Logfile from Elendor.
Dimrill Dale
Not more than a mile to the west, and up, is
the grey side of the Silvertine. An aged path travels up to what looks to be a
shallow cave at the mountain's base. Northward the dale runs up into a glen of
shadows between two great arms of the mountains, above which three white peaks
are visible: Celebdil, Fanuidhol, and Caradhras. At the head of the glen a
torrent flows like white lace over an endless ladder of short falls, and a mist
of foam hangs in the air about the mountains' feet. To the south the
The rain continues to pour around you. The
before dawn autumn air is warm and muggy.
Contents:
Luzgash
Balin
Grutka
Oin
Brenin
Frar
Grouch
.Ori
Gahburguul
[Rukghash]
It is Novembre the 8th, in the fifth year of the
reoccupation of Moria by the Dwarve led by Balin. The night sky is clear of cloud
or obstruction, save for the moon which sheds its light to this side of the
Misty Mountains casting an eerie glow down over the Dimrill Dale. The air is
chill and crisp, and a light breeze snaps down the Mountainside and through the
Dale.
Stars twinkle and flicker in the night sky and shine
against the calm waters of the Mirromere. The
Where there was once battle four years ago to regain
Moria from the orcs, there is now quiet and relative peace. The orcs have not
been seen in mass in these parts for a few years now, and the Dwarves of Moria
have worked continuously in an attempt to remold their home of Khazad-Dum.
[Balin(#29612)]
And those few years much has been wrought: claiming for
himself the Lordship of Moria, Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of
Mazarbul, and spends much of his time there managing the day to day affairs of
his people as all work together to rebuild their ancient glories.
But peace brings with it old longings, and tonight the
Mirrormere gleams like the brightest mithril, its perfect surface smooth as glass. . .and it is here that Balin ventures, a lone regal
figure in the darkness. The sight brings a smile to warm his strong features,
and he nears the waters, preparing to look in, his expression one of great
reverence.
[Gahburguul(#31483)]
Moving slowly in the shadows along the mountain base,
evil drifts like mist into the Dale. With a dark bow hanging from his left
hand, Gahburguul steps softly over uneven rocks. As he moves, the Uruk keeps
his right hand lightly against the smooth face of the mountain. Inky black eyes
shimmer as a predator on the prow, awaiting an opportunity to strike.
Pausing, he holds his bow up to signal a stop to those
with him. Gray nostrils flare as the archer inhales deeply. His dark eyes
narrow and he repeats, lifting his left nostril higher as if catching the
putrid scent of Gazat. Looking over his shoulder for a brief instant, he jerks
his head to the water and turns his head forward. He lifts his upper lip in a
sneer he catches sight of a figure.
[Rukghash]
Moving in rhythmic steps along with the Orc archer
Gahburguul, two uruk Scouts hold their scimitars ahead of them and crouch low
to the ground - their lithe forms melding into the rocks about them. Unmoving
and silent the Uruks wait for the Archer's orders, their eyes scanning to try
and see what the archer sees.
[Balin(#29612)]
Yet if Balin sees, he makes no sign of it: rather, he
stoops to gaze into the Mirrormere, kneeling beside the waters, a straight,
tall figure of his people, white beard easily visible in the darkness. . . .
[.Ori(#7091)] A doorway into a
great and glorious realm beyond the clear autumn sky, the Gates of Moria lay
open to the light of moon and star. Outlined in a silhouette of milky-white
light between the two great opened stone doors of the gate is a dark yet noble
form. His mane is all but invisible, its hue is kin to that of the night, but the
silver hood that presses heavily against reflects the light poured down the
mountain's slopes from the jeweled sky. Reflectively does Ori Stormrook, long
time companion of Lord Balin, recline upon the sides of the open gate. His eyes sharing the utter black of his mane and beard
gaze out over the Dimrill Dale, keen yet lost in thought of a land reclaimed,
and glories restored. The gleam of Kheled-zaram is reflected deep within his
orbs.
[Frar(#30925)]
Mug in hand, Frar stands just inside the gate of
Khazad-Dum, laughing at a joke one of his companions has just told. His
attention is turned towards the inside of the great door, and he quickly takes
a drink from his mug, grinning as he tries to drink, some of the ale dripping
down into his thick black beard.
[Gahburguul(#31483)]
Pulling his right hand away from the mountain, Gahburguul
reaches over his shoulder and draws a black arrow from his quiver. Drawing the
arrowhead near his mouth, a black tongue lashes out to cover the cold metal
with a yellowish slime. Looking to those behind him, he motions his head to the
waters edge. Shifting slowly the archer nocks his arrow against the string of
his bow. With the breeze, he stretches the weapon and bows his head lightly
against his shoulder, taking aim to the back of the Gazat's head. Drool drips
from the side of his mouth in anticipation and after a short pause his claws
release the arrow.
