RP 58 "I Lanta Eriador" Private RP

[Elora]

Through the rolling ocean of waves grass came a dreadful thunder as if many stones had been wrenched from the earth and now rolled across the land, crushing all before it. Yet this was no natural avalanche for this was no mountain side. Beneath iron shod feet the earth recoiled in disgust at the touch of unclean feet. Row after row, a black tide that stretched for miles through the broken grass and dust, orcs and men flowed like an ocean of unclean malice. Harsh cries split the air, whips cracking and teeth gnashing as they considered the sport ahead of them.

It would take weeks before they were able to cleave and rend elven flesh, yet they would travel swiftly for all the vastness of distance that lay between them and Eriador for with them came another. He was wrapped in the ancient evil that had ever darkened and twisted his mind and soul, and he carried with him vengeance to be visited upon those who would cheat him of his ultimate prize. They could not flee his rage. Before empty Rohan was Sauron unmasked, upon his finger the power of the One Ring throbbed.

Messages sped across the waters from Gil-galad to Numenor. Elrond Half-Elven gathered men to his banner and struck out for Eriador. War gathered too in Loriand, Galadriel desperately urging Amroth into action. Yet it would all be too late. As Arda cried out anew, Elora sped south, mind and senses churning with her own foreboding. Eru's will in this matter was unclear, yet her oaths were anything but.

She plunged across the lands to seek Celebrimbor for another was also seeking him. The Guardian of Arda rode openly, bent close to the neck of her horse and no more than a swift blur, a legend of an ancient hunt streaking over grass and through trees. No more than a lone woman, clad in the gear of battle from ancient days, and yet not that at all if the observer were able to look twice as she sped by.

It was 1695 of the Second Age, and a new war for power that had been building for centuries had at last ripened. It’s fruit spilled over Rohan, in Lindon and Lorinand and from it would come only woe and death. But now was not the time to grieve. Ost-in-Edhil was still far away and if she was to save anything then she had to concern herself with the matters at hand.

[Anamatar IV]

The wind passing through the waves roared with turmolt. The clouds gathered and broke with rain in tempest. The icy waters relentlessly pummeled anything fey enough to come infront of it. But little there was that came before the fierce waves. Though there was one thing.

A grand white ship was tossed back and forth by the huge waves. The winds sent the sailors of the ship flying across the hard wood deck. Osse was filled with terrible wrath. A wrath so great that the mountains and earth, the winds and seas, the clouds and the pillars of the earth, could not withstand it.

So what chance did this ship of white would have? Some other force was at work as Aldarion, the Captain, and his crew trembled under the decks. Some force, more powerful than Osse himself, spared the lives of these sailors. Who could possibly save a ship of men from such a storm?

Uinen, Lady of the Waters.

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

Slowly it crept, softly and quietly. It was a black shadow within the black darkness; undetectable by human eyes in the cover of shadow. It moved on, heeding not the Dwarven soldiers posted throughout the dark passages and stone chambers of Khazad-dum. The spy had one intent: to seek out and destroy the Silver Dwarf. He knew not whom or what this Silver Dwarf was, or that he was Durin IV, the Lord of Moria. He was only told that this Dwarf was perilous to his master, and that he would know who it was by his shining silver armor. He only desired to please his master, the Lord Sauron, and save himself from more malice at his creul hands.

The spy stood rigid as a torch was lit in the darkness. The pale flicker of flame wound silently through the tight passageways, revealing two Dwarves flanked by a large shining Dwarf with a snowy white beard. Realizing this was his prey, the spy leapt from the shadows with a sword clasped in his tortured hands.

Durin saw the glitter from the black shadows and unfastened his hatchet. With skill and strength, Durin deflected the assassin's blow and delivered a blow more powerful than the attacker could imagine. The torch moved to reveal the identity of the assassin, but was dropped with a deep gasp. The firey glow revealed the hideous face of an Orc.

[Anamatar IV]

Osse stood great and terrible amidst the seas and tumbled the waters. He built up the wind and brought the clouds ever lower. As he was about to stomp with his foot of a terrible wave upon the boat of Aldarion a great figure rose before him. It was taller than he and far greaters. Her voice shook the earth's foundations. Her breath was greater than any wind Osse could make.

