Logfile from Elendor.
Moria, First Hall(#21153RntUf)
This is a wide and echoing hall, lit
brightly with the flames of countless torches and brilliantly carved lanterns.
Likely the first ambitious chamber constructed in Khazad-Dum,
the First Hall is steeped in venerability. Often, rays of shimmering light
spill into the room, dancing through ornate windows carved into the chamber's
peaked ceiling. The walls of this place are of azure marble set with an axehead pattern of rose quartz. The floor is covered with
inlaid stones that at first glance seem naught but a mishmash of colors.
However, on closer inspection one may discern an array of complex geometrical
patterns.
To the east are mighty steel doors, swung
open as if to invite inside all of Middle Earth, as if to boast of the
treasures within. Beyond this harrowing gate lies the drainage basin of the Anduin river. To the west, a broad
but shallow stair exits the hall.
Contents:
Dalar
Ragnar
Zarkhad
[Rukghash]
This is a wide and echoing hall, lit brightly with the
flames of countless torches and brilliantly carved lanterns. Likely the first
ambitious chamber constructed in Khazad-Dum, the First
Hall is steeped in venerability. Often, rays of shimmering light spill into the
room, dancing through ornate windows carved into the chamber's peaked ceiling.
The walls of this place are of azure marble set with an axe-head pattern of
rose quartz. The floor is covered with inlaid stones that at first glance seem
naught but a mishmash of colors. However, on closer inspection one may discern
an array of complex geometrical patterns.
To the east are the mighty steel doors of Moria, closed tightly and barred against the orcs whom lie just beyond its thickness. For days, or so it
seems to the Dwarves, Orcs
untold have been attempting to break the mighty doors down but to no avail.
Now, however, the doors are silent - too silent; belying the work that takes place
just beyond its blocking presence.
As is the case among Goblins, creativity runs rampant and
it is no different now. Just outside the gates the Goblins work quickly to
finish the construction of a battering ram. What was once a cart carrying some
provisions is now a cart with a huge tree trunk strapped to it and hewn to a
point at one end.
Inside the Dwarves are planning, and planning quickly.
The door has been barred but will not hold forever. The West Gate is blocked by
a Watcher, and Oin is now dead. Preparing to make a
stand and to try and fend off the Orcs, the Dwarves
of Moria gather themselves and their weapons for
battle.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Standing silent, surrounded by his friends and
brothers in arms, Ragnar awaits the command of the Ori. His axe leaning against his leg and shield already
attached to his arm.
[Zarkhad(#31889)]
Outside the gates of Moria, the Orcs
near the completion of the construction of the weapon of destruction that will,
with luck, win them access into the First Hall. One such Orc,
a wiry engineer by the look of him, stands atop the battering ram pointing this
way, hollering that, and in general trying to fabricate some semblance of order
among his comrades. Around him scramble many larger Orcs,
lashing the tree trunk with thick black rope to the cart supporting it--here, Zarkhad the engineer instructs an Orc
in how to correctly tie the knots; there, he strikes a slow-moving Orc with his open palm, leaving three marks from his claws,
and orders him to work more quickly, for the time of return is near at hand.
[Dalar(#18868)]
"Prepare to defend yourselves! Commanders, assemble
by clans!" thunders a deep baritone voice, resonating throughout the
entirety of the gargantuan hall, as powerful and moving as the earth itself.
The owner of that voice is no other than Ori Stormrook, surrounded in the center of the hall by a small
unit of handpicked bodyguards, each brandishing either a two-handed mattock or
battle-axe. All are grim-faced, and their grime- and blood-stained faced are
set, hard as the stones themselves.
Quick as lightning, the dwarves begin to assemble by
clans...8 units in all form, at the head of each a clan elder. Standing proud
and iron-hard at the head of the assembled Hardakains, stands Dalar, a pair of hand-axes grasped in his calloused hands.