A deadly whistle sings out as the black arrow screams
toward the unsuspecting figure standing beside the water.
[Rukghash]
A breeze, swift and biting, slides swiftly down the face
of the Mountain gnawing at the boens of the two Scimitar Orcs. They watch in
eagerness as the Archer looses his crooked black arrow at the Dwarf, it's form bending over the Mirromere. A grin slips onto
their faces revealing the yellowed fangs dripping with saliva. "A good
shot." One of the Scouts says before the arrow is more than halfway to its
target.
A stab of light from the horizon, and the sun rises cold
and distant.
[Balin(#29612)]
Peace breeds many things. . .and
unfortunately, extreme caution is not always among them.
And so it is that Balin remains gazing into the
Mirrormere, his back straight and proud, chest high.
It is too late even before he has time to realise: the
arrow promptly finds its mark, and the Lord of Moria slumps to the ground. . .
.
[Oin(#24093)] It is Oin, the son of Groin, and first cousin
to Balin himself whose voice echoes first throughout the Dale. Deep, booming,
as were it a thunderclap in a dark autumn eve. "Nooooooooo!", cries he, as he rushes forward from his place near
Ori.
His gauntletted hand outstretched, the deep lines in his
centuries old face mirroring the horror of what has just happened, as clear as
Mirrormere.
[Brenin(#9548)] A cry comes from
the doorway from a keen-eyed dwarf, Brenin, who had just arrived in the
doorway. "No!" he wails. "It cannot be! Watch out!" But his
warning comes too late, and the arrow pierces his lord. As fast as time permits,
the dwarf leaps out one step from the door, then pauses, confusion marking his
lined and dirty face.
[Rukghash]
Coming out from the rocky outcropping the two Uruk Scouts
dash ahead of their archer companion, eyes alight with greed. "I'll take
his helm!" one says, eyes flickering. "I've got the buggers
axe!" The other screeches. The Scouts rush
forward and nearly reach the fallen body of Balin when they hear the cries of
the Dwarves. Stepping in front of the body of Balin
the two Orcs set themselves for the onrushing form of Oin, his form coming
foremost down the mountain.
[.Ori(#7091)] The jovial
laughter and shared mirth all about him is not heard by the ears of Ori, they
are blocked out of his thoughts as still he stares wistfully into the night.
His arms are folded restfully over his barrel chest. The dwarf readjusts his
grey cloak over his blocky shoulders and pulls his hood lower over his eyes to
shield his form from the biting wind; he suppresses a shudder.
The ears of Ori,
filled with the echo of war and battles of the past, do hear the shrill whistle
on the night breeze, its sound belonging to naught else but the arrow of an
orc, the enemy of the khazad. His eyes darken with brooding, and he swiftly
stands erect and swivels his gaze before him, panning the Dimrill Dale. The
brooding anger in his orbs quickly passes to sheer wrath as they fall upon the
slumped form of the Lord of Khazad-dum. Horror-stricken, Ori yanks his axe from
his belt and charges forth from the doorway with rage coarsing through him. His
instincts kick in, and he manages a quick command. "All Khazad forth, our
leader is wounded!"
[Gahburguul(#31483)]
Swinging his bow swiftly over his shoulder to latch it
onto his back, the archer darts forward to claim a prize from the kill. His
hideous mouth is twisted in a satisfied grin as he nears the body. Surprise
reflects in his eyes, and a shriek screams out from deep within his throat. The
sound echoes though the Dale and seemingly into the mountains. As his shriek
echo's Gahburguul pulls his Scimitar from his waist. Baring his teeth, the uruk
launches himself at the Gazat who guards the body and any prizes he'd earned
with the kill.
[Brenin(#9548)] Brenin's halt is
only momentary; a second later he, with many other dwarves, barrels down the
mountainside. While running, he unsheathes the only weapon he has, a miner's
hammer in his belt. In the moonlight it gleams coldly, flashing with every step
the dwarf takes toward the orcs there.
[Frar(#30925)]
The cries that boom out and echo in the great hall of the
khazad alert Frar and he turns towards the sounds with a look of bewilderment on
his face. He drops his mug which crashes to the ground splintering into several
different pieces. "What has happened?" Frar cries out but as he
rushes to the frame of the gate of Khazad-Dum, his eyes see. Hearing Ori's
command, his hands quickly move to the battle axe on his back
and begins moving towards his fallen Lord.