"Why dost thou wage war of seas and folly upon the ship of Aldarion? Has he done unto thou any harm? Has he taken thy salt and boiled it?" At these words Uinen arose to a great and terrible height. "Tempt the sailors with calm and the wild with tempest but do not trick the sailors into tempest with calm!" Osse turned and dove into the deep seas, fleeing from his wife who was great and powerful. But the storms of Osse raged on.

So Uinen came up behind the ship amidst the roaring waves and blew a fast breath. The winds of Uinen were harder yet more gentle than Osse's and the ship of Aldarion was pushed across many miles across the sea. And guided by the breath of Uinen the tattered ship came to the shores of Numenore as the storms of Osse subsided.
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A while after his ship had docked at Numenore, Aldarion stood on the deck and conversed with a shipwright of his.

"The fates of the world must be with us for it was not chance that we survived a storm like that," the wright said.

"It was not chance that let us survive, no," Aldarion replied. "But it was not the Powers. I deem it to be a power greater than we could imagine: a lady as the seas. Osse is man still and he fears his wife as any would. Uinen drove the storms of Osse from us, I think. I am forever grateful for that." Aldarion stood, looking into the blazing seas of red as the sun set beyond the far mountains.

[Mablung]

Yole sat in the camp of Elrond with his dark thoughts. The Shadow had finally come. In the lands of the Eriador the fate of the world would be decided. He turned from his comrades and became more and more withdrawn the closer they got. He shivered with the thought that he may fail in his duties of battle again. He wept over those who died when it was he who should have. He sharpened his sword in anticipation of the battle to come. He would not be a coward evermore.

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

There had been a brief time of hostility after word got out that Orcs were invading Khazad-dum. Luckily, the sentries all knew of the truth and assured the folk that naught was to fear except a lone Orc in search of a dry place to rest.

Durin sat alone in his throne of pewter, mindlessly braiding his beard with his stubby fingers. His mind strayed back to the recent assault on his life, the glitter of the sword and the impact of axe crushing bone. He had not killed an Orc for a number of years, and had almost forgot how to wield his axes, though he carried them with him at all times. He was greatly troubled by this Orc and his possible intentions, for why had it gone only after him and not his guards? Durin thought all these things, his mind like a great forge filled with many heated metals, but not enough blacksmiths to hammer them into something useful. Something inside Durin's raging mind told him that war was coming, and he could not be caught off guard; nay, he would not.

It was almost as if he was being...scouted, but by who, or what? And there had been those Warg attacks at the Gates, making it unsafe for travelers from afar to travel the roads. He had sent patrols up and down the roads to the Gates, but to no avail. Alas! and the crows from the sky 'wandering' into the dark halls! Beasts of the air cared not for the deep places of the earth; Durin knew this.

"I am being scouted, being sized up for my potential of war," he spoke softly, and yet almost happily. In truth he was excited, for if war indeed were coming to his realm, he would be ready for it. His mind began to dream of the glorious battles of old and tales of wonderous and noble Dwarves from Belegost. As he smiled to himself of these tales, he happened to glance towards his ring given to him by his father at his death. Instantly Durin saw himself as a young Dwarf warrior again, his axe stained with the blood of a Dragon, and gold heaped about him in mountains of shimmering wealth. His very chamber was made of every precious metal on Middle-Earth, and his realm had spread under the mountains of the North and West. But it was just a vision; the Ring on his finger provoking thoughts of glory and fame and vast wealth.

Durin's gaze was transfixed upon the naked band of gold on his finger; his heart filling with a sense of dread and a shadow of gloom hung over him. There was something about this ring; something that made his heart leap with joy and ambition, and yet long to be rid of its prescence.

[Elora]

"Elora, sheath your sword if you bear any love for my kindred."

Her sword, posied and held towards another who smiled an oily, predatory grin, hung unmoving in her grip as she considered the many reasons to ignore Celebrimbor's plea and the one reason not to. Her shoulders were tight with supressed anger as she remained as she was and her swirling gaze turned from Sauron's fair seeming face to that of Celebrimbor. She marked the uncertainty there. "Had you any faith in that love, you would not ask this of me Celebrimbor," she replied.

"Yet I do. Will you spill blood and honour in the house that has extended Annatar its hospitality in return for his teaching?" Sauron smiled anew and the urge to run him through nearly won through to her blade. The tip of the curved longsword swayed closer towards him, the slightest betrayal of what boiled through her as he added "It is a bold man who speaks of honour to the Guardian." She raised a cool brow then in arch amusement, but her voice was dangerous for all that. "Does Annatar instruct on matters of honour now?"