At the head of the Barazin column, paces Frar, a massive two-handed axe in his hand. At the helm of
the Dhurenfal unit, Loni
stands, dwarven bulwark in battle. And at the head of
Zinbar dwarves, is Nali,
his mattock out in his hands, tarnished with black blood.
"At my command!" roars Ori,
"We attack! All dwarves attack the gate, in formation, with discipline!
With luck our lines will hold and we can drive them back into the dale! Now! On my command!" And so they stand,
silent and grim, awaiting inevorable fate and the unescapable trappings of destiny.
[Rukghash]
Boom! Boom! Boom! Three times something rams the side of
the Great Gates of Moria. Three times its echoes
carry down the depths of the First hall. Goblins cackle and yell with glee as
their machine pounds into the Gates of Moria, causing
the doors to groan in protest.
BOOM! Crack! A hinge on the door pops as the battering
ram smashes into it again. Then there is a momentary pause and all seems calm.
The Orcs are silent outside - quieted by something.
Then there is a great tromping of feet upon the ground,
dozens of them. And a great yell follows this quickening race towards the Great
Gates of Moria, a terrible yell from the orcs without. A high-pitched whine of an axle on a cart
spinning violently quick pierces the thick gates of Moria,
managing to reach the ears of the Dwarves.
A deafening crash
resounds in the First Hall of Moria and down from
there into the depths of the great mines. Crack! The hinges holding the gates
closed snap and give way under the immense pressure of the battering ram. The
rightmost door swings inwards at an angle giving view to the orcs who are outside. Rather, the orcs
now rush in over their conquered doors and begin their attack for the First
Hall of Moria
[Rukghash]
"Your gates they break! And in we snake!" A
group of orcs near the middle of the mass sing out,
their fell voices nearly drowned out in the chaos of the Orcish
charge. Cruel blades and mace, hammers and spears abound through the Gates of Moria - their numbers uncountable.
[Dalar(#18868)]
"The gates are broken! The gates are broken! Now forward, Khazad, forward for Balin's dream
and Khazad-Dum!" booms Ori's
commanding voice, as he thrusts the tip of his axe towards the advancing
Goblins. A thunder-like roar engulfs the First Hall, as every dwarf's voice is
raised up in a ferocious, guttural bellow, as they rush forwards in duplicate
rectangular formations, beards swaying, armor clanking, weapons swinging,
undaunted by the enemies numbers and strength--they but fight for vengeance,
for the lost lives of their kinsfolk, for their lives.
"Khazad Ai-Menu!" the
great, ancient, powerful battle-cry of the Khazad
comes up as one from the sprinting dwarven ranks,
though the enemy greatly outnumbers them. Forward rushes Nali,
Frar, Dalar, Loni, Ulrik, Ulsnar--all redoubtable dwarven
veterans, bent upon killing the orcs in vengeance.
Forward the well-armored ranks of the dwarves charge, and the gap between the
hosts closes...
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Together with his
fellow warriors, Ragnar charges ahead, his steps firm
and definate, his axe in hand, his eyes flashing with
hate, and with a determination to slay every damned orc
in his way! "Drive them out, let them taste steel as never before!"
he roars to his brothers in arms, as they advance towards the invading foes.
Moments later they clash, and the warcries and yells from the dwarves at Ragnars
side drowns in the sound of steel singing. "Drive
them out!" he roars, almost to himself it seems, even though he screams at
the top of his voice.
"Baruk Khazad!
Khazad
Ai-menu!" Nali calls out from the head of
his Dwarven formation. Mattock in hand, Nali moves forward to meet the onrushing Orcs that come to reclaim the Halls of his kindred. "Worthless beasts!" Nali
cries, his formation coming to clash with the front line of Orcs.
And there they meet in terrible sound of ringing steel. Nali's
mattock swing in. Shunk! A goblin's head is severely
dented in, spilling its brains and blood to the floor of the First Hall.
[Rukghash]
The orcs, their ranks unkempt
and chaotic, continue to pour into the realm of Moria.