[Oin(#24093)] It is a day that
shall long be mourned in song and verse, a grief among the dwarves of Middle
Earth; the terrible and tragic death of one of the greatest Dwarven Lords of
the latter days of the Age. That this had to take place before the eyes of Oin,
cousin in blood to Balin and that this was done right before his own gates goes
not unnoticed by this Lordly Dwarf. Woe unto the orcs, to all the cursed folk!
For, with a trumpet cry, a great shout, there leaps out of Khazad Dum the
dwarves, and Oin, girt in silver mail and wielding an axe sharp and terrible,
rushing down into the Dale!
The Orcish scouts rush forward into the oncoming Dwarves,
both being cut down in rapid succession by Dwarven axes. They fall without
sound and their weapons clatter to the ground and lie still. Black blood once
again stains the grounds of Dimrill Dale, and battle has been joined once more
between Dwarf and Orc.
[Rukghash]
The air feels tense, and thick with wrath in the Dimrill
Dale. Yet, another sound echoes from below the Dimrill Dale, and one that grows
louder by the moment. Sounds of feet stamping the ground in rhythmic succession
to the beating of a few drums, as orcs - a great many of them - begin to come
up towards the Dimrill Dale.
"Bang and crash! Rend and gnash! We come! We come,
for Moria!" The orcs sing out in unison, their swollen ranks un-breaking
as they continue their march up the Dimrill Dale.
Boom! Boom! The drums beat twice, loudly, and it is off.
The orcs charge forward with a great rush full into the Dimrill Dale, their
fell war-cry echoing on the wind and mountains.
[Grutka(#32096)]
The sounds of bodies crashing through brush
accompanied by heavy breathing composed of gasps, wheezes and pants,
innumerable random footsteps, the slap of leather upon leather, and the clink
and clank of metal bouncing off metal and leather signal the onrush of hordes
of dark-skinned, humanoid shapes and bodies up from the darkness and shadows
into the clearing of the Dimrill Dale. From behind trees, dropping from
overhead branches, along paths previously unseen and seldom trod, they surge
forth like ants after a side of beef is dropped onto an antpile. Horrid cries,
catcalls and yells of "For the Flame!" "Burn them,"
"No mercy" and voices tinged with inhuman fury, hatred and rage fill
the air as they rush towards the dwarves.
In the mix, crush and bustle of running
bipedal bodies, neither at the front nor bringing up the rear, runs one
particular uruk, Grutka by name. Above his head, a scimitar waves wildly, his
iron shod feet thump, clump, and stomp to the rhythm described by the movement
of his weapon.
"Death .. destruction.. BLOOD!" he screams at the top of his
lungs. Over a boulder he leaps, then over a bush and finally over a fallen
comrade he runs in his headlong madness to reach the Mirrormere.
[Grouch(#19150)]
A great horde
of uruks hear the commotion of a fight and come charging up the Dimrill Dale. Scimitars at the ready. No stealth have
they. Iron soled boots and euqipment making all kinds of noise. They advance
fast on the dwarfs with
in
the lead, his short legs pumping fast and his iron soled boots pounding the
ground as he shouts, "Dwarfs! Kill them all."
[.Ori(#7091)] With a sprint of
swiftness seldom seen from one of the servant's of Mahal, Ori speeds on towards
his fallen leader. His axe he barely minds, it hangs freely at his sides, his gaze of disbelief rests solely on Balin whoseform lays
seemingly lifeless with the hideous forms of orcs all about, plundering the
Lord of Moria. Their number is unpercieved by the wrathful khazad, black hide
is too dificult to count in the night while blinded by rage, but Ori the Black
would face them lone. His axe drawn he lunges forth to meet the first one that
may cross his path, and so he nears an orc wielding a crude scimitar and with a
bow slung over his shoulder. Ori throws him a glance that carries a sheer
potency of its own, riddled with hatred and foreboding. Only the most valiant
would dare to face him, Ori closes the final steps between them...
[Gahburguul(#31483)]
The curved blade of Gahburguul's Scimitar arches up and
his deadly black eyes glare at the stumpy creatures gathering like ants.
Another shriek screams out. A battle cry or call to arms, only the Uruk know
for sure. One Gazat, catches his eye as axe and hammer
come towards him. Bringing his blade down, he defects the axe aimed at him
enough so to only catch a gash against his forearm. Howling in anger and pain
he bring the blade back up and across, aiming to take
the short one's head. Behind him the drums sound. The battle has begun!
[Grouch(#19150)]
A group of a dozem uruks charge Ori. Scimitars
flashing as they draw closer. Iron ringing on iron as the engage the
dwarf. More join as the first begin to fall.