But the sword slid home to its scabbard and she took a step back even as Sauron wavered, a little less certain. She turned then, gazing long at Celebrimbor with unveiled eyes that held in them all the warning her earlier words had carried. "I will leave you to decide for yourself where you will accept teaching from, in honour or other arts. Valar shelter you, Celebrimbor, and light your way." Her benediction was spoken softly and sadness rolled through her face as she turned on one heel and strode from the garden and Ost-in-Edhil.

The stars glimmered high in the firmament overhead as the memory circled through her mind. "Had I been truer to that love, had I been stronger, would darkness gather once more I wonder?" Elora shook herself from the memory, gazing at the stars as her horse rested. She had ridden hard and had yet another day ahead of her. Yet she could find no rest herself. The music of the stream she had stopped by did not soothe. With a sigh, she reached for her pack and extracted an apple and a tunic of green suede to throw over her leathers. It fell to her ankles, split up each side to allow free movement, with the Two Trees stiched in silver and gold on the front panel.

By the time she had washed the road dust from her face and hair, and re-braided her copper curls into an intricate thick braid that hung to her hips, the night sky was lightening in the East. She had spent all the time she was prepared to in concession to Noldorin custom for garb. But Celebrimbor would know as soon as he saw her that war came also, whether she appeared in courtly garb or mail. Whether he would welcome her or renounce her for her failure to reveal Sauron for what he really was not so easy to know.

As dawn glimmered over the land, the morning star still bright in the lightening sky, Elora was streaking across the lands once more. By nightfall she will have made her destination and then it would begin. The land steadily became fairer as she passed, the hand of the Eldar speaking in leaf and bough, and the thought that Sauron would possess even the plainest speck of Middle-earth pushed her faster towards Ost-in-Edhil.

[Ecthelion]

Carfang sat looking at the stars while chewing an apple about two tents away from that of Lord Amroth's, all this time he had waited for adventure and now, when he finally had it he was scared as could be. Thoughts of him letting down his family and friends, even letting down all that is good in Middle-Earth kept coming in his head. No matter what he sang or thought of back came the evil thoughts relentlessly. Carfang could stand it no more, he finished his apple and layed down to sleep.

Many a time did Carfang wake up with cold sweat dripping down his face and everytime he spoke with great anger cursing all that is evil three times and tried again to sleep. Finally after nearly an hour of terrible thoughts Carfang drifted into a fitful sleep.

[Anamatar IV]

Aldarion strode modestly into the halls of his father. No celebration was prepared for him that he survived the dreadful storm, no rescue crew was there with blankets when they had docked. No boast of his journey would Aldarion make.

"What has driven you from the place where you will rule in time, son?" Tar-Meneldur, his father said. "You are betrothaled so why do you journey?"

Aldarion answered simply. "The waves of Uinen the Uinéniel shall hear." And with those words troubling to Meneldur Aldarion left his hall.
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He rode in search of his love, Erendis. His horse sped him throught the forests dear to her, the farmlands of her home, and the halls of the queens. She was not found, though. But in his last desperation, Aldarion rode his horse to Erendis' home. The shack compared to the mansions she would live in. But for some reason, she lived there now.

"Have you not yet taken the seas as your spouse, Aldarion?" Erendis greeted him coldly. "It has been long since I have seen you. Why do you come back to me now?" And Aldarion brought forth a jewel of shining radiance from Middle-earth.

"Love, I have brought this for you. It has been crafted by the greats of the Elves. Never will a jewel so great be seen upon Numenor!" Erendis took the gem and walked inside the house. She bade for Aldarion to sleep on the small rug that covered the wooden floor. But before he went to sleep, Aldarion said one thing to Erendis.

"What did you name her?"

"Ancalime."

[Elora]

The land of Eregion was fair, and in many of it's features could the unique Noldorin philosophy of architecture and beauty been seen. Ost-in-Edhil was its chief city, and a remarkable testament to the influence of cultures. The elegant, fragile sweep of elven sensability was stamped upon the city. Yet so too was the enduring, powerful nature of the Dwarven peoples. Elora saw it in the outter walls and bulwarks that lended Ost-in-Edhil much more resilience to attack - at least so she hoped as she rode through the gates at mid-afternoon.

