Last Hope for Moria RPG

[Taralphiel]

Maron

Maron stood in a strange daze as he saw one of the company being laid to rest. His axe still hung in his hand, still covered in black blood and mud. He did not know how he had made it through that battle. The flurry simply sent his axe moving, and sliding through orc-flesh. He noticed a good cut on his arm, but other than that very little to show.

Looking to the side, he saw a dwarf looking downcast at all that had come about. About to say something, he thought he heard Balin calling everyone together, and thought it best to listen.

[Will Witfoot]

Alrik stood next to the grave of one of their comrades, Flói, his helmet in hand out of respect to the young one. It was sad to see one of their number fall this early in the expedition, but the thought of avenging him, if turned to the right direction, could be a powerfull ally indeed.

"Our path to glory has allways been opened with the blood and sweat of our kind, and paved with the bones of our enemies."

The words he had heard spoken, and spoken himself on several occasions, brought back to his mind the deaths of many a comrade he had witnessed during his career as a warrior. It was credit to the experience gained in a hundred battles that he had survived. And to that Malí girl, ofcourse. The thought almost made him feel embarassed, but he was thankfull for the young dwarf. He had survived to see the Truesilver, unlike poor Flói burried next to the Mirrormere.

He turned from the young dwarfs grave and walked away to the rest of the group.

[Pyroclastic]

"Tuurhuun! Tuuhurruunn!" A deep horn sounded across the slopes leading up to the gates of Moria. Uzgash blew it in vain hope of calling any surviving orcs back to the caverns. Though the dwarves had been few they had been tough, and Uzgash doubted that any of the scanty Moria gate guard had lasted the short battle. Uzgash wiped his ax on the grass while he waited for stragglers. They would return to Moria and regroup, but Uzgash wasn’t inclined to slaughter the Dwarves just yet. He wanted to know why they were there. Why return to Moria after all of these years? And why in such small force? Uzgash didn’t like the appearance of this, not at all.

The orc captain surveyed the remnants of the battle grimly. He hadn’t known any of the orcs on guard, but he had lost Grog. Once the dwarves had recovered from their surprise they had attacked with furry, and Uzgash had sent two of the orcs to get Grog before he had thought the action through. The Troll just hadn’t been trained enough for battle. Beyond eyesight Uzgash could hear the Dwarves holding a ceremony for their fallen. He heard one of the little creatures reciting a poem in honor of the dead. Uzgash snorted. Why did the elves and dwarves feud when they had so much in common? Always rhyming, always thinking that they’re better than everyone else. Well, they weren’t. Now the dwarves had come to invade Moria. His Moria. Uzgash felt a sudden loyalty to the place from which he had stormed out of not four hours ago. A bunch of short, fat, clumsy oafs with scruffy beards were going to just go and boot him and his fellow orcs out their caverns? Nope, not while Uzgash was around. He looked down at Grog’s massive body, blood still oozed from the troll’s severed neck. Several feet away Grog’s head lay, his eyes open and looking to the sky. He looked confused, as though he did not yet understand what had happened. Uzgash glanced over towards the unseen dwarves, still mourning their companion. Who cared about a miserable dwarf? Grog, now he had been a trouper. He deserved as much as that stupid dwarf was getting.

Deep in Khazad Dum
Grog was with out gloom.
But Moria needed his might
And so he met his plight.
He ended his life in glory
There is honor in the gory.

Uzgash smiled. No dwarf could top that. His friend properly laid to rest, the captain turned to trudge back to the depths of Moria. There was work to be done.

[The Perky Ent]

During the ceremony, many dwarves carried tears as Floi was put to rest. After the end of the cememony, Nali stepped foward and began to recite:

A brave dwarf Floi was in life,
so let us rest our axes and knifes,
to remember this fine fellow,
and from the gates of Moria let us bellow
A dwarf has died for the duty of his party,
and we all wish that he would be tarty,
to his journey to the beyond, great and far,
from the rising sun to the setting star,
Floi's body has flickered, it cannot be remade,
but his spirit shall live on, though his body laid,
and he will live on, in the great dwarven halls,
and so he will dance with others in the celestial ball.