At their head, the Orcs have already met with the
stern resistance of the Dwarves, their ranks falling quickly to the skilled
precision of the Dwarves. Black blood spills onto the floors of the Hall,
creating a slippery and sticky surface for fighting.
Yet still the Dwarves drive on, their ranks swelling with
each passing moment. A trio of them, stepping voer
their fallen comrades, come at Ori with their
scimitars slicing.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
With great skill
and experience, Ragnar and his brothers work there
way through the goblins, but more keeps on coming. Everywhere is blades and death, axes spliting
goblin heads, and warhammers crushing their spines.
But
still the orcs keep on coming, increasing in numbers
by the second, and leaving the dwarves around Ragnar
no choise but to stop and hold their ground. The
sweat running from inunder his helmet, Ragnar faces off a pair of small goblins which attack him
with their clubs. A good parry and two blows later, they both are down, and
their blood's floating over Ragnars axe. But then
again, two more replace them instantly, and the dance
continue.
[Dalar(#18868)]
"Hold the lines! Let none through!" Ori commands, and amazingly, his voice carries over the
rapidly increasing sounds of combat--the grunts of pain and effort from both orcs and dwarves, the gurgles of the dying, the
battle-cries, the sickening thuds of metal on flesh, and the ever-present clash
of steel-on-steel.
Striding forwards towards the broken gates, where the
fighting is quickly becoming the thickest, that redoubtable son of Ghori soons finds himself
confronted with Goblins aplenty, and within a matter of moments, his axe-blade
is at work, whistling and humming, slicing to and fro as it deals out that most
horrible of wares: death. His iron-shod boots quickly finding purchase on the
blood-slicked floor, he swings a mighty blow at the middle-orc
of the advancing trio, while his bodyguard springs forwards to engage the
others.
[Rukghash]
Raising its scimitar up to deflect the Dwarf-lord's axe, Gruluk manages to do just that - though barely. The Axe
passes by to his left, his arm numb with the pain of blocking such a hard
strike. Then his scimitar dashes in and down to hack at Ori's
leg, unpracticed, the manuever leave Guluk dangerously exposed to a return attack.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Anger fuels Ragnar as his weaponsbrother and
friend is slain a few feet away, dead by getting his side pierced by the spears
of two goblins - who fills his place and creates
disorder in the line. "Men! Slay them, do not let
the line fall!" Ragnar screams and charges
towards them, when the roaring voice of Oin
fill the First Hall.
Inspired by their leader, the dwarves around Ragnar
charge on, slaying goblins in their way, and holding the line against all odds,
with the goblins still pouring in.
[Dalar(#18868)] *CLANG*!
The scimitar of Gruluk strikes
true, but in this case, the skill and experience of dwarven
smiths wins over the reckless attack of a expendable orc,
as the scimitar rebounds from Ori's greaves that he
wears over his shins, and a moment later, a wide, mirthless and grim smile
splitting his beard in twain, Ori slashes horizontally,
his mighty two-bladed axe aimed for his opponent's skull.
[Rukghash]
Terrible screams of death echo endlessly in the halls of Moria as Orc and Dwarf battle for
their lives. The orcs pour ever on into the First
Hall of Moria from the black night outside. Slowly,
the Orcs push their way deeper into the lands of Khazad-Dum once more, again trying to retake their stolen
Mines.
Gruluk's face goes blank in an
instant, his eyes rolling backwards into his skull. "GRrraaa..."
It gargles in it's own blood, the orcs
head firmly split in two by the Dwarf Lord's Axe. Then it's
body collapses fully to the ground, dislodging itself from the axe of Ori.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Taking a vile blow to the shoulder, right
above the edge of the shield, Ragnar screams in pain
as the blood pours out over his mail. The adrenaline pumping in his veins now,
he attacks the goblin infront of him with a series of
solid slashes, the first two preparing for the third, which finds it's way down to the neck of the orc,
digging into its flesh and getting stuck in the bone.
With
a meaty sound at first, then the crack of the bone, the goblin falls to the
ground, as dead as a stone. The axe though, is still stuck in it's neck, and Ragnar has no choise but to drop it.