The wide streets were peaceful, appearance belying what she knew to be approaching the citizens of the city from the south. Yet further inspection revealed a heightened guard. Weapons were worn openly by more than soldiers, and the silken pennants high atop the walls fluttered almost wistfully as they waited for aid. Faces were tight with expectation and growing alertness. Already some houses had been left, their families leaving as they could. But where would be safe? Not even she knew, yet.

Elora's horse picked its way unerringly to the Gwaith-i-Mirdan. The Great House was familiar to her, and she had been seen before threading her way through the elven-fair streets towards it. Though noone halted her, some she passed nodded or smiled faintly in recognition, eyes sliding them to the sword hilts that peeked over each shoulder and then back to her grave face. As she neared the complex occupied by the Smiths, the activity around her steadily built. People darted purposefully in and around her. The sound of fortification came faintly to her hearing as the lesser treasuries were being prepared.

Her brow furrowed then faintly. Better that they should look to defence, and escape should that fail. There was no telling how far off Gil-galad was, yet she surmised her ally was well aware of what brewed and formented. She had Moria also to consider, and Celeborn and Galadriel. As Elora drew up in front of the Great House of the Mirdan she focussed her attention on the beautifully worked doors that sat impressively atop a wide sweep of elegant stairs. The westering sun shone bright upon her burnished copper hair as she dismounted in a motion filled with liquid grace.

Brushing dust from her tunic, Elora stared up at the doors with eyes that swirled with colour, her thoughts impenetrable to most with some exceptions. One of them was within the Great House and she lightly set her booted foot upon the first step. She flowed up the stairs to stand at the door. Coming to the top, she removed her gloves and raised a long fingered hand to knock and announce her presence, assuming rumour had not preceded her. The Guardian sighed lightly and called in a musical voice, "Valar shine upon all within this House."

That said she stepped back and awaited the response, turning to survey the street patiently and gather more of the general morale of the people who would bear Sauron's vengeance.

[LadyDernhelm]

The sun upon the mallorn-leaves created a golden glow about the wood of Lothlorien. In the distance, voices were raised in quiet song of praise to Eru, He who created the earth. Yet in the center of the golden wood, in the place which was called Caras Galadhon, it was silent.

Here the Lady Galadriel of Lorien sat, and Celeborn beside her. In her hair rested the brilliance of the sun, and about her was an air of wisdom as one who has taught much and learned more. Before her stood a messenger of Ost-in-Edhil, his head bowed in reverence.

"War comes to Eriador," Galadriel said, the soft-spoken words rending the silence. Her voice was low and clear and sad. "Sauron the Deceiver counsels no longer with Celebrimbor and Elora of Valinor rides abroad once more."

"Yes, Lady," the messenger replied.

"A shadow is growing," Galadriel said. Weariness was in her voice, and pain, and her eyes were dark. "Its approach is ever quickened. How shall we stand against it?"

"We have let the enemy into our bosom," Celeborn said. "Long did he whisper fair words into the ears of Celebrimbor, and indeed to us all. What now will the consequences be?"

"There are none who can tell," the Lady replied, and her voice was fell in the golden silence. "Long have I urged Amroth in Loriand and long have my warnings gone unheeded. Now, I fear, the consequences will be harsh.

"Dark days will come."

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

"What can we possibly do! The Khazad are restless, milord! They still whisper of war and death, and we cannot cease their chatter!" bellowed Araghan, a Dwarf leader of the fallen line of Belegost, slamming his fist on the pewter table.

"We are not at war," sneered Furik, Durin's captain of defense. " 'Twas merely a lone Orc, and we told the people this! All is well in Middle-Earth and we would be the first to know of any disturbance in the land!" Furik was black-bearded, greasy and poorly kept. His nose was like a great warted toad that sat upon a stinking lilypad, full of creases and pools of slime. Durin did not trust him or heed his advice, for he suspected Furik of being a spy from far-off places. But that was the precise reason he had put him in his council, to use him for his own will.

To Furik's comment came a torrent of relentless cries and arguments, all directed towards Durin, the Lord of Khazad-dum.

