Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Groin Redbeard]

It was thus at the twenty second hour that Ori returned at the head of fifteen stout Dwarf warriors burdened with litters overflowing with the magnificence of Khazad-dûm. The array of armor and weapons of which Oin had discovered in the Third Deep was brought forth from into the hall and distributed. O, to see the array of craft that would ascend the brightest heaven of invention!

Old weapons, wielded by the Dwarves five years ago with their Lord, Balin, were forgotten for this new weaponry was crafted back when the renowned forges of the Dwarves was at their height. The weapons of the gifted smith, Narvi, and craftsmen, Doric, were here. The axes were rimmed with jewels and helms were crafted of silver. Leggings, much like the kind of the Iron Hills, were fitted to their legs, but these were of a lighter substance and no arrow or soft thrusting sword could penetrate the small links of chains. The most skilled of the smiths marveled at the metal breast plates bearing the emblems of Durin the Deathless, for they were of the most intricate detail.

However, no matter how delighted the Dwarves were at the sight of such wonders, they were still grim of heart. They did not forget the slaying of the Lord Balin and the encroachment of the Orcs upon their borders. Jealously would they defend their homes against the invader!

Little did they know, however, of Lord Trór’s predicament. For it was Trór and Frar who, unbeknownst to them, had passed Oin in the blinding snow and thus failed in their first reason for leaving the shelter of the mountains. Their path had been dangerously treacherous so far, but now a new enemy crouched for employment: Orcs were close at hand. Their keen sense of smell had tracked the scout Oin to the fords of Kheled Zaram, where they lost him in freshly falling snow.

The historical records are unclear as to what happened next, but it is of my opinion that the Orcs, frustrated and possibly scared of the consequences of failing, pushed onward until unhappy fate put them onto the larger scent of Trór and his warriors.

Thus with rough and all unable quill, I, Drók, shall recant how the warlike Trór, with his friends, assume the greatest struggle of the time. Can these pages hold the vast dale of Azulbizar; or, could you cram within these leather bindings the very armies that did ascend to the fight at Khazad-dûm? But I must ask for your pardon. Instead let us bring to this great account your imaginary forces; for it is you who must now deck the characters of history, turning the accomplishments of many years into an hour glass. Permit me to call us to this history. Your humble patience I pray and may it please you, gentle reader, to hear of the great stirring of the Dwarves and of the Second Battle of Azulbizar.

[Durelin]

“Folk of Khazad-Dûm, hear me!”

For the second time that day, the Twenty-first Hall fell silent. Kór and Kórin had sat in silence themselves for several minutes, and though neither made any outward sign of interest, they both listened closely as the announcement was made and orders were given. The speech was quite brief, and Kórin gave a bitter sigh. Of course they would keep as much information to themselves as possible, including the new lord of Khazad-dûm! Apparently they expected everyone to fight under unknown leadership.

Why didn’t Trór give the orders himself? she wondered. He would have enjoyed more opportunity for that. It dawned on her that his party should have left before now. Kórin tried to remember Trór’s precise words…the “vanguard of the army”. Leaning forward, she covered her hands with her face.

She heard someone approaching, but did not move. It was a dwarf who had come to summon Kór. She felt her anger rise even more when she heard Kór stand up without any hesitation. Then she rose from her seat, as well. They had requested all who could fight, and she was certainly “capable”.

Kór looked at his sister, knowing exactly what she had in mind. He started to say something, but did not, and simply shook his head – somewhat in sadness, but mostly as a simple gesture. It meant, “you don’t have to do this, Kórin”, but he had no doubt she knew that. He knew she felt responsible, but he also knew that she would always be there, regardless of any guilt.

[Groin Redbeard]

Nîsa had already heard the news from the lips of the council, so the shock was not as drastic with her. However, when Lóni finished speaking she found herself shaking. The danger was real and consequences were equally as frightening—even with a victory it would be bought at a high price. Nîsa had never before been present in a battle, save five years ago at the great purification of Khazad-dum, but she did not see much of wars horrors for the women were not brought into the city until it was cleared of any stain of battle. Now she would have to play a more important role of tending the wounded and preparing food for the soldiers, knowing at anytime the defenders could be overrun and her life taken.

The crowd began to stir at the coming of Ori and the armory. The Dwarves began to take heart, for they were leaderless and the thought of Ori being a worthy successor was in the forefront of every Dwarf’s mind—he would be their leader for a time.

Now that there was a soaring of morale the males, with grim farewells to the few Dwarf women, surged forward to choose their armor and weapons. Nîsa felt like weeping at the sight of so many of her friends willingly stepping forward to what very well might be their doom. She saw Bain, the smith, handling a handsomely crafted axe and rushed to him.

“I wish this day would not have come.” Nîsa flung herself on Bain and hugged him. “Why must peaceful days always end? Take care of yourself Bain; find a good warrior to stand by.”

