Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Pyroclastic]

Uzgash watched the orcs mass toward the armor chambers. He knew he should be excited and enthused about the impending ambush, but it all seemed so petty now. He had gone to the meeting in full armor, anticipating that there might be some trouble, but for the most part it had been fairly peaceful. Now the orcs were trouping out, on their way to the massacre. Uzgash had had enough. So many squabbles, and he had allowed himself to get sucked into one at last. No. This was not how he was going to live his life, always sneaking around, never actually doing anything. That was the behavior of a stinking Elf. No, that would not be him. He picked up his axe, a double headed one he had taken from a hidden Moria Armory, and began walking. He was leaving Moria for good. This was it, the end of Moria at last. The captain almost smiled.

As he approached the gates Uzgash’s mood deteriorated quickly. Where were the guards? He heard an orcish shriek, followed by a deep "ARRAGHHH! Take that!" Dwarves! Uzgash slowly peered around the gate, taking survey of the battle. A small band of Dwarves was being beaten back by the Moria guards. The guards were ill prepared however, and had become separated into scattered small groups. Uzgash stepped out of the Moria Gate and leered down at the Dwarves below. At last! Some real fighting! Now this was life for an orc!

[Orual]

Óin had been lost in thought for a long while since they had parted with the Elves. A sick feeling had been rising in him, some sort of foreboding. It was not his previous grumpiness or obstinance. It was something different entirely.

He watched the other Dwarves as they carried on their way, and the sick feeling grew stronger. Nothing good would come of this trip. He thought of his young nephew, Gimli, and wondered what he was doing. If he'd only stayed home, he might know.

Caught in the middle of these thoughts, he nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard an arrow whiz by Balin's head. Orcs, he thought, his heart dropping to the toes of his thick, sturdy boots. He heard his thought echoed by Narin.

"If we win this, Moria and all its spoils are ours," Narin cried, and Óin groaned, but it was half-hearted.

"If we lose, all our toil was for nothing," he added in an undertone. The comfort he usually derived from his moaning and peevishness was gone. He clutched the hilt of his axe tightly. Now for it, he supposed...

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik was nearly quivering with excitement as they neared the gates of the ancient citadel, but held his composure. What would the beardlings, let alone the more elderly dwarfs of the lot, think if they saw him give way to such impulses? They would laugh like drains.

In one hand he grasped his great axe, using its shaft as a walking stick of sorts. His bag was slung on his back and he was wearing his full suite of armour. On his head was perched the winged helmet, incorporating the terrifying war-mask he had made as a gesture of respect to all those ancient dwarfs who had fallen in the long years of war that had slowly eaten away at the dwarf race.
Suddenly there was a metallic ping a little to his left. Turning his head he saw an arrow rebound from Balin's helmet. He saw one of the young 'uns pick it up, and noticed the black feathers that had been used for the arrow flights. He did not need the collective cry of 'Orcs!' to tell him what they faced in the depths.

He reached up and pulled down the mask. It was made of the finest steel, polished to shine like a mirror, and carved in the likeness of a roaring, guttural stone statue. His beard flowed from beneath it like a white river, the gold and bronze rings gleaming in the late sunlight.
He gripped his axe with both hands, brandishing it aloft as a challenge to their hidden agressors.

"Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!". The guttural roar rang from his throat. Atlast, a real fight!

[The Perky Ent]

Orcs flew out from the mountain like snow on a mountain. It was all very poetic to Nali. So poetic, that Nali almost didn't want to pull out his ax and fight. But duty calls. The dark night blinded some orcs from Nali's eyes, and if it wasn't for the "Look out!" cry from Ori, Nali would be a forgotton name.

Just as Ori had screamed, a large fat orc jumped from behind Nali. In a swift movement, Nali brandished his ax and sliced the orc literaly in two, while he was still in mid-air. The two pieces of orc body plumited from the air as a fountain of blood gushed from the twisted body. "At last! This is what i wanted to see on my ax!" Nali said as more orcs ran to the battle.

At this point, all the dwarves were involved in their fight. As another orc ran at Nali, Nali stood without moving. As the orc was inches from his face, Nali pulled out his faithful club and wacked the orc across the face, killing him. "Two!" Nali said as he heard echoes from the others. "4" "1" "7" "6" "2" It looked like the other dwarves were having sucess.

"Ori, what is your count?" Nali asked looking for Ori. "Ori? Ori?!?" Ori was nowhere to be seen. After a minute of looking, it appeared that an orc had pinned his down. Without a second of hesitation, Nali thew his ax, which planted in the back of the orcs head. As Nali removed his ax, he found Ori, lying. Eyes closed, but still beathing. "Ori!" Ori woke up. "Nali? Nali is that you? Don't worry i'm fine....he just....suprised me!" Nali gave a smile. "Well then, i guess we're even now!" "Guess so!" "Common, there's orcs to kill.

And as Ori got up, they re-joined the battle before the gate.

