Tears of Mirrormere RPG

[Groin Redbeard]

Long have we heard the glory of the Longbeards, now listen to this testimony of their worth.

From the time of the Lord Trór’s wounding the battle stood against the Dwarves. Long did the brave leaders stand against the tides of darkness, praying for the dawn. The steadfast Lóni, his brow wet and weary, firmly held the center. In vain did all the host of the foe strive to break the resolve of the Dwarves, but the Orcs reckoned without the great wrath of Frar--prowess more skilled than an eagle in vaunting flight against sparrows. See yonder foe stayed by so few defenders. Without Lóni and Frar the heroism yet to be mentioned would not have happened.

Yet, not all great deeds were done by nobles this day. Kórin fought bravely within the Dwarven ranks. Many Dwarves fell about her, yet she did not shirk and continued bravely at the fore of her companions. Likewise, Kénan, stripped of all noble trappings, begrudged this not when duty called and gave great testimony to the strength of his generation.

Doubtful the battle stood; as two spent swimmers, that do cling together and choke each other with all their art. All seemed lost till the Lord Trór emerged from the Mountain seemingly unscathed by battle or fatigue. A banner was in his hand, for he had lost his spear in battle, and his axe was held aloft. The Orcs wondered to see his hardy figure displayed so swiftly after seeing him fall and swiftly born away. The Dwarves cheered and pressed ever forward into the stunned Orcs.

The merciless Orcs--worthy to be such creatures, for, to that, the multiplying villainies of nature do swarm upon them--from the Northern realm of Gundabad of Hobgoblins and Wolves is supplied; and fortune, on their quarrel smiling, showed in their favor: yet all were too weak; for brave Oin, --well he deserves that name. Disdaining fortune, with his brandished steel, which smoked with bloody execution, like valor's minion, carved out his passage till he faced the leader of the Orc rabble. Accompanied by Ori was the brave Oin and together sifted through the body guards as a sickle does to wheat ripe for the harvesting. Face to face stood Oin against the Orc leader, Gorfang was his name, which never shook hands, nor bade farewell to him, till Oin unseamed him from the crest the the nave and fixed his head upon the battlements!

At this the Orcs, though greatly superior in numbers, succumbed fatigue of their long march and stout fight against the Dwarves-- they eagerly fled the field. Loath was Trór to restrain his warriors from routing his foe, yet he saw for himself the thinned force which he now commanded. Then was the diminished Dwarf host drawn within the curtains of Narvi’s Gates --never again to usher forth from their halls. The Goblins set siege to the mountain and with crude picks and hammers started biting into the mountain.
Thus ended the Second Battle Azulbizar.

May it please you gentle listener to hear of the second day of our story and the great undoing of Khazad-dum.

[Kitanna]

The wounded had been brought within the lower hall. Iari had woken alone, her heart aching for her brother and grandfather. She had spent much time crying that Kéni had decided to fight. She had been told she was too young to understand duty, to understand his need to fight. Iari may not have understood those things, but she did understand family and already her family had lost too many members in her short life.

Now in the hall Iari searched among the wounded for sign or word of Kénan and Kéni. Iari had heard rumblings that the orcs would break through and take the hall soon, but she couldn't be troubled by that, not now.

She spotted Kéni, laid out on the floor, a thin blanket over his body. Iari rushed over and saw a large, red spot in the chest of the blanket. "Kéni!" she wailed. She reached out to undercover her brother, to see the damage that was done. Another, less wounded, dwarf stopped her.

"Best if you not see that, lass."

Iari refused to let tears forms. If she cried she would show despair for Kéni. His wound couldn't be so bad, could it? If he was going to die they wouldn't have taken the time to bring his body back, right?

Iari knelt next to Kéni, taking his hand in hers. She used her free hand to smooth out his hair. "Kéni? Kéni, please wake up." Iari's brother mumbled a few things, but didn't wake up.

She curled up in a ball next to him. At some point while laying next to Kéni Iari fell asleep herself. She awoke with Kénan's shadow above her and she was still holding Kéni's hand in her own.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

As Lóni walked back into the underground halls, he felt like awakening from some kind of dream. The outcome of the battle - especially the last, what was it, seconds? Minutes? Hours? - it all seemed unreal to him, hazy, as if he had not really been there, or maybe he had, but in some other life or time or memory.