[Frar(#30925)]
Just behind Ori follows another dwarf, Frar, revenge upon
his eyes, and battle axe drawn full of wrath as he spies any and all of the
orcs that dare to stand near Lord Balin. He wildly swings his battle axe at one
of the creatures that stand before the dwarven Lord.
[Oin(#24093)] "To
arms! To arms, Dwarves of Khazad-Dum!", echoes the voice of Oin as
he comes up next to Ori, heaving off an arm of one of the miserable creatures
with the axe that hang down from his belt only minutes ago.
The years of Dwarven rule in Moria have been merely a
brief note in the Song of All Times, yet in these years the Dwarves have
acquired many riches. Indeed, even Mithril has been found, and it is for this
gift alone that the Dwarf Lord is not pierced by a dark arrow.
[Luzgash(#16643)]
Numbered among the black tide of heathen
warriors swelling in the light of moon and stars, a large Uruk strides at the
pace of a man, scimitar flashing above his head illuminated with grim delight.
A firece bellow echoes in the black iron helm surrounding his head, animalistic
and cruel, the outraged challenge of a nightmare. Luzgash is he, charging the
battle field with startling speed, sending a terrible thrust at the exposed
torso of Frar bolstered by the momentum of his approach.
[Rukghash]
A great crash can be heard for many miles around as the
two armies come to battle once again. Though the Lord of Moria has fallen the
Dwarves continue to fight the oncoming orcs, their rage an unending fount.
[Grutka(#32096)]
Footsteps stomping twigs, weapons being drawn,
shields blocking thrusts, blades parrying other blades - these sounds dispel
the previous quiet of the Dale. Already the grass is stained red and black with
thick liquid that sticks to the boots and shoes of combatants. The cloying
smell of death already permeates the battlefield as intestines spew from
bodies, as clubs bash helms, break bones and skin, and as grey matter mixes
with dirt. Cries of pain are intertwined with the hacking and slashing of the
naugrim and the uruks.
Forward rushes
the uruk Grutka, shield brushing bodies aside like the prow of a trireme
through light surf. Following the lead of a superior, he steps on one fallen
body only to be knocked to the side by the onrush of a crazed dwarf - luckily
the stroke of the heavy curved metal flattening against Grutka's chest rather
than slicing through it. Reflexively, he strokes downward and red blood fills
the air in a monochromatic red arc from the stump into Grutka's own face. A
maniacal grin of sheer, inhuman delight crosses his face as Grutka screams with
what can only pass for pleasure - "Eat that rock biter!
[Grouch(#19150)]
The horde of
uruks comes on. Numbers uncounted reaching as far as can be seen and beyond.
They charge the dwarves with scimitars flashing and a few hammers amoung the
horde. ^N's voice rings out again, "Kill them or drive them back!"
[.Ori(#7091)] Melding into the
other numerous clashes of steel upon steel that echo into the mountains and resound even withn the halls of Moria, the crude and curving
blade of an orc clashes with the swiftly parrying battle axe of Ori. A grunt
rolls from his brawny throat, and the khazad glowers at his foe as their arms
remians locked. He speaks no words and utters no speech or taunt of battle. He
is silent and grim, this alone portrays enough. Unlocking his axe and shoving
the scimitar aside with a sudden outpouring of his dwarven strength, Ori again
hacks downward at the slayer of Balin, an air-cleaving blow that would kill if
not deflected...
[Gahburguul(#31483)]
Gahburguul's intent to bring his blade
back down passes with an unexpected blow. A shriek begun ends suddenly
in a gush of black blood spurting upwards towards a head no longer there.
Mirror like black eyes still craving blood grow glassy as his head drops and
bounces a short distance to lay beside Balin's
unmoving body. The headless body stands as a statue for a moment still holding
the curved blade and remains so until an Uruk brushes past. Twisting as he
falls, the archer and killer of Balin crumples in a heap.
[Brenin(#9548)] As the orc cries
resound in the air, Brenin becomes inflamed with rage. He swings blindly with
his hammer, he takes out one or two smaller orcs, but now, instead of moving
forward, he takes a step back, narrowly avoiding stumbling over a fallen body. In
this moment of weakness, he begins to fight with a small, but skilled goblin.
Each one's weapon clashes against the other, ringing hard and metallic, so
different from the pounding of the same hammer on stone.
Hard as it is, the dwarf miner continues backing up the
hill, winding around corpses and wounded alike and grunting with every swing.
In one moment he does fall over one, but grabs the axe in the dead dwarf's hand
and takes it as his own. "You will never defeat us, scum of the
caves!" bellows Brenin in anger, and finally, the goblin's head rolls.
