Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Groin Redbeard]

Trór tightened his jaw as Kórin spat upon his braided beard, yet he did not flinch or say a word; in fact, Trór was pleased. Kórin’s insult would be a serious matter under different circumstances, but it could be ignored-she was just rabble. The insult showed Trór that his punishment was harsh and that was good. He was rid of her, and a dwarf would soon be purged of his cowardice, a good start. Two hot heads down, how many more would there be? He looked down and wiped the spit from his beard.

When he looked up, Trór was surprised to see his friend Frar suddenly appear before him. Frar looked angry and focused when he spoke, but Trór was surprised to hear the wit and humor in his voice: good joke; a rare thing from Frar. Trór chuckled to himself, knowing that it was Frar’s subtle way of encouraging him. Frar went on to explain why he had not spoken during the council, but there was no need to explain, Trór understood perfectly well why Frar hadn’t spoken: warriors make lousy diplomats. Anyway, Trór was glad to hear that Frar would not stay quiet in the future; Trór needed help from his friends.

Frar stood half a head taller than Trór and was visibly as tough. Through Trór, Balin kept the colony safe, and through Frar, Trór accomplished the task. Both warriors were strict disciplinarians and perfectionists, which is why Balin chose them for their jobs. Trór was harsher and more rapid in his affairs, while Frar was subtle, wiser, and a little more cautious than his commander-their differences were what made them strong as a team. In a whole, Frar's advice was usually not accepted well (a fault of Trór's); however, his advice usually shaped the direction that the war council would take. Frar wasn't one to hold grudges against his opponents. Even when strategies would turn out in ways that he opposed Frar would dedicate himself to the strategy with as much determination as if it was his.

Even though Frar was older, Trór had always been superior in rank. Even under the rule of Dain Ironfoot, Trór had been amongst the king’s closest advisers. Unlike most dwarves in similar circumstances, Frar did not hold Trór’s youth against him. As gratitude, Trór shared the command of the army with him as much as possible. Frar was the superior in age and Trór in rank, and they loved each other for it. Frar was his closest friend and adviser, now they would be even closer.

“Indeed, no time to lose.” Trór was roused by Frar’s enthusiasm. Leave it to his old war hound to stir him up. He could read Frar’s thoughts as clearly as he had spoken them: ‘Take care of your new subjects. Let me find the Orcs, say the word and I’ll kill them all.’ But Trór knew Frar would never dare to ask such a thing. They started to walk briskly toward the arranged troops, who were all deeply stirred by Balin's death; their rage was evident in their eyes and clenched fists.

“We will take sixty of our finest and fastest soldiers. Your dwarves are the best trained and equipped to move fast; therefore, the majority will from your command. Forty is a good amount and I will take twenty of my own. You will take the point; I will bring my dwarves no less than twenty paces behind yours.”

The sixty dwarves were already in file before Trór and Frar reached them. Forty of Frar’s and twenty of Trór’s; the officers were well trained, they knew what to expect. The leading officer stepped forward and bowed slightly to Frar and then Trór.

“My lord,” the officer said grinning, “the soldiers are ready.”

Trór faced and leaned over to Frar. “Our objective is to find Óin and the front of the Orc army. We will go as far as the ground I had chosen on the map. If we haven’t found Óin by then, we must assume that he has found his way back to here and we must do the same.” Frar nodded. “Use your own discretion on whether or not to engage the enemy,” Trór added with a grin. He knew that it was against what he led the council to believe, but the soldiers were itching for a fight, as well as Frar. They shook hands before they departed, Trór went to the rear and Frar took the point.

Trór’s soldiers hushed as he approached. Individually, they were the toughest warriors in the army, remnants of Trór’s old command. They all wore heavy steel hauberks and helmets that protected their noses and eyes. Their boots, like Trór’s, were fashioned with iron plates after the manner of the Iron Hills' dwarves. All of them a wielded a heavy doubled handed mattock and protected their backs with shield, which was sturdily slung on their back. Some of the warrior’s beards were braided to keep from getting knotted, while others simply let their beards grow wild. Their faces were whether worn-not old but experienced-there were no young dwarves under Trór’s command. They were loyal, hard, and feared, traits of their race and occupation. Veterans, they were all veterans.