At one point, the Orcs were charging at them, they released their arrows and the black tide stopped, and he saw Trór being carried away from the battlefield. And in the next moment, the onslaught was renewed, and Lóni was once again holding his ground in the small spot beneath the slopes of the mountain, in front of the gates. And was it the Mountain, the one where he had been before? He could not discern one memory, or dream, from the other. He remembered the glorious moment when the gates swung open and the figure of their leader stood there. Thorin in Erebor. Trór in Azanulbizar. Did the past and the present always seem so intertwined? Lóni felt like awakening from a dream, but he now started to feel the present very strongly.

"It is like emerging from deep water, isn't it," said a voice next to him. He turned and saw Óin's face, with his white beard dirty, his face bearing an exhausted expression. Lóni nodded.

"True. But I am afraid that this was not yet the last time when we have had to go into the water."

Óin shrugged and, turning to join a group of Dwarves who followed to see the Lord of Moria, disappeared in the crowd. Lóni walked on, he intended to see his brother first to tell him that he is all right. Lóni was imagining how Náli could already be worried, especially if he heard about what happened to Trór, and knowing that Lóni was nearby.

However, it was only after he didn't find his brother among the leaders of the right flank, that Lóni started to feel a bit unsettled. Then he asked, and finally somebody told him that his brother had been wounded. They pointed him to the place where Náli lay, and Lóni walked there, fearful in expectation.

"Oh brother," he said, when he looked at the motionless body. He could not say anything more, he just gazed at his brother's face, his body, his legs, everything so much alike to his own. There were only two differencies for the older of the brothers - the two eyes still hidden behind the closed eyelids, and only one arm, resting peacefully upon the blood-stained blanket.

[Groin Redbeard]

The Hall stank with the odor of blood— Nisa felt as if the whole Hall were rotting. She had been up the entire night attending the wounded and now was her chance to rest.

Nali was still unconscious. He had been lying still the entire night except for a few moments where he would violently thrash his head and mutter something. Even an unconscious Nali gave Nisa comfort, so she chose a spot close to Nali and began to nod. However, her sleep was soon disturbed by many heavy footfalls—the warriors had returned.

Nisa jumped up at this. Where was Trór? She couldn’t see him amongst the crowd. She knew that he had been wounded and returned to the battle, but where was he?


Trór

The rock surface of the table shifted its weight on its legs as Trór slammed his fist down.

“How many?”

Grór hesitated for a moment before he responded, fearing that his response would bring out an even worse reaction. “We lost a little less than half our strength, my lord.”

Trór stood silent for a long moment. This was not the kind of victory that he wanted, but it couldn’t be helped. Even an army a fraction of its former size was better than nothing at all—Trór was fortunate to still have an army.

“What of my nobles?”

“My lord, the casualtys are still coming in, but for now the only noble that we have lost is Nali.”

“Dead?” Trór’s eyes were wide with surprise and fear.

“No my lord, he has lost an arm.”

Again Trór fell silent. Nali was a good Dwarf and hard to replace. However, a match must be made, but later, not now. He turned back to his officers; most of them were minor for his nobles had not yet returned from battle.

“What of the miners in Second Deep, have they been sent for?”

“Yes, my lord, but we must remember that Lord Balin sent the miners out weeks ago to carve out new passages. They will be half a day more in reaching us. Lord Balin’s death will also be a great shock when they return; they might not be fit for duty until tonight.”

The officer would have continued, but Trór raised his hand for silence—the nobles had returned. Trór could see Ờin coming alone. His beard was splotched with blood, Trór smiled to see it—Ờin had showed his valor had not diminished with his age.

“So well your blood stained beard becomes you, as your valiant deed today; they both smack of honor. I am glad to see you well, Ờin.” Trór looked over his shoulder at his officers; all of them watching his meeting with Ờin as if it were a matter of pressing importance.

“There are too many eager ears here, my friend. Will you walk with me to the bridge? There is pressing matter that I must discuss with you.

[Legate of Amon Lanc]

Once again, despite the fact that he had known Trór already for a long time, Óin was surprised. This Dwarf, he thought, was one who had been badly wounded in the battle not that long time ago, but how he bore himself! How he acted! His endurance had to be admitted, that was for sure. But when Trór asked Óin to follow him to the Bridge, the old Dwarf was slightly surprised. He did not give away any sign, though, his face remaining motionless.

"Aye," he said. "I will follow you."

A few of the captains shot their eyes in their direction, but neither Trór nor Óin made any response to it. They walked away, the older Dwarf following a few steps behind the current Lord of Moria. What is it, he thought, his blue eyes pinned on Trór's back, that the Lord was having on his mind? Was he planning to act in some way? Did he want Óin to go on a scouting mission, now, or to do something else to thwart the Orcs' plans? Óin would not be surprised at something like that, though he could imagine that it would be hard to get out of the gates, surely besieged by now. Even now he could see in his mind's eye the Orcs approaching the gates, choosing the best places to stand, the old Dwarf remembered every inch of that ground and he knew exactly where they would find good places to stay - and how hard would it be to drive them out of these spots.

