Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Óin was listening to the new Lord of Moria with growing discomposure. Even in his old face, he could not hide the surprise at the words he heard - and the fear. When Trór ended, the old scout was frowning so hard that his snow-white eyebrows stood almost vertically above the blue eyes, gleaming like the waters of a still mountain lake.

At last he shook his head.

"My lord, my lord, this is not nice for my ears at all what you say. But of course, you are right in implying what you think. Look at me, I have known for a few hours already what is likely going to happen - and yet I did not have the courage to admit it to myself, or to say it aloud. See, I do not have it even now." He chuckled, but his face remained grave. "I see. The beasts outside are upon us, and it is only the question of time before they breach the gates of Khazad-dûm. We have women, children, and civilians with us. Balin would know that I will be the last one to abandon my place in defending his home, but he would also do his best to protect those who are with him. And if it means retreating - so be it. The Hollin Gate is still open, you said. Very well. If you want to hear my opinion, Lord Trór," he paused for a while, as if still pondering for himself before actually saying it aloud, "I believe we should take our chances. Moria is deep, but the Orcs do not know it. I do. I can reach the Hollin Gate in two days' march, or even less, if need be. Of course, with any company, the journey might prove to be somewhat slower, but still... I say it is worth an attempt. Even if..." He sighed. "Even if the Orcs enter Moria, they will not be able to pursue anybody soon. And they will not dare to go further from the mountains, I know them, dirty monsters. They will be content with Khazad-dûm and what is left of it."

"And there is this other thing you spoke of..." Once again, the old Dwarf fell silent. Then he suddenly burst into rage. "By Durin's beard! How is that even possible? Is all the evil turning upon us? By Durin's beard, this is not a coincidence. Dreams can be tricky, lord Trór, but I know, I feel, something's wrong, and this time..."

Suddenly, he stopped and turned his head. He shook it, so his long white hair wagged, but he was not imagining things: loud voices were coming, and approaching fast.

"They said he is by the Bridge..."
"I need to speak to him, because if this is true..."
"What is it? What did the woman say?"

Óin recognised the voices: one belonged to Ori, another to Frár. Soon, he and Trór saw the dark shapes approaching.

[Folwren]

Kénan approached quietly. He knew Kéni was mostly likely dead, but what smote at his heart the hardest was the small figure of Iari, crumbled in a little heap beside him. As he drew near, he saw that she was asleep. Good. Perhaps she had missed her brother’s passing. But she had one of his hands clasped in hers.

Still several paces away from them, Kénan took off his helmet and took the axe from his belt. He laid them down on the stone floor before coming over to the two children. Iari did not stir immediately. Kénan glanced at Kéni’s face, and surprisingly, he did not look dead after all.

“Grandfather?” Iari murmured. Kénan looked down at her. She stirred and then sat up. Her hand never relinquished that of her brother.

Kénan knelt beside her and together they looked into Kéni’s face. Kénan wanted to say something, but he did not know what to say, or even how to say it. Should he tell her that her brother was about to die? Should he just wait and not even talk about it? What would she do when Kéni’s spirit did pass away? Reluctantly, he admitted to himself that he had never been very near to his granddaughter. Now he regretted it. He regretted it extremely.

“Iari. . .” he began, but then stopped, for the hand that rested in Iari’s moved slightly, tightening a little on her small fingers, and then relaxing again. Kénan shut his mouth and waited.

[Kitanna]

Kéni's hand had moved. Iari turned away from her grandfather and clasped her brother's hand to her chest. "Kéni?" Both her hands held fast to his.

"Does he wake?" Kénan knelt beside his grandchildren. He had never put much stock in miracles, but now he looked for one. If the boy should die Iari's small heart would break into a million small pieces, but should he live... "Kéni, open your eyes, son."

The young dwarf stirred. Somewhere in his dreams he was trying to come awake. Kéni moaned and mumbled something incoherent. Perhaps he would come awake yet, at least to say his good-byes. Iari was holding tight to his hand the whole time.

"Open your eyes," Kénan commanded again.

But Kéni would not obey. With a final groan his hand went limp in Iari's. Kéni's chest stopped its labored rise and fall. A few moments passed in which Kénan let acceptance watch over him, while Iari came to realize what was happening. Tears, small and silent streamed down her face. She continued to grasp Kéni's hand, shaking her head all the while.

Kénan wrapped an arm around her shoulder. The grandfather had no notion of time, but eventually Iari let Kéni hand slip from her own. When she did she put her small arms around Kénan's waist and hid her face from the world.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

At first, Onli felt rather content. Even though Vriti was struggling, claw and tooth, he managed to wash her and get rid of the foul stench. He was still wondering what did the poor animal do to come to smell so badly, also the hair on her back, which looked like burned, looked curious indeed. Probably she had been once again sneaking somewhere where she ought not have. Anyway, after the washing procedure completed, Vriti spat at Onli and angrily crawled under his bed to sleep, which meant that everything was all right again.

But then, Onli somehow managed to fall asleep. He only lay himself on the bed, but in the next moment he opened his eyes and realised that the candles on his table have burned out. How long he slumbered, he could not tell. Hastily, he lifted himself and rushed out of his chamber.

How could he have fallen asleep? That was such a stupid thing to do. Now, he only hoped that he did not sleep for too long, and that Náli has not been requesting his assistance meanwhile. Indeed, now that was not the best way to make a good impression, he thought as he was running down the stairs. But where was everybody? The halls were empty. Onli headed towards the Twenty-First hall, then, in hope to meet somebody.