Instead backing up, to fetch another weapon, Ragnar parries several blows with his shield, but also
takes a couple to the mail, causing only pain and some blunt damage.
[Dalar(#18868)]
Battling at the very front of his Hardakain
cousins, Dalar, son of Kelthar
and father of Khazar, is joined in battle at the very
thick of the fighting, right where the masses of orcs
are streaming into the hall, and try as he will, him and his ordered ranks of dwarven warriors are pushed slowly, but inexorably back.
But no dwarf gives ground without giving up a bitter
fight for it...
His twin axes humming, Dalar
slashes and hacks mercilessly, orcs falling before
his skilled hands almost as quick as they come...but not quite.
CRACK! Removing the head of a nearby uruk
with an almost casual thrust of his hand axe, Dalar
turns just in time to see a massive orc bounding over
his comrades' bodies, less than ten paces away. Hurling his axe with a pinpoint
accuracy, the blade imbeds itself in the huge orc's
neck, and those crimson eyes go dull, and the mighty warrior crashes to the
ground. Another axe hurled, and the orc's comrade
goes down in a pool of his own black blood. The goblins recoil, giving Dalar a brief respite to draw his mattock, but press on
almost at once, and the dwarves are driven back, one agonizing step at a
time....
[Rukghash]
The orcish ranks continue to
swell and throb, pulsating forward inches at a time towards Durin's
bridge. "Push them back! Push them back" Orcs
chant from the back of the ranks. Boom. Doom. Boom. Boom. Drums begin to pound
and thump, their rhytmn guiding the fighting of the orcish horde. Boom Doom! Boom!
[Ragnar(#2150)]
With
disgust Ragnar picks up a scimitar from a halvcrushed, but very dead, goblin and hurls it at his
closest foe. It hits, though with the handle, and knocks the goblin down - but
then again, there is always a new one to replace the old.
Suddenly he feels a heavy hand on his
shoulder, and looking over while parrying blows with his shield, he sees the
face of a close friend and armsbrother named Girin, who offers him an small
axe.
Directly after grabbing it, Ragnar is knocked of his feet, and lands on his back. A
huge uruk is responsible, and it rises with scimitar
in hand to strike the final blow, when Girin once
again comes to his rescue, beating the orc off with a
monstrous hammerblow. It is however clear, that the orcs are becoming to many, as the men around Ragnar is falling - there lines are thinning out and will
soon be breaking.
[Dalar(#18868)]
Ori Stormrook,
too, is being driven back, and not even the skillful workings of that mighty
son of Ghori's massive axe can down all opponents,
nor block all blows. Already three slashes mar his powerful frame, and blood
trickles down his right leg and his right shoulder, staining his armor and
tattered cloak. "Hold the lines!" he cries, as an axe-stroke seperates orcish head from
spindly orcish shoulders. "Stand shoulder to
shoulder! Let none pass! Fight for your fallen kinsfolk, my cousins! Never
forget! Khazad Ai-Menu!"
[Rukghash]
From the back of the Orcish
ranks there comes a terrible cry - one quite different from that of an Orc. Boom. Boom.
A roar, quite low in tone but vicious nevertheless, reverberates over the whole
of the battle. An Olog standing atop the battered
doors of Moria leaps down into the back of the Orcish ranks - scattrering orcs every which direction. IT's
thumping steps pound and shake the ground as it rushes
quickly for the head of the lines.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Rising to his feet again, Ragnar
wields the small axe and charges forward with his friend, to desperatly try to end their offensive. "Onwards!
Don't let the line fall! Drive them back!" he yells, but his words drown
in the endless clatter of boots and singing of steel.
Once
again facing several foe per dwarf, he and Girin has to hold their ground by defending - Ragnar with his shield and Girin
by baring the way with his long hammer. When hearing the scream of the Olog, they both start to back away, noticing the big troll
advancing towards them.