His shield and battle axe were brought to him; Trór slung them on his back. His spear had been placed to the side at the beginning of the council and was now picked up again. Trór thrust it upwards as if to test its effectiveness, produced a cheer from his troops. His helmet was placed in his hands, it was modeled similar to the helmets of his soldiers except that his was gold laced on the rims and bore the emblem of a raven on its crest; it was a magnificent specimen of dwarven craft. The brisk wind that had been blowing during the council had brought clouds to shield the light of the moon and stars. Trór lifted his gaze heavenward. It looked like it was going to rain, a common occurrence in the winter months. Good, the rain will render our march inaudible. Trór slowly positioned his helmet on his head and waited for Frar to commence the march.

[Thinlómien]

“Tell me Ori, what dost thou mean by inquiring about who will command the citizens whilst the warriors are away? Thou pose the question as if the battle will be far away, while in truth Trór has consented to have the Orc’s beat upon our defenses.”

“Do you think that Trór will ignore the council? Thou knowest him better than either of us, Ori. Do you know, or suspect something that we don’t?”

Ori offered Náli a dry smile. "Which question should I reply first?"
"It hardly matters," Lóni replied for his brother.
"As long as you reply both," Náli added, smiling just a little.

"Well then," Ori said. "I will reply the easier one first. What I meant was simply that surely Trór will want someone he trusts here." He did his best not to add "at least Balin would have managed it so". It was Trór who was the leader now and they would have to live with it. Or die with it, Ori thought, but rebuked himself for such a thought.

"I mean... we all know it is possible something unexpected will occur. Although it's hardly probable, our troops can be beaten totally with just a few soldiers escaping. Who will manage everything if Trór and all his trusted men fall? Likewise, something may occur here. If there was an accident, or a secret attack through the mines, or even an upraising, who would see to it? Not Trór himself as he will have plenty to think about at the battlefield."

Trying to keep his tone as neutral as possible, Ori continued, "Do you think Trór will appoint someone, or think it's unnecessary? Should we ask him?"

He scracthed his beard. "But, let me first reply the other question as well. I will be entirely honest with you now and say that I do not know. I... I used to see him differently." Ori had never been good with people and now he was troubled. He was not the right man to judge others' actions. "Trór respected and loved Balin, and admired him to no end. He knows Balin would never have disrespected the council by ignoring it. But I think... Trór is of a different kind himself. He does not have Balin's patience, nor his..." Ori stopped abruptly. He would not say "wisdom" like he would have wanted. "His thoughtfulness."

"He will do as he himself sees fit and listen to his councellors if they agree with him." Ori paused. He had sworn to respect Trór as his liege and he truly did. "But maybe these are qualities that are required in a leader in these troubled times."

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

While talking to Kénan and the boy, Onli caught Náli's eye. The Dwarf nodded towards Trór. The new Lord of Khazad-dûm was now preparing to set out, obviously. Was this really the best moment to step in?

But Kénan and the kid have already rushed away. Onli's thoughts swirled fast inside his head. Was it now or never? What happens if Trór goes out and gets killed? Onli was in a very advantageous situation right now, being very close to the leader. Also, did Náli speak to Trór about him? Onli did not know if he managed to, but in either case, he seemed to - albeit somewhat doubtfully at first - be willing to give Onli his chance. And what if Trór did not return? Onli would have to go through all of this again by himself with the assumed next leader. On the other hand, if he earned the leader's trust now, it will be easy to keep his place even if something happened to Trór.

He decided. Forgetting about Nîsa completely, he strode forwards around the nobles, nodding at Náli, making a gentle excuse when slipping around a group of five rough-looking Dwarves in heavy armor, and at last coming before Trór. The armored Dwarf looked at him curiously, Onli bowed deeply.