And then he started to meet them. Groups of people, soldiers, returning from the battle. Returning. Onli shuddered. This was too bad. He had missed the battle. From what he gathered, the Goblins have effectively sealed them inside. Another great news. Has everything turned against him today? The last thing he wanted to find out now was that Náli had been in need of his right-hand man and he was nowhere to be found.

And then he came to the First hall, and saw him. There was also his brother, Lóni, and Nîsa. Suddenly, he felt sick. But slowly, he walked closer to make sure what he was looking at. There was no doubt: Náli's right arm was gone.

[Groin Redbeard]

Though Trór wished for Óin to continue, the discussion would have to wait. Óin’s counsel was unsettling. Although Trór first entertained the thought of heading farther into the city, the thought of fleeing bore sharp repercussions. Balin had not fully restored Khazad-dum to its former glory, though within a generation it might have been done. There will be no more songs praising the glories of Khazad-dum—the bard has sung his last note. Khazad-dum is already lost, but the fight goes on.

Frar and Ori bowed as they approached Trór.

“Stand, mighty nobles and tell me what news you bring. But first, Ori, who is this with you?”

Ori realised he didn't remember the woman's name, although he had surely heard it more than once. He coughed a bit uncertainly and then looked meaningfully at the woman, giving her a permission to introduce herself.

Vigdis turned to the lord and bowed a little. "My lord, I'm Vigdis daughter of Flósi, the mason your vassal Náli has entrusted with carving the tomb of Lord Balin. I may report to your briefly that the task is done, and invite you to survey my work."

Trór seemed to be sontent with this piece of information, but didn't say anything before Vigdis continued.

"However, my lord, this is not why I tried to find you and why Master Ori wanted to bring me to you. I have ill tidings to bring. An old miner and his grandson were in the third tunnel by the chasm, in the lower mines, today, and reputedly they came face to face with Durin's Bane."

“By Mahal’s beard!” Trór’s exclamation escaped his lips in a whisper.

Of all the terrors that could unleash itself against the fledgling colony, they would not stand a chance. Trór struggled to come up with options in his mind. Did this woman even see the fearsome demon? Trór paused for a moment, his mind cleared of thoughts. He looked at his nobles, forgetting the woman for the moment.

“Are we to uproot this colony on the word of a boy? How do we know that it wasn’t a fire in the mines? The,” Trór stopped, feared to mention that word, “the…creature has not been seen for centuries, not even King Dáin saw it when he looked through Narvi’s Gates, he only prophesized. In five years that we have lived here it has not disturbed us. No, it is dead. I will not decide without further proof.”

Óin bowed his head in thought. “Can we afford not to?”

Trór’s shoulders rose and fell in a huge sigh. His wound was burning again, it had been for a while but now it couldn’t be ignored. He folded his arms and slowly shook his head.

“Am I to move on the word of a boy?”

Frar's brow was furrowed and he stared hard at each of the speakers in turn.

Finally he spoke up.

"I say no, Tror. It was something else, but it was no Durin's Bane. I do not believe that if they had indeed come face to face with...that thing, they would have lived to tell the tale. There is some mistake." Frar laughed grimly. "And besides, if Durin's Bane has indeed come upon now, what can we do to resist? We would be finished. Our forces are already weak and wounded."

"My lord, if you excuse me," Vigdis spoke up, head held up high. "I believe the boy's tale. You may talk to him when he wakes up, he is now in the care of a woman named Adela. His grandfather has perished, but the boy said the old man recognised the Bane."

She turned to the warlike Dwarf who had spoken before her: "If you will not take the word of a boy, will you take that of his grandfather? Will you speak to the head miner Tófi and ask him would he consider the old man trustworthy and if he can verify his disappearance?" She spoke calmly, but a red hot flame of anger was growing in her. What would Balin have thought of this, the appearance of their worst nightmare denied merely because the witness was not yet of age? And he would be of age from this day on, no one could go through what he had come through today without being forced to grow up.

Ori looked away, troubled. He feared in his heart that what the woman was saying was true, but he longed to agree with Frár and dismiss it all as a childish fairytale and feminine exaggeration.

"Maybe it would help if we knew the name of the old miner who has disappeared..." he muttered more to himself than to anyone else. The echo strengthened his voice though, and everybody could hear it clearly.

Vigdis spoke again: "I do not know the name of the miner, nor that of his grandson, for that matter. However, it should be easy enough to find out - I doubt there are many one-legged old men among the miners."

Ori glanced at her. "Lord Trór," he said. "If I may, I will fetch this head of miners, Tófi. Maybe he will be able to tell us about this old man, and his grandson. And if you will, I will also send someone to enquire after the boy in question."

Both Frar’s and Ori’s words were expressions of what Trór was already thinking. He held up his hand, a single to wait—he was thinking. Too many rash decisions have led to this crisis. The woman had an honest face, but Frar and Ori were trustworthy officials. Frar was his close friend: a brother in arms; therefore it is logical that he would prefer to stand and fight. However, Ori was also experienced in these matters. No more time could be wasted—Trór’s decision must be decisive, not rash.

He spoke at last. "I don't think so Ori."Trór looked at Óin and smiled.

"I thank you for your council, my friend. It was most helpful," he turned to the rest of the group. Trór was evidently sure of choice, it was only a matter of time before he chose this road.

"Frar, you mentioned that the army is weak. I agree. In another pitched battle we could not win. Whether or not Vigdis is correct is no longer the question. Terror in the mines or impending battle with the Orcs, I'll choose the mines." There was a silence. There was an air of regret.

"I realize that this is a choice that Lord Balin would never choose, but," his voice became low and growlish, "I am not Balin!

"Óin, Frar, you go with Vigdis get the colony up we move immediately!"