[Grouch(#19150)]
Uruks fall to
the battleaxe and more take their place. Heads cleaved, Legs lost, bodies
chopped in half by the great axe of Ori. But the horde of
uruks keep commeing.
[Giblet(#17618)] A rather old
dwarf stumbles along behind the main group of dwarfs. In one hand is an old
chipped battle axe and in the other, his great grey beard. Giblit waddles
along, barking orders at fallen dwarfs and those fight alike. "Get up.
Back in my day a sword in your belly only made you fight harder." The old
dwarf kicks one dwarf who is retreating with a broken arm. "Get back in
there. Fight for...ummm...who we fighting for? Doesn't matter! Fight till ya
die!"
[Oin(#24093)] Not long does it
take ere the second host of dwarves meets up with Oin and Ori. A fierceness is in their motions, the fire of deep forges in
their eyes. Crying out, it is Oin who hurls his axe at one of the orcs. His
hands free, the immediate danger eliminated, he kneels by his lord, and cousin.
Clear as the finest diamond is the single tear that slowly rolls down the dark
skin, meeting the bushy, full beard of the Dwarf soon enough.
Without any sign of effort mirrorred in his saddened
face, it is Oin who lifts up the body of Balin, like he took up Floi five long
years ago.
[Frar(#30925)]
Frar's wild swing strikes the shoulder of the the beast
before him, black blood spilling upon the battlefield, but the momentum of the
swing leaves him defenseless. A scimitar, a slashing blow slides across his
chest, though most of the blow is abated by the armor. Frar stumbles and turns
to his new adversary. His eyes detect the onrushing orcs that have newly
arrived to the battlefield, and Frar takes a quick swing with his battle axe
towards Luzgash.
[Grutka(#32096)]
Again and again blades rise and fall,
extremities are hacked at and hewn from their torsos, shields block weapon
thrusts, and helms and armor protect, or fail to, their wearers. Cries of "Aiyeee!" "Nooooo!"
"Aaarghhhhhh" are mixed with more comprehensible appeals for
assistance, for vengeance and of simple, pure bloodlust.
Amidst this
melee of muscled flesh, metallic meat carvers, and animal hides fashioned as
protective clothing Grutka forces his way to the rear of a dwarf. He hews at
the thick and bulging neck only to find his blade deflected as the dwarf suddenly
turns to face him. Without thinking, Grutka thrusts his shield into the face of
the dwarf and blood spurts from the broken nose. A quick reversal of his blade
follows and Grutka's scimitar flashes towards the dwarf's face leaving a scar
from dwarven ear to dwarven mouth.
[Rukghash]
"Whip and crack! Push them back!" A group of
orcs from the back on the ever encroaching horde yells out. The orcs come madly
forward, their ranks seeming to swell immeasurably. Wild, wild are the attacks
of the orcs as the fend off the enraged Dwarves, more
than a few orcs failing to defend and losing a head for it. Orcish arrows fill
the night sky, their barbed hooks dashing through the crisp air to fly for the
Dwarves. Yet they hit orcs as well, like knives they crash from the sky into
the backs of friends and foe alike.
[Grouch(#19150)]
More uruks
pour forward toward Ori and Oin. As more fall to the assult of the dwarfs more
pour in to take their place. Walking over the bodies of their
comrada trying to kill the dwarfs.
[Oin(#24093)] In the roar of the
raging battle, it is Oin who retreats towards the Gate of Khazad-Dum. His
beblooded armor gleaming in the moonlight must compensate for the matte glint
in his eyes.
"ORI!", rings out his
voice, a bitter sadness mixed with anger, cold as the very foundations of the
earth. "We cannot stop this onslaught! They are too many for our company
now! When you cannot hold them off any longer, return and I shall assure the
closure of our Gates!"
[.Ori(#7091)] For several
lingering moments Ori stares blankly down at the fallen orc before him,
breathing heavily, his axe slumped to the ground and barely grasped in his
hand. He speaks in a solemn tone, with his face turned away from the body of
his Lord and his head bowed low in grief and disbelief. "Quickly Oin, grab
another of our men and bear our leader back into his rightful halls. I will
lead the battle." No sooner are these words spoken when the next horde of
black and hideous forms rushes upon them with eager weapons slahing. Ori draws
his axe up again and holds it out before him. "Form a barrier around the
Lord of Khazad-Dum! Do not let them pass!"
Long distance to Durbmog: Rukghash chuckles
You paged Durbmog with 'Maybe someone will toss me the
frisbee. ;)'.