"Hail to you, Trór, Lord of Khazad-dûm," he said. "Let me wish you well and may Mahal's blessings go with you for the task you have been appointed with." He waited for a few heartbeats and then continued.

"Perhaps this is not the best of situations to come to you, but I know that with this noble order, much responsibility lies with you to continue in Balin's footsteps, and that this is a heavy burden to be laid upon a single Dwarf." Once again, he made a short pause, so that Trór has time to understand and consider all his words.

"But as one as loyal to you, Lord Trór, as I was to Balin, and as I was in the service to King Dáin. I wish to offer you my help in governing the daily affairs of this colony, especially now, as the duty calls you to care especially of the grave danger outside our gates."

Trór stared at the younger Dwarf with a callous expression. “And who might you be?” The question was posed as a means to get rid of the Dwarf. Trór found it quite annoying how he was constantly being pestered by inconsequential simpletons. In short the phrase meant, ‘Who are you? Can’t you see I’m busy?’ However, upon pondering the nature of the Dwarf before him, Trór saw a pair of mischievous and knowledgeable eyes, resilient to the fact that their pleas were being disregarded.

The young Dwarf’s speech had been ineffective until now-in the silence. Trór had been casting occasional sidelong glances at the Dwarf during the speech, but now Trór locked the Dwarf in a stare. Occasionally, the eyes would look down, but they always came back to meet Trór’s own firm gaze. He had seen that knowledge and toughness in Kénan.

“You speak as if you were a relative of Náli.” He paused again to examine the Dwarf’s stature: weak in comparison to what he expected. None of Kénan’s muscular traits. “You were loyal to Balin and King Dáin?” The Dwarf nodded vigorously-tongue tied. “And what do you know of the affairs outside our gates? Eavesdropping on the council, have you?” Trór intentionally framed this question as a way to test the Dwarf’s wit and honesty. To add to the intensity of the question, he faced the Dwarf and lowered the spear (which had been grasped so that it stood vertically in his hands) so that it was pointing in the red bearded Dwarf’s general direction. Several snickers could be heard from the warriors behind Trór, amidst the wind and the shouting of the officers.

But Onli did not falter. He already knew whom is he talking to.

"Nay, Lord Trór, I was not eavesdropping," he said, trying to sound humbly, and deciding to play a clever one. "I cannot overlook the way you and your soldiers have been preparing, and I concluded that Balin's foul murder and the sudden council must be related in some way. And I have been talking to noble Náli, who is no cousin of mine, but he was so kind to hear my suggestion. It was indeed partly on his recommendation that I dared to approach you. My name is Onli, and perhaps you have not heard of my service to Balin or Dáin, as such things were of no concern to a warrior like you - they were of little honor. But even here, during the last five years and especially in our beginnings, when we were short of supplies and tools, it was me who took care of many of the bargains with Erebor." That was not full truth, for Onli had no official position in mantaining contact with Dáin's traders, and he sent away more than he brought in, but who was Trór to know that?

Onli spoke cunningly, but Trór was disappointed to hear that Onli did not have the courage to admit that he was in fact spying. He even took Trór’s jest about Náli seriously! This Onli seemed a very stiff fellow, no sense of humor or sarcasm (especially since Trór though his comparison of Náli and Onli was funny).

The council had been secret. Nobody knew of it, save several of the royal bodyguards and they were sworn to secrecy in everything they do. Onli had mentioned that he spoke to Náli; did he bring Onli as well as Kórin? If so why did Onli shirk from attending the council (an obviously wiser choice than Kórin had made)? These questions, and others, flashed in Trór’s head, but he need not ponder them long. Trór’s gut instinct was that Onli had lied, however clever it had been.