At the near end of the bridge they stopped. Óin looked for a moment into the depths of the pit and shivered slightly at the breath of chill currents blowing into his face from the unknown depths. He shook his head and turned away.

"So," he said, raising his eyes to meet the sight of the younger Dwarf, but seeing instead a wounded, but a tough warrior and the Lord of this kingdom, now shrunk and besieged, however still a Dwarven realm of old. "What was it, Trór, that you wanted to tell me about? My earsight is not as good as it used to be, but I am listening to you."

[Durelin]

The orcs retreated even as the warriors of Khazad-dûm were beginning to feel the pressure of falling back. They managed to hold their ground fiercely enough that the orcs gave way. There was no doubt that the dwarves had lost many, and no matter how many orc corpses lay in the snow, the dwarves were now even more outnumbered due to their losses.

Kórin returned from the battlefield, exhaustion and realization hitting her hard. Even when she saw her brother in the First Hall, she could not feel relief like she had earlier. On her mail were splotches of her own blood, as well as the blood of others, orcs and comrades alike. She knew how many orcs she had felled that night, but that she could not count the number of dwarves she had seen fall kept her grim and silent.

When Kór saw his sister enter the hall among the other soldiers sent to the First Hall rather than kept outside as a garrison or to gather the remains of the dead, he almost smiled at first, with relief and with amusement at the fact that she did indeed get her wish to fight, but seeing her covered in the residue of battle left him unable.

Kór made his way to her. "Do you have any wounds that need tending?" he asked after an awkward moment of plain recognition.

"Not any that need tending before others'," she began. "For one thing, I am still standing."

Kór could only nod and look down at his feet. "Trór is among those wounded. We were afraid he was dead..."

"Was that whom you were carrying off the field?" Kórin asked.

Kór nodded. He was starting to shake, and it was getting difficult to speak.

"So he has survived the majority of his men," Kórin said grimly. She looked around the Hall for the new Uzbad Khazaddûmu, but did not catch sight of him.

Staring at his sister's face, wondering at the flat seriousness of her expression, Kór spoke, "We need a drink."

So they returned to the Twenty-first Hall where their day had begun in revelry, and bore back Kórin's keg to the First Hall along with others who brought food and drink to the soldiers returning from battle.

For now they would recover their strength, and leave it to the lords to determine the next step in protecting their lives and their home. They could hold out in the vast depths of Khazad-dûm for a long time, but she was not sure they had the strength anymore to make an effective defense. Still, there was hope of survival, if it could be called that, as the mines ran deep...

[Gwathagor]

Frar leaned heavily against the stone wall and let his axe fall to the ground with a dull but resounding clatter, like heavy bones knocking against each other. His black hair and beard were matted and sticky and made even blacker with orc blood, save for a few red patches where his own blood, oozing from a gash above his right eye, mixed with theirs. The wound had ceased to bleed and was now bandaged with a strip of linen wound many times around his head. His armor was scored deeply on all sides, but only in a few places had it failed altogether, and these wounds too had been bandaged up - and the armor buckled straight back on over them. Altogether, the appearance of the titanic warrior was one of battered, ferocious dignity. Though the head-bandage unfortunately covered his right eye, his Frar's left eye burned with a redoubled fire, a fire that had been rising all day and that the recent battle had only serve to stoke. Frar cast his heavy leather gauntlets down beside the axe, took a deep breath, and looked around him.

All around him were soldiers who had just returned from the field off battle. They trickled in, most wounded, most still in their armor, some of them bearing their gear with them from more distant chambers, clearly with the intent to stay. All were dirty and bruised and beaten in body - but still strong in spirit. They were in a moderately-sized chamber just off the main hall, just an arrow's flight from the Bridge of Khazad-dum, and from here they could answer any threat immediately. In the meantime, they would rest, bind their wounds, and wait.

Frar walked among his soldiers, taking in their strength and morale. He said little, but for his faithful dwarves, his nods and growls spoke plenty. They knew: he was tremendously proud of them and heartbroken at the wounds they had taken.

An hour or so later, his task completed, Frar went in search of Tror, hoping against hope that he had survived the last furious skirmish before the orcs had retreated down the Dale. Their losses had been great and only a very few of their surviving soldiers had gone unscathed. Frar was not excited about bringing his report to Tror, but it was necessary nonetheless.