"Halt! Cease this chatter for I myself shall axe the next one to speak!" Durin spoke, full of impatience and wrath. All sat down silent and fearful of Durin's anger. "Now I am not one to sit here and allow Khazad-dum to be taken, whether it be a lone Orc or an entire legion of them. Khazad-dum will be ready for war, and we will not sit idle and let it come to us!" Furik snorted, and Durin heeded him not. "Thus, we shall delve deeper into the vast wealth of our kingdom, and extract mithril from the Earth's core for our gear of war! Deeper- and higher, we shall delve. We will create a kingdom from the highest point, to the core of the earth. All the while Dwarf lads from 50 years to 100 years will be trained for war, and the soldiers will train with them. We shall be ready for anything!" Durin shouted, his eyes gleaming like two orbs of cold ice.

To this the Dwarves of Durin's council cheered for joy, save Furik. He snuck from the council chamber, and disappeared into the shadows.

[Anamatar IV]

Aldarion awoke long before the Sun. He left the house as the stars shone against a pale, dark sky. But as he was about to leave he thought against it. He turned and walked back into the house.

He found a young girl sleeping in her bed. He woke her gently. She groaned with tire and from the darkness that surrounded her.

"Aldarion?" she said quietly.

"Yes, Ancalime, daughter," Aldarion he said with a grin on his face. "Come with me." Aldarion took his daughter with her to his horse and trotted across the plains, through the forests, and to the seas.

"What do you think of all these trees?" He inquired as they passed through a large forest.

"I get bored with them. I would rather see the Great Sea," she answered. Aldarion stopped his horse. He spurred it around and rode it back to Erendis' house. She was waiting there with scorn on her face. She tore Ancalime from the horse and pulled her into the house. As Aldarion left her house, for the last time, he thought to himself.

Not the lies and poisoned words of Erendis can tear Ancalime away from me.

Aldarion rode to the docks. His guild awaited him. They would sail to Middle-earth yet again.

[Turgon]

The shadows of evening slowly unfolded, wrapping the Halls of the Mírdan in a dark embrace. Yet it brought small comfort to Celebrimbor, his thoughts were elsewhere, wandering the paths of a past unchangeable, a future unknowable. Too deeply had the Noldor delved for knowledge, and too often it had it brought them misery and woe. This held true for his family more than most. Not easily was the curse of kinship erased. Folly was his birthright, a gift passed down from father to son, and war and ruin would ever be the legacy of the House of Fëanor. Or so it seemed to him in that dark hour.

'One ring to rule them all...' Still the words echoed in his head. For thus was he betrayed, thus were they all betrayed. Annatar, Lord of Gifts, the only gift you bring us is war, and an ending of all our hopes...

'My Lord!' A youthful elf burst the silence of Celebrimbor's thoughts, his face flushed with excitement and aimless hope. 'The Lady Elora has come bearing tidings, and seeks admittance to our halls. Even now she stand at our doors...'

'Then admit her!' Celebrimbor said sharply, the lad's shining eyes a dagger to his heart. Then in a softer voice. 'And tell the lady she is welcome to our halls.'

With a sigh Celebrimbor stood, and made ready to greet his guest. He knew what news she brought... for the shadow of death was already upon him.

[Elora]

She left her horse to the promised keeping of the stablehands, following the young Elf that ushered her into the halls on quick, light feet. The doors swung shut behind her, and Elora saw that within it was busier still than the streets had been without. The Elf looked back over his shoulder, and she smiled briefly to reassure him that she was not about to vanish. His steps quickened further, graceful as they were youthful. Was such youth about to be thrown against Sauron in an attempt to keep his gauntleted fist from siezing that which he hungered for?

Her thoughts tumbled around her head, unable to discount the sounds of fortification coming from the treasuries that she had discerned whilst waiting. Still, perhaps her own folly had not undone all hope. She was welcome. Sauron had failed on that score at least. The doors swept open before her again as the Elf stepped aside with a murmured courtesy. It was how she had left many years ago, and yet now Celebrimbor's Hall was filled with a different air. He slowly unfolded from his chair as she entered, the shadows of evening curling around him.

Elora moved forward, eyes searching Celebrimbor's face as she did so. She stopped before him, bowing with one hand over her heart as was her custom. As she straightened she spoke in a quiet voice.

"Dark the hour may seem, yet dawn may yet surprise you and come again. All has not forsaken you, Celebrimbor. Mae Govannen."

She flicked her heavy braid back over her shoulder once more, examining him closely. "It grieves me that the tide that bears me to you is a perilous one. I would have it that it shall not overtake all you hold dear."