[Orofaniel]

Lugnush liked the thought of a real Orc battle, and ran off to gather some Orcs that were ready to kill. "’urry!" Lugnush cried trying to sounds a bit bossy. It worked because the Orcs were now storming towards him. "Let's make it painful..." One of them said evilly. The others laughed brutally while thinking about this. "Let’s break their filthy necks, and then lets...chop 'em! All of 'em!" He continued, now seeming proud over his own proposal. Lugnush didn't think this was a bad suggestion either so he decided that this was the way they were going to do it.

"Let’s do just that," Lugnush said, while he felt a sudden satisfaction.

"Take your weapons…. and only use 'em for killin'.." Lugnush said finally, trying to sound funny. The others growled and picked up their weapons. "..and, we'll do it as this Orc 'ere said earlier.." Lugnush continued pointing at the Orc that come with the brilliant suggestion. "Aye!" They replied in choir. "Then march on you filthy Orcs!" Lugnush commanded. He felt powerful and this delightened him. The Orcs were soon walking while humming merrily; ”Chop chop chop..”

It didn't take long to kill the Orcs that had turned their backs on Nazklash. Much blood had been spilt from both sides, but none that Lugnush had set out to kill had survived, which was a good sign indeed.

When it was finished, Lugnush ordered some of the remaining Orcs to clean up the mess; the rest of them followed Lugnush back to Nazklash. On the way over to Nazklash they were shouting about victory and about the extraordinary battle. Never had Lugnush been prouder; here he was leading the great warriors of the battle into the hall. They were under his command - or they were, until Nazklash told them to "sod off".

"It's done," Lugnush said smiling at Nazklash. Nazklash however, didn't seem as happy as Lugnush would have thought, but it didn't really matter. "Good...good..." Nazklash said now, nodding sternly.

[Imladris]

Ori drove his axe blade into the belly of an orc. Black blood, with a dead bluish tint to it, spilled from his insides, staining the shining silver blade. What looked like large twisted worms began to seep from his torn stomach and Ori averted eyes to the orc’s face.

His eyes were a sickly yellow, the black pupil a diamond shape. His fingers, adorned with talon-like nails, scrabbled at his belly, pushing the worms back in. Blood specked foam dripped from his yellowed fangs as he barred them at Ori, his limbs gathering for a final spring like the wargs at the Lonely Mountain would prepare to tear the throats of men. Ori shuddered and, with a quick swing, lopped the orc’s head from his neck.

The orcs were tumbling from the broken gates and sprinting across the rocks. Balin, with a mighty roar, swung his axe right and left. Orcs fell beneath his arm like wheat felling before a farmer’s sickle.

[Aylwen Dreamsong]

Malí was terrified. She had her hand axes, but she didn't know how to use them! Of course she scolded herself, reminding herself that it was her decision to go along on the adventure. Still, Malí didn't know what to do and watched, jaw dropped, as the other dwarves attacked the orcs.

In her mind Malí calculated how many orcs there were, and at the rate the other dwarves were fighting how long it would take for all the orcs to be taken care of. Too long, Malí decided, and did her best with her axes. She clumsily chopped and hacked randomly, hitting air most of the time. On a rare and joyously surprised occasion she would nick an orc, perhaps give a small flesh wound, but Malí was unable to deliver fatal blows to any orc. I wish I could be more of a help around here... Malí thought frantically as she hopped away in time to avoid a crazed orc.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik met the slash of an orc scimitar with the blade of his axe. Spark's flew as steel forged by the finest craftsmen in the world collided with the black iron the spawn of Morgoth used for their ill-made weapons. The two enemies glared at each other with a savage wrath, red orbs of evil matching the dwarf's steel-blue eyes for hatred.
With a mighty roar Alrik pushed aside the orcs weapon, exploiting the gap in his opponents guard and caving in his head with his axe-blade. Without pause he charged his next chosen target.

In the brief moment that separated one kill from the next, he looked around to see how his comrades were doing. The carnage was utter, entrails and blood making the very face of the mountain slippery as a riverbed. The dwarves, driven by years of hatred, had formed a vedge of steel which broke through the orc mob time and again like a ship crashing through the waves. Even the beardlings were proving their mettle, and he could see no-one in need of his help. Then he glanced to his right.
The lassie, Malí, was barely holding her own against a large orc armed with a wicked-looking mace. Acting without pause, Alrik began to hack his way towards the young dwarf maiden.

An orc jumped onto his path, wielding a crude axe and screaming incoherent challenges in its evil tongue. Alrik sidestepped slightly, moving away from the point of impact, and chopped through the back of his opponents knee, hamstringing it. As the creature toppled to its knees he chopped downwards, splitting its spine lengthwise. The orc flopped wildly in a final burst of energy and slipped to the ground.

Before he could resume his charge towards young Malí's opponent, he felt something barge into himself and his axe was sent slipping from his grasp. A weight fell upon him and he could smell the fetid breath of his assailant. Grappling with the orc, he tried to desperately reach for his blade.