Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Dimturiel]

Things had been going from bad to worse since....But Bain could no longer remember a time when things were going right. Everything was hectic and confusing. One minute he was fighting, then he was helping to carry the wounded in the first hall and then the bell sounded for assembly and then the unexpected orders that they were suppose to move out – but were they really unexpected? Bain supposed that if had possessed the inclination to analyse what would happen, perhaps he would have seen it coming. Not that it mattered, since it would not have made the blow less hard to bear anyway.

Since Bain was a fairly experienced fighter, but without having been trained as a warrior, he was to be among those reporting to commander Brambor at the armoury. He supposed he would be one of those protecting the people in their new location. He was glad he was not a trained warrior, for one thing. Guarding the gates with nothing but dreary emptiness behind them, sundered for no one knew how long from the rest of the colony – it would be a hard life. A hard way to spend your last days. The thought came suddenly into his mind and he tried to shrug it off. No use thinking thoughts of ill-omen with the situation being as it was.

Before reporting to commander Brambor, Bain went to the kitchen for his ration, and then to his forge to gather his possessions and to have one last look at all the treasures he had crafted It nearly broke his heart to leave his beloved creations there, the works of both his mind and his hands. Each told a story to him, of some golden or dark day in the past. There was the shield he had set to work on as soon as they had reached Moria, the first thing he made in Khazad-dum. There was a small mail-shirt he had made for the son of a friend of his. He had never got round to giving it, somehow. And there were so many other beautiful things, all of them begging him not to abandon them. But he would not be allowed to carry all of them. The only thing that he took was his last work, the helm he had made for Lord Balin.

“I have made it with him in my mind,” he told himself. “Now I will wear it with him in my mind also, and may his memory make me fight the fiercer, should the need arise”

Then, without another look at what he was leaving behind – perhaps not forever, he was telling himself, perhaps he could return, although at that moment he could not picture himself ever entering that forge again – he turned his back to his forge and strode purposefully towards the armoury.

[Durelin]

Kór and Kórin moved back up to the Twenty-first Hall with others, as they were summoned by the bell to gather there again. They had spent the last half hour in silence, simply enjoying, without real happiness, each other's company. They were both alive. And there was nothing to say. Each of them knew what the other was thinking -- soon they would hear what the next move would be. And whatever the decision, it would be a risky one.

Kórin did not know what to expect. Wisdom was not Trór's strong point, though he had some more level heads around him. Perhaps his near death experience would shock some sense into him...as well as the deaths they had suffered. Perhaps. Kórin twisted her lips in disgust.

Kór glanced at his sister but said nothing.

When Frár made the announcement, Kórin was surprised Trór had actually conceded to this route. And it was not one which she had expected as a possibility. There was still plenty in between them and the orc armies to defend. Why were they moving, as if they had already lost the First and Second Halls. The Bridge of Khazad-dûm alone could be held for quite a long time!

Kórin cursed under her breath. Trór's foolishness had pushed them into a corner.

"What do you think we fall under -- professional or unprofessional?" Kór asked with humor.

Kórin simply grunted. "Unprofessional, surely. I am not drunk enough to be anything else."

Kór grinned, glad that his sister was not completely lost in her anger. Still, she made no move to get up from the bench on which they were seated. Neither was concerned with possessions -- Kór already had his harp on his back again -- and neither was in a great rush to report once again as soldiers.

"They have told us nothing," Kórin growled suddenly. "We know nothing of their plans. We remain completely in the dark." She was barking out complaints at lightning speed.

"And if they explained all the circumstances, the reasons for the decision, the plans depending on luck and...plans for the worst? To a crowd of the entire colony?"

Kórin grunted again, this time in frustration. "But for no one to have any idea what is going on except for their picked council, a group of old fools who will simply continue to bow to Trór's every word..." She knew she was giving a false impression of what she had seen of the council, but she was doing her best to convince herself otherwise.

"Well, you were on the council," Kór said simply, with growing mischief. "If you were still..."

"As if I would have a say!" Kórin burst out angrily.

[piosenniel]

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~*~ Pio