Onli’s favorable character, and resilient eyes, soon became detestable. More and more, Trór began to see through Onli as he talked of his trade exploits. Trór was bred for war but he was Balin’s right hand, it was his duty to know of such things. Besides, it did not tak a marketing expert to know that the trade between Erebor and Khazad-dûm had diminished, and in some cases ceased, as expansion in the mines and in the far lost corridors of the city took place. The messenger Gror was the first direct link sent from King Dáin in the five years of separation. If Onli was in charge of trade relations he was doing a poor job.

“An expert in trade are you? Tell me, what good is a merchant to me when duty calls for warriors to defend our city? If what the messenger Gror says is true, then there will be a siege. We will be completely sealed off from everything, and I don’t expect that there will be much of a trade with the Goblins, unless be ill intended blows.“

“As to your spying, I don’t believe Náli would have led you here, no not someone like you. In which case, you have little reason to be here. Balin may have smiled on subjects spying on his councils...” this part was, of course, sarcasm, “but I will not bear it any longer!“ With a wave of his hand two guards came forward and promptly seized Onli. The Dwarf was frightened. What was this? It flashed through his mind how, just a while ago, the new leader sent Trór away - but Onli did not expect to be treated that way.

“My wrath is more easily won than my favor, as you will soon learn. Did you really think I would promote you to a higher level of power based on your word? If you were a truly loyal to Balin you would not have come with attempts to domineer me. I see lust for power in your eyes, and that is dangerous when you say that you merely want to do a service to me, such a Dwarf has no intention of serving. Take him to the dungeons!”

Even more apparent expression of horror appeared in Onli's face, but Trór did not finish his sentence before he felt something pulling and pinching at his. The voice that followed left him dumbfounded.

“Stop, please stop! Hear me out, cousin!” It was Nîsa. Confound the girl, what was she doing?

The guards halted, waiting for Trór to send them on or to stay their task. He motioned for them to return Onli to his original spot; they did, but still maintained their hold on him.

“What is the meaning of this, Nîsa?” The fury in his eyes was enough to cause Nîsa to quake and look down. Nîsa was shaking, but she swallowed and bravely spoke.

“Was the one who brought Onli. He comforted me in my sorrow for Balin, and you came up in the discussion that followed. I told him that I saw you head back here. When I led him to the First Hall we saw Náli and he counciled us to speak to you after the council. I swear that I had no idea about the trouble I was leading him into or I would not have brought him here. Even if you think him a fool, fools can prove their worth and loyalty through little tasks.”

Onli would have been no doubt offended by Nîsa's final words, but for now, he was too frightened to actually mind that. Trór’s expression softened, his face wasn’t draw as tight and wrinkles appeared on his forehead. The guards unhanded Onli and left, after Trór commanded them with the simple look of his eyes.

“Well spoken cousin. You should have spoken of this, Onli. Too much talk can give one the wrong impression. Being truthful requires telling the truth, it has nothing to do with not telling it. I will expect that much of you next time.“

“For the present, you will be under Náli’s charge. I have an absent seat in my council ring; in good time and with equally good service, you may come to fill it.”

Although Trór did not give an outright apology, he did grant Onli his wish of serving his Lord. Náli was an important figure and had advised Onli on how to go about obtaining such a position. It was only fitting that Náli should instruct Onli. This wasn’t the first time that Náli’s mouth had given him and extra task.

Considering what Onli had just been through, most would think Trór’s boon small in comparison. However, Trór considered himself incredibly generous in the matter. He had just granted Onli (a proven liar in Trór’s mind) a position to one of the richest dwarves in the colony (the richest being Ori and Balin) and certainly one of the most influential. The incredible option of nobility was even given, a spectacular opportunity. Trór hoped that his rash action had scared Onli into line. Indeed, Onli could consider himself lucky, Trór would not have granted anything if his temper had not been up. And lucky the Dwarf indeed felt - after he recovered from the first shock, he realised he could have hardly hoped the meeting with Trór going better.