[Luzgash(#16643)]
Lunging backwards like a deadly toad and
setting on his haunches, Lusgash draws shield and blade above his head, the axe
of Frar singing a warcry in the air above him. A mighty roar ushers past his
marred lips, dull fangs bared to the son of stone. In a broad circle, the
Uruk's scimitar swings around at his knee and far to one side, descending with
tremendous force toward the arms of his dwarvish adversary.
[Grouch(#19150)]
As teh dwarves
retreat the uruks follow in persuit. Fighting, Falling and
being replaced by those behind them. They slowly push the dwarves back.
[Grutka(#32096)]
Fallen bodies abound now, some still writhing
with life, others will never move again. Grutka jumps onto an exposed knee, his
face wild with glee as he feels and hears the sound of ligaments ripping from
bone, of bones ripping from sockets and of the distinctive gunshot-snap of the
largest bone in a dwarven body breaking under the impact of his landing.
"I live to destroy!" he cries above
the din, his voice joining the echo of others who rage and roil in the throes
of dark battles where each participant is reduced to concentrating upon his own
private fight for life. The ebb and flow of bodies around Grutka provide
another foe to be hewn immediately and his black-bladed scimitar slices again
through the air.
[Brenin(#9548)]
In his moment of victory, with arm raised proudly and orc
blod dripping from his axe, Brenin cries out again and makes a move to charge
forward again, but suddenly is hit with a black arrow from above. It sticks
into the dwarf's muscled shoulder, and his mouth, already open, shouts now in
pain. Once he stumbles, but rises again to join the barrier around Balin's
body. He swings now more carefully, only to the front, and desperate only to
drive back the never-ending waves of orcs.
[.Ori(#7091)] With a tear-laden
gaze Ori swivels around to face Oin, his mane a wild blunder as he shakes his
head in denial of the other's words. "No! We cannot let them have the day.
They have slain our Lord, they will pay with their
black blood!" He quickly sets his ace into motion, parrying and diggin
into orish flesh. "Take the body of our Lord, they must not defile
it!"
[Glogh(#31483)]
Screaming into the melee, uruk continue to pour into the
Dale. For every one that falls two seem to advance forward to to take their
place. Driven into a frenzy by the shouts and scent of
blood, Glogh pushes forward swinging his axe two handed at anything short and
hairy. Licking his lips catching droplets of blood slashing into his face, the
Uruk barely feels the gashes on his arms and legs as he continues to swing his
weapon. "Die!" he shrieks out as the Gazat fall back.
Giblet strides up towards the front of the battle.
"Youngins is useless!" The old dwarf raises his battle axe and sets
his feet for battle. "Get behind me laddies. Close the gates! I Will hold them back!" Giblet Hacks away madly at the
first orc that comes near him. Amazingly the orc actually dies and the old
dwarf stuffs his beard into his mouth to keep it out of the way as he hacks
away some more.
[Frar(#30925)]
Frar lunges backwards as the deadly scimitar races past
his outstretched arms just missing him by inches. At the urges of Ori, Frar
quickly makes his way running nearly backwarsd to make a barrier wall for Oin
and Ori to carry Lord Balin back into the gates. He swings wildly at any orc
that comes into his reach. "Die!" and "Never will you touch Lord
Balin!" he cries as his battle axe swishes through the air.
[Oin(#24093)] As yet more of the
Khazad stream out of the gates of Moria, one by one, like a river that knows no
end, Oin makes his way back inside. Heaved on his back is the slain Lord of
Moria. The last time he will pass through these gates, on his way to eternal
rest, until Mahal will collect him in his halls and reunite him with Durin, and
all the fathers of the Khazad. The last that is heard is a deep roar, in which
the pain and grief is blended with anger and frustration.
[Grouch(#19150)]
Uruks pour in
uncounted. The horde pushes further toward the gates as the dwarves retreat.
Driven by anger and bloodlust they advance. Scinitars slashing,
Hammers and axes swinging driving the dwarves back toward the enormous gates in
the mountain.
[Grutka(#32096)]
Mistakes end
in death, or at least injury. Grutka makes such a mistake and is rewarded with
an axe-blow to his helm. The force of the blow dents the protection there but
its thickness and stiffness save his life. Over he is bowled, like a willow in
hurricane-force winds and his feet are suddenly above his body as another axe
intersects that space.
Black blood
flies upward like a geyser as Grutka inhumanly cries out, "Flame! King! Tribe!" The sound of pain in his voice echoes with
desperation in his knowledge that footless uruks don't survive long. Still, he
manages to swing his scimitar one last time even as another axe separates his
head from his shoulders.