Many, Lin in particular, gave great emotion to this matter. In a slow, soft voice, Balin gave the dwarves of Erebor words of advice. "We all knew it would happen, though we didn't know who. Men, we all knew what we were getting into." Nali was in a panic. He always knew something like this would happen. His mind was in an uproar. "This was all a terrible mistake. I never should have come." And with that, Nali started his walk back to Erebor.

"Nali! Nali wait! Come Nali. We'll be safe once inside the mountain! Come now!" shouted Ori chasing after Nali. Nali stopped for a moment and then started to walk back. "Don't worry Nali, we'll protect you!"

[Carlas]

The orcs were now fully prepared to leave the hall and make their way to where they would confront the chief and his soldiers when Lugnush finally returned from killing the others. Lugnush nodded to Nazklash as he came up to him, telling him that everything had gone fine, and they were dead. Nazklash returned to the rock that he had been standing on before and called for the orc’s attention.

“Alright, let’s get moving! But keep quiet!” He called out over the group as they started to head for the tunnel that would take them to where they would face the chief. He noticed as he watched the orcs leaving that some actually seemed to be excited. Nazklash nodded contentedly, things were actually going just as he had planned. He had been a little nervous about this meeting, so many things could have gone wrong, all ending in his death, he had almost thought about calling off the whole thing. Now he could not even believe how well everything had gone…but the best was yet to come, it was time to get rid of the Chief.

Nazklash dropped down off the rock and followed behind the large mass of orcs, smiling his dark, cruel smile.

~*~

The orcs had now made it to the large passage, and were all in their positions. It had taken a bit of time before everyone understood where they had to go, and what to do as Nazklash could not yell the plans to everyone, but had to go from group to group telling the plans so the Chief and his men would not hear them.

Now everyone sat quietly out of sight, straining their ears for any noise that would tell them of the Chief’s arrival. No one was sure when exactly he had planned to be back, but they had thought he would come a bit sooner than this. Nazklash was worried that the orcs would become restless, but he had told them that they must be quiet, or it could get them all killed. He hoped his words would not be forgotten.

The orcs sat for a time, heeding Nazklash’s words to be silent. They were all now completely bent on killing the chief, he had tormented them all ever since he had come to Moria, but he had always had the strongest of the orcs protecting him. No one had ever dared to lead a revolt against the Chief until now, and the orcs were nothing less than excited to finally be able to do what they had dreamed of for years. Kill the chief.

Nazklash suddenly sat up straight. A noise, he had heard a noise, could it be? He noticed the other orcs starting to perk up as they heard the noise too. Nazklash nodded at the orcs as they looked at him to confirm what they heard. The steady beat of iron boots hitting the floor. He was here.

[Imladris]

Orgilion, 2989,

We drove out orcs from the great gate and guard room -- we slew many in the bright sun in the dale. Flói was killed by an arrow. He slew the great troll. We buried Flói in the grass near Mirror mere. Balin gave an eulogy, in which he praised Flói’s braveness. We lopped the troll’s head, and impaled it upon a steak, which marks his grave. Balin, I think, is quite upset with his death…I honestly believe he thought Moria was just abandoned, and that no danger lurked there. Now he thinks it is just a handful of orcs to be gotten rid of…I hope he doesn’t do anything foolish.

Oranor, 2989

We mourned a day for Flói and to give a chance to heal the other dwarves’ wounds. It was a good decision, even though it gives the orcs a chance to gather their troops together and to come up with a devilish plan to exterminate us. But, honestly, orcs are not the brightest of folk and they certainly aren’t the best tempered.

Orithil, 2989

The orcs of the North End have been driven away. We have taken the Twenty-first Hall of North end to dwell in. There is a shaft that the morning sun pours through. Rather fitting since Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul.