It had occurred to Nîsa that flinging herself uncontrollably on Bain would certainly wound his pride as a fighter, but she did not want him to leave without knowing that she cared for him. He was a burly, strong Dwarf and could no doubt handle himself. She released her tight hold on him stepped back. Her gaze was downcast.

“I am sorry if I have wounded your pride, but so many of my friends will doubtlessly die today, and if not today tomorrow. Please don’t be one of them, take care of yourself!”

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Kór followed Onli's summon immediately, but the freshly appointed deputy of Náli stopped when he noticed his sister raising as well. He hesitated. It was not his post to care whether somebody follows them or not, however, Onli had witnessed part of what happened at the council and he was not feeling very sure as to whether it is wise to bring Kórin back with him. Onli was very careful. This was his first task in his new post, and already the risk arose - or that was at least one possibility in his mind - that he might displease his superiors by bringing this woman along, or, by not preventing her from following.

However, he was not so keen on starting an argument with Kórin either. He wanted to bring Kór to Náli as soon as possible to please his superiors. Well, he could always stop her later if she followed him and he was ordered to deal with her. Onli could not prevent himself from smirking, but he put on a stern face again immediately. It just crossed his mind that perhaps if he were ordered to deal with Kórin, it might again help him prove his abilities.

"Follow me, Kór," he said aloud; and turning around, he made his way to where Náli was awaiting them.

[Dimturiel]

The Dwarves were ready to set out to battle. Bain was with them, his axe held tight in his hand. Vaguely he was wondering how his entire world could turn upside down so suddenly, and he berrated himself for not thinking at least once in those five long years since he had lived in Khazad-dum that such days might come. He should have been expecting this. In spite of the fact that he considered himself a decent fighter, he felt unprepared.

Suddenly, he spotted Nisa, but before he could think of what he should say to her, she had flung herself on him, begging him to take care of himself. Then she abruptly let go of him again, apologizing for her behaviour. But Bain was far from being angered by it. Indeed, he was actually warmed by the hug, and he thought he could see clearly now what this battle was about, and realized that he had reasons enough to fight and win, and return afterwards. He smiled at Nisa.

“Do not you go on thinking about death and the ending of days of peace, my Nisa,” he told her. “Have hope and wait for my return. I must go now, but do not worry: I will come back to you sooner than you think and then we shall have peace and good days and life once more.”

[Thinlómien]

Trór had asked him if he wanted to go and look for Óin and he had chosen to stay. Like he had told Trór, he'd be of no specific importance there but he could be of use with erecting the defenses. And what he had not told Trór was that he was getting old and he did not want to get wearied before the fight. Besides, he was not as worried of his old friend as Trór seemingly was, he knew Óin was clever as a fox and able to cope with any difficulty. He was more worried of how Óin would take the news of Balin's death.

"The most efficent would be to pile those stones here as a wall. I'm only troubled we don't have the time." Brambor's deep voice brought Ori back to the present. The old lieutenant was a veteran in building defenses and thus appointed to take care of the task. He was quick-witted and steady as a rock, exactly the right man to do the job. Ori was there merely to advise him if needed and to represent Trór's rule. He was mostly sheepishly nodding to the old veteran's points, but now he actually opened his mouth to speak.

"I suggest building it from there to there instead," he said, "it will protect the city almost as well and will need far less work."

Brambor surveyed the surroundings carefully and nodded then, seemingly pleased. "That will do," he said. "Svetr! Bratr! take your men and start heaving those stones!" Immediately, a few dozen Dwarves started moving the stones.

"I'm glad there is such strong will to protect our city," Brambor said in a soft voice. Ori nodded. There was not much else to say.

For a while they watched the Dwarves working, then Ori turned to the veteran again. “I do not think I’m needed here anymore. I will seek out Lóni or Náli and see how they are progressing.” Brambor nodded. “Good. I will send you a runner if there’s something you should know.” Ori nodded and with a slight bow, turned and left.

He walked towards the gates. There was a familiar figure leaning against the wall, barely visible in the shadows. Upon hearing Ori’s footsteps, it lifted its head. In the dim evening light, the blue eyes reflected the same grief that Ori knew was in his own eyes.

[Groin Redbeard]

They continued on. The wind was blowing harder and the snow swirled in masses before their eyes. The warriors were spread out in a long line to survey the ground for evidence of Orcs or Óin. Trór marched alongside Frar.

The march was slow and unsure, the warriors hesitant to go any farther in the blinding storm. Trór and Frar knew that they were at a disadvantage: they were blind in the storm the Orcs could smell. However, for a time this threat was ignored—Óin had to be found.

A shout was presently heard from down the line and a halt was ordered. A Dwarf ran to Trór holding something close to his chest; Frar stepped forward and the Dwarf handed the object to him. Frar gave a harsh whisper and bent his head to examine the object while the Dwarf responded.

“What’s the matter Frar?”

Frar turned and hesitantly held out the mysterious object. Trór’s eyes widened in disbelief; he dropped his spear and quickly snatched a box from Frar. It was Óin's tinderbox; Trór held it tightly breathing hard in disbelief.