A mere second after his own death, Grutka's
scimitar enters a dwarven groin, emasculating the naugrim and causing him to
fall atop Grutka as he grasps at the lifeless black blade.
[.Ori(#7091)] The ranks of the
khazad charged forward unknowingly into such a battle, and with unmustered
force they assail the orcish army. Their intent was revenge, and the recovery
of their Lord. Now the black tide seems to prove too much for their unprepared
yet fierce army. Already some begin to stray back towards the Gates of Moria,
carrying the body of Balin. Still the rest will fight on dutifully and
faithfully until the command of retreat is given, and such a command comes not
so often from khazad, though hopeless the battle seems as the orcs continue to
pour on like ants...
[Luzgash(#16643)]
Ghastly laughter resounds in the Uruk's iron
helm, hideous and sonorous; the voice of shameful slaughter to the folk of
Balin. Luzgash pursues the retreating Frar, crouching like a wolf, and leary of
the desperate blade. As orcs surge around him like waves about an outcropping
of stone, his bloodied scimitar pays tribute to the battle, stabbing again at
the armored solar plexus of the Champion of Balin.
[Frar(#30925)]
His eyes show some relief as Lord Balin's body finally
enters the gate of Moria, his attention is turned back
at the endless hordes of orcs that are quickly filling the dale. He swings his
battle axe at anything that slithers. He points to some of his companions to
form lines of defense and attack, "There!" he shouts indicating a
point of weakness though he says "Die!" and "For Lord
Balin!" more often. Frar turns to meet his old adversary, seeing the
coming attack and meets it with a quick slash of his battle axe, parrying the
attack of Luzgash just in time.
[Brenin(#9548)] The dwarf Brenin
keeps one hand on his lord, one hand poised in the air ready come come down on
any orc who should come within swinging range. He backs up the side of the
mountain with the movement of Balin's body, his back not turned and left
vulnerable. Occasionally he reaches forward to defend, but mostly stays close,
shuffling uphill amidst the destruction. "To the gates and hurry!" he
gasps as three more uruks come closer. "There are too many yet."
[Rukghash]
The whole of the Dimrill Dale is covered in a seemingly
wringling black mass - orcs of all sorts pulsate forward driving the Dwarves
back towards their mines. "Push them back! Trap them in!" Some of the
orcs cry out, egging their fellows on. The drums at the back of the army pound
maliciously and send their horrible sounds echoiing off the walls of the
Boom! Boom! Boom, Doom! The drums of a returned horde of
uruks beat and throb, their sounds a call of the evil now present.
[Grouch(#19150)]
Pushing,
fighting, dying, bleeding. shouting,
attacking and killing. The uruks push forward. Pushing the
dwarves back even as the drums call for the retreat.
[Glogh(#31483)]
Stepping over bodies and through pools of blood, Glogh
howls with excitement from the scent and sounds of pain. Looking up, he bares
his teeth at the sight of the retreating figure carrying a body through the
gates. Turning his angry towards the closest dwarf, the uruk screams out a curse
and swings his axe. The blood stained blade of the axe sinks deep into the
dwarfs shoulder. Jerking the weapon and offering a hideous scowl, the dark
creature pulls his weapon down and out, slicing into the dwarf's lung and
cutting off the screams. Hearing the sound of the drum's the Uruk moves forward
towards the gate, leaving the withering dwarf to his death.
[.Ori(#7091)] Among the swiftly
fading few that remain on the fore of the khazad force, Ori the black fights on
in the midst of hellish gloom. A wind sweeps through the Dale, singing of doom
and smelling of the stench of orc. Ori feels it, hears it, and tases it through
is black beard. His axe slices through it and travels onward to cut through the
throat of his foe, and another, and another...
Too many they pour
on, and Ori lives on only by the mithril mail that covers his strong body. He
whispers thanks to Mahal for its presence. The dwarf continues to dart and
dance, and swipe and parry, until he is nearly surrounded on all sides by the
black sea. With hesitation, and a quivering voice, Ori son of Ghori calls out
the cry that he thought would never roll forth on his bariton voice. "Fall ba..." a clang of steel interrupts his command and
it is sawllowed by the shrieks of eager foes.
[Luzgash(#16643)]
Black and cool, like the water of a spring
borne from the roots of a mountain, Luzgash mutters in his own tongue of
meeting Frar again, and the press of orcish warriors overwhelm his frame as the
Dwarvish line retreats withing the inky maw of Khazad-Dum. The fell Uruk does
not emerge from the swelling army, but shoves fluidly like his comrades,
pushing the folk of Balin back like a steady flow of obsidian sand, the din of
hoarse cries and beastly grunts calling to the demonic heavens in a chorus of
doom.