He had no doubt now that Trór is a rash, stupid and potentially dangerous warmonger, just as Onli feared he was. However, he proved to be generous enough and, in Onli's opinion, not clever enough for his own good. The fear of the previous few moments was gone, and Onli, being a cunning Dwarf, was already reflecting on what he could learn from this encounter. Sure, he has to learn to work with this new Lord of Moria. But Onli was quick to learn from his experiences. Trór was potentially dangerous and explosive and he had to be handled with care. It was actually a new challenge for Onli to learn to cope with people like him. Metal-brains, soldiers who spend all their days on the battlefields or making plans and, in his opinion, completely uneducated in the ways of mundane life. But Onli had to work with various people during his life, he was certain that this won't be any difference.

He turned around, noticing Náli standing in the middle of other Dwarves. Being assigned to Náli was also not necessarily as bad, he thought. At least he was not as unpredictable as Trór himself. Just you wait, Onli thought, turning back to Trór, there will come a time when your actions won't be unpredictable to me anymore either.

"Thank you, lord Trór," he said aloud, bowing deep. "I will do my best to prove my faithful service to you." He decided not to continue in longer monologues, Trór seemed not to like that. "And thanks also to you, Nîsa," he turned to the girl. "I shall go and talk to Náli at once." And bowing to the new Lord of Moria once more, he turned to go.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nali

“What is this I hear? Thou art now in my service?” The bold Onli had conveyed the entire conversation between him and Trór. Nali was aghast.

“Then the work of thine own silver tongue has achieved its purpose. There is no time for the swearing of fealties; nevertheless, thou hast made a bargain with Trór and I will hold you to it. Thou mayest consider thineself under my authority.” Nali gave a slight bow, which actually looked like a slow nod, and then turned back to Ori and Loni.

“You speak true, Ori, but there is no time to wonder whether Trór will bear the yoke of Lordship willingly or not. Come, let us speak to him on the matter of his departure.”


Trór & Nîsa
“Have I done the right thing?” Nîsa wondered aloud.

“Time will tell. Nali is a much better dwarf than I when it comes to handling people. Onli will do well to learn from him.” Trór looked over at Nîsa. Her eyes were still transfixed on Onli as he talked with Nali. “That was a brave thing you did, cousin. I would not have expected that from you.”

“We have all changed in these past few hours.” Trór caught her hint. “I knew that you wouldn’t come back, even though you said that you would. Deep down I knew that you had changed. Must you always be so stubborn in your dealings with people. I saw what happened to Kenan and I guessed that you have done the same to poor Kórin. I swear Trór, one day you will go too far for your damage to be reversed. Not everyone can see things through the eye of a warrior. A gentle hand is better than an iron fist when it comes to being a lord.”

Trór’s complexion was calm and attentive, but Nîsa recognized a deep rooted hatred. Balin must still weigh heavily on his mind. She hoped that he would direct his anger at the ones who deserved it; let loose his hatred in battle.

“What would you have me do, cousin?” He was humoring her.

“Look to a higher power. Find something greater than yourself.”

Nîsa curtsied the best she could and Trór gave a stiff bow. He smiled at her formality; Nîsa suppressed a smile of her own-her words were affective.

“I will join you soon,” Trór said, “Go and do your duty, the work will begin soon.”

She quickly turned and scurried back through the First Hall. Trór watched her all the while. Nîsa always possessed the power to suppress his anger, something no one else could do, though never this outright. There was no doubt in his mind that Onli was responsible for her change.

“Our Lord,” Trór turned to see Ori, Nali, Loni, along with Onli, who stayed behind the three, approach him and bow low. “We are all at thy service.”

“What is it you want Nali?”

“It is not what I want, lord, but what all three of us are asking. In the absence of your lordship, who is capable of leading the colony?”

“The people are leaderless,” continued Ori, “It is time that a sense of order is restored.”

They heard the mournful blast of a horn; Frar and his sixty warriors were on the march. Trór calmly fitted his helmet on his head and then adjusted it. Then he paused to watch Frar’s troops decline down the sloping road, he could be seen running at the head of his troops.

