before Nali could answer, Kénan was off, weaving his way through the crowded hall to Kéni and Iari. “What are you two doing here? Kéni, you should have taken her home by now. What’s the meaning of this? Iari, what are you crying about?”

“It’s lord Balin, sir,” Kéni answered defensively. He didn’t fear Kénan’s bad humor. “You wouldn’t expect her not to cry for him?”

“No, no of course not,” Kénan said, rather apologetically. “There, there, child,” he patted Iari gently on the shoulder. “What is it, Kéni? You wanted to say something to me, didn’t you? That’s why you waved?”

[Kitanna]

Iari shrank away from her grandfather. He looked angry or annoyed. Though his tone toward Kéni suggested the source of his angry was not his grandchildren Iari was frightened. After seeing Balin's body just laid out as it was, she wanted nothing more than to go home and crawl back into her bed. It had to be safer there.

“What is it, Kéni? You wanted to say something to me, didn’t you? That’s why you waved?”

"What happened to Lord Balin? I thought there wasn't any immediate danger in the mines." Iari held tight to Kéni's hand.

"There's always danger to be found around here, Kéni." Kénan explained the situation to his grandson while Iari listened closely. When it seemed Kénan was finished relaying his tale she tugged gently on Kéni's sleeve.

"I think I had better get Iari home," he said. "When will you return, Grandfather?"

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali began to question his own judgement of this women. Perhaps it would be better to just have Tror give the news, but something in his gut told him to keep with his original idea. Korin might be rough around the edges, but that is caliber of dwarves that they needed that moment more than ever: tough.

“Well, for one thing, they didn’t ask me.” Nali hear Kor respond to his sister’s question.

“Well they should have.”

“But we have not,” Nali stated as a matter of fact. “We need thee my lady Korin, not your brother, we will have need of him before the sun sets. Indeed, our lord will have need of everyone before too long.

“Now, will thou come with me my lady, or shall I inform the council that thy have need of an ale mug for comfort? I beg pardon for my frankness, but the truth is the matter is very urgent.” Nali stood sideways from the two siblings, ready to move in an instant with Korin or without her.

She hesitated for a moment. Nali offered a genuine smile, stiffened his back and offered his hand to help her up from her stool.

[Ilya]

Run away.

Adela stayed in the hall just long enough for one of the Ladies to notice her standing stiff and still, cold as stone with the taste of honey spoiling in her mouth. Then with a mumbled excuse, she'd withdrawn to the kitchens. Ran away, ran away, she kept berating herself over and over again as she'd begun to clean up, although she hadn't said a word since Lord Balin had been brought into the hall. Scrubbing plates with the soap-soused hands, she wiped her forehead and felt the water drip down as the women began to take up the mourning wail. Adela swallowed, and drawn by the smell she looked over towards the food set aside for the Lord's party. It would be getting cold now. She looked away.

The stone under her feet seemed maddeningly still, the kitchens not nearly far away enough from the somber grief of the hall. It was all she could do to keep at her work when Adela wanted to bolt, to where she knew not. But better beards would decide their course, and the only thing to do was to trust in Balin's captains. They owed him that much. Though, as she cleaned and hummed low to herself, something cold and dark weighed down in her gut, whispering more laments were still to come.

[Groin Redbeard]

As Tror turned his gaze from the two Nali breathed a sigh of relief. He had stiffened at Tror's glare, fearing an outburst either from Tror or Korin. Slowly, Nali began to relax and let out a sigh of relief, it was the hardest thing to try and keep peace when the threat of war loomed around them in the uncertain darkness. May the great god keep them united in thier hour of need!

Tror began speaking to Ori, who surprisingly had stayed behind at the gate. Nali cast a worried look sidelong at Korin, her eyes were fixed on Tror and they appeared to match even the venerable warrior's vicious glare. Slowly and cautiously Nali touched Korin's shoulder, her head snapped in his direction.

"Remember thy place here," Nal said cautiously but not in a threatening tone. "Thou art but a guest here, and I beseech you not to speak too hastily." It did not look like his words had much effect, but Nali hoped that she would heed them until at least the council was in session.

Poor thing, can you really blame her for being upset? Not only was Korin completely ignorant of the dire predicament that their colony was in, but her help was also so rudely sought for in an hour of great tragedy. He hoped that this misunderstanding would soon pass when the all was made clear. Loni was as his usual: cool headed and silent; Nali envied him at the moment, already the council was on the verge of feuding, as so many great leaders succumbed to when they were suddenly deprived of a great leader. Where was Kenan? If that dwarf would not arrive soon there would be the devil to pay for the both of them!

However, Nali did not have to wait long, and the familiar footfalls of Kenan were heard in the passage. The gruff old dwarf came in as if they were all a group of buddies gathered in the midst of merriment around a ale cask. He spoke very bluntly about ending the matter quickly, not even a word of greetings. Tror spun round when he heard Kenan's voice and grimly shook his head in agreement, though it looked like he intended to say something else, before he turned back to hear Ori's response.

[Thinlómien]

"Where is Óin? Has he not come back yet?"

Ori had been so deep in thought that he had not heard the others coming. He turned quickly to Trór.

"Óin has not come yet," he replied. Following a sudden impulse, he knelt down and bowed his head low. "My lord," he added.

There was murmuring and someone exhaled loudly. Ori rose up and eyed the Dwarves gathered at the gates. "For that is what he is now," he said steadily, "there is no doubt Trór is now our lord and we will follow him."

No one said anything. Ori realised they were waiting for him to continue. He resisted the urge to give the wry smile so characteristic to himself. "Of course, we will have no official ceremony to name him the Lord of Moria until we have let Balin to his rest and mourned him properly. For no one should think we do not honour him, or that we did not love him."

His voice broke a little by the last words but he held his expression calm. There was still a silence. Ori could feel a tear running down his cheek. He wiped it to his sleeve. The time for mourning a dear friend would come later, he promised himself.

He turned to Tror and gave him the wry smile. "I hope I did not overstep my boundaries, my lord," he said in a low voice.