“Where was this found?”

“It was stuck in some mud not far back, my lord,” the soldier responded. “There were Orc footprints are all around it.”

“Any sign of Óin?”

“None my lord.”

Trór was silent at the response. The box filled his entire gaze, remembering how closely Óin held on to it. It was at this moment that Trór despaired of the search and bent his head while the tears flowed down his cheeks. Óin was dead, and what was worse, his noble body was being defiled by the Orcs. I have lost my king and my councilor; must I lose my friend as well? What an unhappy fate is mine! And in a great voice, he raised his head and cried his friend’s name. Silence followed his cry as he looked around uneasily to see if it would be answered.

“My lord,” it was Gror: the messenger from King Dain. Trór had forgotten that Gror was charged to his service, and that meant following his lord wherever he went. Trór gave a half turn as Gror came forward. He stopped.

“My lord, Oin is capable of taking care of himself in these situations. His valor is well known in Erebor and I’m sure he can get himself out of this Dale without our help. We are wasting precious time; you should be leading your warriors in the city. Nothing can be availed by searching for Oin blindly out here; he may very well be waiting for your lordship upon our return.” Gror had spoken more boldly than was usual, but he was in a grave circumstance and Trór needed to see that.

“No Gror, Óin is not waiting for us: he is dead. Óin would never leave his tinderbox like so—he must be…” A loud cry was heard close by and Trór turned to see one of his warriors fall with a large dart in his neck.

“Orcs!” Officers immediately began to bring the long line of warriors in a compact group. Their lines were now two rows deep and curved to meet attacks on three sides. Shields were easily un-slung from their backs and against them the Orcs’ arrows could not penetrate. Masses of arrows and small spears were hurled against the Dwarves, but against the hard steel of their hauberks and shields the arrows had little effect. Great Uruks could be seen in the swirling snow, some with bent bows but mostly wielding great scimitars. As the arrows came in less frequent volleys the Uruks could be seen advancing; soon the arrows stopped and loud shrieks erupted from the Orcs. Trór could not discern their numbers, but it was a band the size of his own at least. The Orcs sprang forward without order, each of them screaming in their dreadful language. The Dwarves gave a tremendous yell and swung their Mattocks’ as the Orcs hit their lines.

It was no more than a skirmish but it was a desperate struggle. One side motivated by conquest and treasure and the other side motivated by the defense of their home and for their fallen lord, Balin. Many of Trór’s warriors broke rank and swung their weapons with good effect deep within the swarm of Orcs. Trór stabbed swiftly with his spear as the Orcs came at him, his strong arm thrusting his spear through shield and armor.

The Goblins had seen the raven on Trór's helm and they strode with long weapons to pierce him. If not for the heroic protection from Gror, Trór's prowess in battle would have been in vain, for the darts rained most thickly about him. A hobgoblin grabbed Trór's spear and yanked it from his grasp. It was then that Trór threw off his shield and wielded his axe. With Gror close by his side, Trór broke rank, and with a swelling yell, was followed by his warriors and so great was their indignation that many piles of Orcs lay about them.

Throwing himself against shields Trór bore down his enemies and cut the taller Orcs at the knees. Trór's axe swung swiftly, hacking with as much ferocity as he could muster (the extent of which drove him blindly mad). He had tried to catch a glimpse of Frar, but was constantly distracted by the onslaught of Orcs. Trór could only pray to Durin that Frar and his warriors was not in trouble.

~~~~~~~~~~

Nali

“Poor Vigdis.” Nali muttered to himself.

There was a sadness in her eyes that matched those of Balin’s closest friends. Vidgis had done fine work with the new passages and with restoring those pillars of beauty which the Orcs sundered in their long stay. Balin had never spoken of her to him personally and Nali would never assume of anything betwixt the two, but Vigdis had spoken of Balin to him several times in their conversations. Perhaps she could not help it, perhaps she needed to confide in someone, perhaps she did not realize what she was saying at the time, but Nali knew that Vigdis was fond of her lord. He wondered if she would be just as fond of her new lord. Nevertheless, she will make a splendid burial tomb, the kind that dedication and love can create when combined.

“My lord!” Onli was not standing far away, and true to his task, had brought Kór.

“Good, a small task for thee, yet executed well enough. In-fact, thou hast exceeded my instructions.” Nali cast a sour glance at Kórin. He sighed heavily. “I believe I summoned for thy brother’s service, not thee personally. I have given thee a chance with Lord Trór but if thou art looking for more trouble or a boon I am afraid that I shall be of little assistance in granting either.”

Nali paused. His hand was raised to dismiss her, but the motion never came. Tread carefully, old dwarf. No need to cause a scene over nothing. Best hear her out first, no harm in that. His eyes softened, no longer having that concentrated piercing look. He stroked his chin several times before abruptly asking:

“Why hast thou come? Thy brother is the only dwarf I hath need of for the present.”