[Grouch(#19150)]
The uruks push
onward. Walking over the dead. Walking over the
injured trampling life out of their own. Into battle with bloodlust to kill the dwarves.
[Rukghash]
Onward, forward the orcs surge pushing the Dwarves ever
back towards the Mines of Moria! "Trap them inside, and we'll boil their
hides!" The orcs cry out, pushing forward with mass strength once again -
attempting to break the will of these Dwarves. Again the drums pound, and a quicker and quicker beat it is.
Giblet hacks away at the charging orcs with his battle
axe. The chipped blade still seems to be able to cut despite it's
worn condition. The elderly dwarf is busy hacking away at another unfortunate
orc when something unexpected happens. An arrow comes falling from the heavens
and it hits Giblet with a sickening thump. His axe stops swinging as almost
immediately thick red blood flows into his eyes. A shaking hand reaches up to
his forehead and touches the arrow inbedded there. "That wasn't supposed
to happen." Giblet's legs crumple and he slumps backward, his axe falling
to the ground. He struggles to get to his feeet, to hold back the black tide
but a second arrow ends the struggle. The black fletched arrow hits his neck
and passes clean through. With each beat of the dwarf heart his blood squirts
all over the ground.
Giblet falls back, his mouth trying to work, trying to surr his fellow
warriors on but nothing comes out but a gurgling. With each beat of the dwarfs heart the arterial blood sprays out and soon it is
down to a slight bubbling as his heart runs out of blood to pump. Thus ends
Giblet, the warrior.
[.Ori(#7091)] A roar of rage
ripples from within the barreled chest of Ori, and sounds like a trumpet to
gain recognition amongst the battle cries all about him, its echo is
distilling. Madly he drives his attackers back, yet with potent skill and
accuracy, splitting the skull of the nearest to him and lending his iron-clad
boot to the chest of another. "Now, folk of Durin!
We must draw back to Moria. Inside swiftly and close the doors!" With an
eager forbeoding preceeding anther swipe form his baneful axe, Ori beheads
another orc, continuing his cry of rage. "For
Balin!"
[Rukghash]
Boom doom! Doom boom! The drums of the
horde of orcs pounds in resonant challenge to the retreating Dwarves.
The air seems to crash against itself with each pulsing beat of the war drums -
the uruks gaining confidence with each deep boom. "Flee and fry! Inside
you'll die!" The drummers chant loudly, their words carrying off the
Mountain-side.
[Frar(#30925)]
Listening to the cries of Ori, Frar slowly takes steps
back, yelling "Back!" himself at the dwarves
that stand to his left and right. he swings at
anything, taking the head off of one orc and an arm off another, but he spends
more time parrying the attacks of the relentless orcs that come at him.
"Back!" he tries to yell over the noise. He slowly takes steps
backwards, making his way to the protection of the gates, swinging with all of
his might.
[Grouch(#19150)]
The uruks push
onward as more of the black creatures pour into the dale. Pushing
the dwarfs back toward the gates in the mountain. fighting
and killing the stragglers as they go.
[.Ori(#7091)] Heeding the command of Ori, the majority of the host of the Khazad begin to draw back into the Gates. Still
they deal heavy damage to the oppressing army with thier departure, what little
it may seem compared to the unending hordes that pour on, still it is not the
wont of the khazad to retreat form battle. "We will not forget this day
with the rising and setting of a few suns! Your death draws nigh! For Balin!" Comes the common
cry as they flee still proudly from the fields.
One of the last to
stumble into the Gates is Ori son of Ghori, panting and dripping with blood and
sweat. "Keep them back, hold them out. and
prepare to shut the door," he orders this briskly through heavy and
breaths, his commanding voice is hearkend to over all others. Axes and other
projectiles are thrown forwrad at the advancing dwarves, and at the Gates of
Moria their charge is momentarily halted until the rest of the dwarves can get
inside. "Now push, hurry, close the Gates!" comes the voice of Ori.
With a loud scraping of stone, followd by a resounding thud that echoes into
the hall beyond, the Doors to the realm of Khazad-dum are closed...
[Grouch(#19150)]
As the gates
in the mountain close the uruks pound on them with their axes, pound on them
with their hammers and poundon them with their hands still trying to get at the
dwarves.
[Rukghash]
Crash! Bash! Boom! The horde of Moria crashes against the
doors of Khazad-Dum. Thrice the orcs push hard against the doors, and thrice
they fail to break. The orcs halt outside, regrouping under the sound of the
booming drums.
Boom doom! Boom doom! The drums echoe into the night sounding the return of the once exiled orcs.