[Rukghash]
The sickly grey stony hide of the Olog
ripples and fluxes with its booming steps, stomping more than one uruk that fails to escape its path. "Craaaaaaaaa!" The Olog
screams reaching the fore of the battle. Dwarves before the
creature the Olog quickly receives an axe to
its leg. Roaring again, though in fury, the Olog swings down with its studded club to swipe away the
Dwarves before it. Crack! A Dwarf is hit full on and sent flying. And
fly the Dwarf does, unconcious
and dying, off into the abyss that resides below Durin's
bridge.
[Dalar(#18868)]
ZIP! ZIP! Black-feathered and barbed shafts hurtle over
the heads of the orcs and into the dwarven lines, as archers have gained positions at the tops
of the mangled gates, and send their tiny pricks of death flying towards
hapless dwarves. And to top it off, the thundering roar of the troll splits
through the sound of the combat as the huge creature crashes into the lines of
the dwarves....things look grim for Durin's folk this
day.
"Steadily withdraw to the bridge! To the bridge, my
kinsfolk, to the bridge!" booms Ori, his
raven-black eyes remaining locked upon the advancing troll. The dwarven lines begin to steadily back away--even in the face
of such awful danger, they keep their discipline and their formations.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
"Khazad Ai-Menu!" Ragnar and Girin screams in one voice, and charges ahead against the Olog. His heart pounding, and the sweat running down his
face, Ragnar hurls his small axe with all his force
against the big troll, to pick up a warhammer by his
feet.
Girin charges agead, cleansing
the way to the olog from a few goblins.
Ragnar looses his shield, grabs the hammer firmly with his
two hands, and charges the last few feet against the troll, screaming:
"For Balin!"
[Rukghash]
The Olog screams again, its
rage full-blown, unable to formulate words other than smash or kill due to its
rage the beast merely glares at the Dwarves. Club raising high into the air,
the Olog unwittingly exposes itself to any attack
that may come. And come one does! An axe spins quickly through the air and
lands firmly in the chest of the Olog.
Again the beast screams, its roar defeaning
to those immediately around it. Then its great club descends to deliver death
to those in its path. And so it comes down towards Ragnar
- the axe-thrower - to swat him from its paath.
[Ragnar(#2150)]
Blinded with
adrenaline, Ragnar merely gets to see his axe hit
before noticing the club coming down on him. He raises his warhammer
to parry in total vain - and the last thing he hears before the club chrushes his entire body and sends him sliding unconcious and dying over the floor, it the warcry of his friends.
[Dalar(#18868)]
As those of Durin's folk begin
to become increasingly hard-pressed, and are driven back to the very edges of
the abbys, there comes a brief pause in the assault
of the orcs, as the dwarves' shields lock, and any
attempt to punch through their lines are repelled by the combined strengths of
so many dwarves grouped so closely together.
"Retreat to the Chamber of Mazarbul,
Lord Ori!" cries Frar,
even as the orcs begin to advance again towards the
dwarves, "Me and a handful of my folk will hold the head of the bridge,
while the rest of you escape!"
"I will stay as well!" cries Loni, as he steps to Frar's side.
"I also shall stay, and protect my kinsfolk as long
as possible..." adds Nali, joining the other
doomed dwarves and brandishing his mattock
A long silence rests over the diminished party of
dwarves, which stretches, only broken by the roars of the fighting orcs and dwarves, and finally, Ori
nods, slowly and grimly. "Very well..." he says slowly and heavily,
even as he turns, "Stay with twenty other dwarven
warriors, and hold the head of the bridge as long as possible. You are all
mighty Khazad, my friends and kinsmen. This sacrifice
will not go unremembered. Farewell!" And now turning, that redoubtable
dwarf lord sprints across the narrow bridge at his back, followed closely by Dalar, and after them more dwarves, following in single
file. With a renewed roar at seeing the dwarves begin to escape, the orcs close in, and forward steps Nali,
Loni, and Frar.
CLANG!
Steel rings, and the battle for the bridge begins.