Orgaladhad, 2989

Dwarves have been scouting the North End -- some have even dared to explore the other, unknown parts of Moria. We have discovered gold and Óin discovered Durin’s Axe; he wandered far into Moria, and was beset by an orc scout, who shot his helm.

Oraearon, 2989

Balin is now lord of Moria.

Ormenel, 2990

Some orcs have been bold enough to attack us, but to no avail. We are too strong for them…I wonder how many of them scurry in the empty mine shafts. I am full of misgiving…we are few, yet why do not the orcs (if there are more) do not combine their strength and attack us?

Oranor, 2990

We have found Truesilver and weapons that are well forged. We have begun again to mine mithril. Balin sent Óin to seek for the upper armories of Third Deep, Frar and Loni were ordered to go westwards, to explore the way to Hollin Gate, and to reopen the gate.

Orithil, 2990

We have been trying to repair the great gates, but the orcs bother us, and tear down our work in the night. When we fire upon them, they slink off into their caves, and return again when we tire of waiting for them to appear. They never attack in the daylight, naturally. They are smart enough for that.

Ormenel, 2990

I have sent letters to the King, describing our progress.

Oraearon, 2990

Balin has been missing for the last two days. Today, he finally appeared. His face was haggard, smeared with dirt. His eyes glinted with fever, and he rubbed his hands as if he was toying with a ring -- yet there was no ring. I suspect he was searching for the Ring of Power.

Orithil, 2990

Nali and myself were exploring certain passages today, when we heard strange rumbles within the deep. There was also a drum…but the noises ceased after a few minutes. It seemed to announce our incoming doom -- but Balin passes it off as delusional fancies. There are nothing but orcs down there, he says. But his eyes have a faraway look to them. I believe he would go down to the deepest depths to find the Dwarven Ring.

Rodyn, 2991

A mine tunnel collapsed today, nearly suffocating Alrik and Oin. Mali looked over the crumbled structure, did some figures, and said bluntly that if it had not been tampered with, it would never have collapsed. There is no traitor among us -- a denizen of the deep did it. Balin refuses to leave. He will not eat, and his beard is falling out. He will not cease his feverish search. I wonder if the Ring is still here.

Orgilion, 2992

We have finally given up repairing the great gate. Mali figures that we have already rebuilt it three times, so Balin ordered it to stop.

Orithil, 2993

Linsie has been discovered to be a female dwarf. The details are rather hazy…but as far as I can figure, Narin and she got into a dreadful row, and fists flew. He knocked her false beard off.

[mark12_30]

By the light of a small lamp, Lînsie squinted at the vein of Mithril that shone in the rock. The Mithril was so much brighter than the surrounding rock, it was sometimes hard to see the rock itself, and she moved the lamp often. Sometimes she worried that she would lose a precious peice of the Mithril down the endless pit to her left. She was balanced on a narrow ledge, so she had a rope around her waist. The updraft from the pit made the lamp flicker.

She chipped and fussed at the rock around the vein. The Mithril did not give way. When all the rock was removed from a vein of Mithril, the vein stood out like a thin tree-branch, or a strand of hair, and then it had to be cut. She had nine foot-long strands in the pouch that she carried under her jacket; a fair day's work. She was getting weary, but she hated stopping even to eat.

She cast a glance over her shoulder; Narin worked perhaps fifty feet away. He treated her differently ever since he had knocked her beard off.

So did Balin. Now openly paternal, he had a tendency to lecture her; but with all his endless searching his lectures were short and absent-minded. She wished his attentions had been something other than paternal. Her father was right, he would have made a good match. But Balin's desire was for something in the caverns far below.

Frowning, she moved the lamp again. Several of the dwarves had complimented her lately, their courtesy tinged with shyness. But something held them back; perhaps it was the skirmishes with the orcs; or the distant rumblings in the deep; or that she still wore her beard, even to dig.

For his part, Narin hadn't complimented her at all.