“I am going to find my second. Have decent defenses completed when I come back and all able bodied citizens armed and ready to fight when I come back. Especially make sure that the brew maid Kórin’s brother is prepared to fight, I want him in the front lines.”

“But who will lead us?” Nali sounded firm in his question, as if demanding an answer.

“The strongest!”


Nali

They walked briskly over the bridge back to the main hall. They passed many a soldier and questioning citizen on the way back, but they stopped for none. Nali had a lot to think about during the walk. He worried that Trór and Oin would not return and leave the city leaderless with the strongest struggling for control-Trór’s answer was too subjective to change. He wondered about Kórin’s brother and what he meant to Trór, but did it really matter?

The regulars who had been left behind at the gate were all busy with mounting stones and preparing trenches at the bottom of the stairs. Frar and Trór took one hundred warriors and left fifty behind, twenty of which Ori brought with him to help hand out the magnificent armor and weapons of the third deep.

As the four dwarves entered the great hall, one of the warriors blew his horn; no horn was ever blown inside the great hall unless to announce the coming of something important. The echoes repeated again and again, each time becoming quieter. Ori did not stay; he left immediately for the store of weapons. Loni and Nali remained together until the dwarves began to stir. Hundreds of them began to usher forth from their homes and circles of discussion.

“Thou must tell them, brother. I have a pressing matter to attend to.” Nali didn’t bother explaining, duties were racing through his brain too fast to stop and pause.

Nali scanned the faces of the crowd, but he was certain that he would not find his friend in midst of all these people. He was about to search for her at The Chamber of Mazarbul when he spotted her alone near the ale kegs, leaning against one of the gigantic pillars of the hall.

“Onli, find me Kór the brother of Kórin. Bring him to me.” Onli silently departed.

“Vigdis,” his manner was stern and proud, assuming the air of a noble. Vigdis bowed and opened her mouth to speak but Nali stopped her. “We do not have time for pleasantries, friend, I must speak bluntly for now. War is drawing nigh to the foot of the mountains, even now our new lord is searching for the Goblins, but that is of no concern to thee. As a new Lord rises to power the old must be lain to rest; unfortunately, no arrangements have been made for Balin to be buried. Willst thou be willing to build his tomb?”

[Durelin]

The difficulty Kórin had of finding Kór did not help her rage one bit. She asked nearly every dwarf she ran into if they had seen her brother, and she was of course lucky if she even got a civil answer, with how she barked at them, demanding an answer. Finally she was directed towards the kitchens, perhaps just to be rid of her.

She found him, though, to her surprise drinking rum with a couple of dwarf-women. They of course heard her heavy footsteps as she entered, and looked toward her.

“Excuse me,” she muttered half-heartedly. “Kór, we need to talk.”

He excused himself considerably more politely than Kórin had, placing his glass down, and followed her out of the kitchens.

“I’m guessing the council did not go well?” Kór asked with only slight hesitation, not hiding the mirth in his voice.

“No,” she snapped. She sat down on a nearby bench and Kór joined her. “We have a pompous, arrogant, blood-thirsty fool who will lead us all to our deaths. I have no idea what Balin saw in him.”

“Who?” Kór asked.

“Trór.”

“I am not very familiar with him,” Kór said slowly.

“Neither was I.”

Kórin’s voice had lost much of its fervor. The siblings were quiet for several moments, as her intense anger gave way to a sad and quiet bitterness. Kór knew her anger could flare up again at any moment, that it was not gone, but he was not afraid of it. He was about to ask her to simply tell him what happened when she spoke again.

“It’s all my fault,” she murmured.

“I doubt that,” Kór began.

Kórin ignored her brother. The words came out in a flood, her anger quickly rekindling as she spoke. “Trór has threatened to place you in the vanguard of the army he’s foolishly taking out against the orcs. And I have no doubt he goes through with his threats. He is that kind of dwarf. And it’s all my fault. He’s doing it out of spite for me. He’s playing with your life in order to spite me. Does that sound like a dwarf fit to lead? He will lead us all to our deaths.”

Kór swallowed. He had not expected that he would somehow be involved. And it seemed Kórin forgot that this was the first he was hearing of any armies.

“I guess he did it because I’m a woman. He can’t punish me, but must punish a man close to me. That is how men like him think.”

“Kórin?” Kór broke in quickly before his sister could continue. “So there will be a battle?” he asked as she went silent and turned her eyes back up from the floor to look at him.

“Yes. There’s a large army of orcs headed up the Silverlode,” she began, starting out calmly again. “Apparently a scouting party was responsible for killing Lord Balin. Trór is apparently taking a number of dwarves from the regular army – or perhaps the entire army, as he is insane enough – he’s going out to meet them. Apparently he’s leaving defensive preparations to everyone else. But you’re not going out with him. He’ll do his best to force you, but his command has no real power. Besides, he has to find you…”

Kórin trailed off as Kór shook his head. “It’s alright. If he really wants me there,” he began, attempting to jest.

“No,” his sister interrupted. “He’s going to get all of his men killed. If they are fools enough to follow him…”

“Well, if they are defeated everyone left behind will hardly be in a good position.”

“We will have the strength of Khazad-dûm.”

Kór sighed. “If I must, I must. It makes no difference when and where I fight. I expect we all will have to.” Kórin shook her head angrily and began to speak but her brother quickly continued. “How did you manage to anger him, anyway?”

“Just insulted his lofty pride,” Kórin snorted. “All it takes.”

“Uh huh…” Kór said, but did not ask any further questions.

[Gwathagor]

The soldiers were indeed ready, sixty of the fiercest, finest warriors in Khazad-dum. They stood shoulder to shoulder like grim chiseled stones, three ranks deep, awaiting Frar's command. Not one of them moved a muscle, but the tension was nearly palpable. They all felt it - the excitement, the pre-battle thrill. Even the most hardened veterans there, who had known that sensation countless times before and lived to remember it, felt it again, as they always would before a fight. Frar surveyed them, weighing their strength and their morale with a practiced eye. He strode down the ranks, turned, and strode back. He paused and tapped his foot - and then nodded slowly, his jaw set. He spoke to the lieutenant.

"Send for my axe."

The glowing embers of their excitement were kindled into a flame. This is what the dwarves wanted to hear. Most of them had fought under Frar before, and these muttered quietly to each other, some nudging, some grinning solemn grins. "Gamil Naragatholbund" they called him: "Old Citadel," and the other soldiers could see what they meant. Frar towered above all but the tallest of them like a black boulder, a titan of basaltic muscle and sinew bound in iron. "But have you seen his weapon?" they said. The newcomers had not, but they heard the name "Buzunimbar" passing between the ranks, and they wondered at it.

"First two ranks, step forward."

They did so as one man.

"You will be under my command. Third rank, the Lord Tror will lead you. We have very little time and we cannot wait for our skilled masons to be summoned. When we reach the site, we will throw up simple defenses - enough to break the goblin-army's advance. Then we can take them man-to-man."

Two smiths ran up, breathless. "Your - axe - sir," one gasped, and it was no wonder he was out of breath, for the weapon the two of them bore between them was tremendous. It was nearly as tall as an ordinary dwarf: long of handle, heavy of blade, and forged entirely of a dull black metal, of which, in the torchlight, only the very edges of the blades gleamed all along their twice-curved lengths. Buzunimbar it was, Black-Horn, the only axe Frar had ever borne in his long life, and it was as dark and scarred as he was; but its edge was still keen, and it had been newly sharpened. Most of the dwarves knew that axe and what it had done and could do. The others could well imagine, now that they saw its for themselves, why orc-chieftains told stories to their youngest fighters about the Grim Claw, the bane of their northern kin. It was a thing of fearsome use and terrible beauty.

Frar gave his thanks with an inclination of his head and took the enormous thing from the hands of the relieved smiths as though it were no lighter than a wooden board and yet also as if it meant as much to him as life itself. The smiths edged away and disappeared down a corridor. Frar felt the weight in his hands and lifted the horrible axe with one hand, raising it above his head.

"Gundi!" he thundered. "My hewers! Follow me!"

The electrified dwarves roared back their approval with a shout. "Buzunimbar! Buzunimbar for Tror and Khazad-dum!" they cried, and then fell silent. The soldiers all turned a sharp ninety degrees, and then the first rank began to march as a single-file line, for, even as they cheered him on, Frar had already turned his back and strode out of the hall towards the East Gate.

Outside, the last light of Durin's Day was failing as dusk crept up out of the east into the Dale - and with it, the goblin horde.

[Groin Redbeard]

The night was darker than the inside of a coal mine. No moon or stars guarded the warrior’s footfalls; yet, not one stumbled for Dwarves have sharp eyes, accustomed to the darkness of their mountain halls. However even for Dwarves, it was some time before they could descend down the steep path of the Dimrill Stair with ease.

The warriors soon were led off the old road and onto uneven ground, passing by the pillars and ridges of rock like specters. The steady clanking armor and thumping of boots guided Trór as he brought his warriors behind Frar’s lightly armed soldiers. He could see their dark silhouettes zig-zagging behind boulders and down in crevices, disappearing and then reappearing where he least expected them to emerge. The confusing manner of Frar’s movement kept Trór focused on narrowing the gap between their two bands but Frar kept his distance.

The wind was blowing hard, stinging his eyes. Trór had thought that it would rain tonight, but instead of rain it began to snow. He should have recognized it, the clouds were high and puffy when he last saw them; the snow would have to prompt them to move faster than rain would have. If the snow persisted in coming down harder it might slow the warriors down and cause the goblins to catch them, it might confuse them on their way back to the gates, or worse, separate Frar from Trór. This was a disaster in the making.

Trór squinted and put his hand up to shield his eyes from the snow, he had lost sight of the last line of Frar’s column. He continued to lead his Dwarves for a few paces and then stopped, frantically swinging his head in every direction. Presently he heard what he hoped for, the clanking of armor, Trór’s eyes were not sharp but his hearing was far better. With a wave of his hand they started moving again, one of the officers, Bain, a sharp eyed Dwarf, accompanied Trór in the lead.

“Faster,” came a hiss from Trór. Bain looked at him, confused if he had heard him or not.

“We must go faster!” Trór said with one breath, and with a considerable amount of annoyance at not being heard the first time. The warriors quickened their step and Trór could soon make out the swaying silhouettes of Frar’s warriors again. His column was soon brought behind Frar’s at a comfortable distance. Trór left Bain to lead the warriors and left to find Frar.

Frar was found at the head of the troops, leading the entire expedition. He was incredibly large and not too light footed, this gave Trór no difficulty in overtaking his attention.

“I don’t like all this wind and snow.” A surge of icy wind met his words. Trór stopped running and Frar dutifully stopped as well, the wind howled and whistled about them.

“I am beginning to doubt if we could find Oin in this awful mess. I doubt if splitting up will be a prudent choice now and I don't know if we should go much farther if we can't see what lies in front of our noses. We've been running for sometime now and are well beyond the Eastern Gates,” Trór turned back to see if he could see the peaks of Barazinbar, Bundushathur, or Zirak-zigil but none were there to be seen.

"This all has a foul mood to it. Azanulbizar has clouded our vision! Though this might be a blessing after all, it has clouded the Orcs' vision as well, though I doubt it will affect their sharp sense of smell and hearing."

Trór was beginning to lose hope, he could not clearly see much farther than a hundred paces. Chances of finding Oin in these conditions were bleak indeed. Despite the conditions, however, it pained Trór to think about abandoning the search and leaving his friend in such a hopeless predicament. He ceased searching the rocky plain for a sign and turned to Frar. Hopefully his subordinate would shed some helpful insight on the matter.