Elora's brow furrowed for a moment, saddness gilding her features only to be outshone by a characteristic steely glint to her swirling gaze. Her lips twitched in a fey smile. "I did not ride the wind for the past two days to bring you naught but gloom, my friend. Can you forgive my failure?"

Voice earnestly soft, Elora stood with her hands clasped before her. Few witnessed such a thing, for the Guardian was proud. The stars through the window, the leaping flames upon the hearth and Celebrimbor were the only witnesses.

[Anamatar IV]

"We cannot go!" one shipwright cried to Aldarion loudly. "No maiden has come to bid us away." Aldarion looked towards the forests and rolling hills of Numenor. A distant look was in his eyes.

"Erendis will not come," he remarked saddly. The sailor answered loudly again.

"But we will sail without the blessing of Uinen!" Aldarion turned fiercly and with a sofy look in his eyes he spoke softly.

"Then we will go without the blessing of Uinen."

The sailors cut the ropes binding the great ship to the dock and it sailed out into the seas. Away in the east the waters seemed to grow dark, as if Osse lurked in the waves waiting.

[LadyDernhelm]

The following morning dawned clear, casting golden Lorien in a soft yellow light. Galadriel had slept little the previous night, immersed in thoughts of the days to come.

She walked now, noiselessly among the mallorn-trees as the sun rose to fill the wood with its brightness. Her footfalls upon the leaf-strewn way were soft, unheard by mortal ears. Yet still Celeborn heard and came to her side, and for a time they walked in silence.

"War will come to Eriador," Galadriel said after some length of time and walking had passed away. Her voice was sad, dampening the cheer of the sun-kissed air.

Celeborn said nothing, but nodded, deep within his own thought.

"Warning must be brought to all," Galadriel mused. "To the Men, and to Elves."

"Yes," Celeborn said.

"And," Galadriel added, "To the Dwarves of Durin in the deep places of the earth."

Celeborn looked sharply at Galadriel, saying, "The Dwarves of the Mountain hide themselves away in burrows, sought by few and found by fewer. Surely they have no need of such warning. And surely if it came they would not heed it, for they delight in destruction and revel in the misery of the Elves."

"It is not only Elves that Sauron's treachery and Celebrimbor's clouded vision affects," replied Galadriel. "Already the Deceiver has shown himself in his full strength, and it will not easily be combatted.

"And ever does he seek for those which were lost," she added softly, and it seemed for a moment as though her gaze fell upon her finger, but only for a moment.

"The Dwarves have no ties with Elven-rings," Celeborn replied. "Why should Sauron trouble with they, the lowliest race, created not of Iluvatar but another?"

"The Dwarves, also, were given Rings," Galadriel said softly. "Alas, for they too were deceived by the fair face and fair words of Sauron. Yet someone must warn them of what has passed, for they hide away in the hearts of mountains and surely cannot know what passes in the golden halls of Elven-kings."

"But who would take to them this warning?" Celeborn pressed. "There are none who could, or who would do so."

"I would go to Moria," Galadriel replied evenly. "Warning I would give to Durin Lord of that place, and if he chose to heed it not, then so be it."

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

"Khazad! Uzbad ai-menu!"

Durin stepped onto the mining platform and nodded his head in recognition of his arrival. Instantly, the hundreds of Dwarves busy at work in the mithril pit halted their work; the clangs of pick and axe were deafening as they fell to the ground.

Durin's eyes danced gleefully from one cart of the precious mineral to the other, but suddenly felt a heavy dread and disgust hang over him, like a thin cloud of dust that blurs all vision and reasoning. The mithril began to look tainted; mixed with some unknown ore that made it weak and terrible to behold. The ring upon his finger grew heavy and seemed to fill with a rage of greed and hunger; it thirsted for pure mithril.

"Delve deeper, Khazad! Deeper we shall go until we strike the very bottom of this world! Mahal shall envy us and reward us with riches and success beyond our wildest dreams!" Durin cried, his voice strained and wild, his eyes turning dark and black. With reluctance and confusion, the miners took up their arms and began to work on the mine, with more effort and determination than before.

The beginning of the end of the Dwarves had begun.

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"This foul river out here makes me want to barf!" yelled Furik, for he despised anything of beauty and above the ground. Slowly and quietly he crept, eluding the sentries and travelling merchants as he went.

He halted after two hours of quiet travel, until he reached the familiar grove of thorn bushes and snake weeds. The moon had reached its highest point in the sky, and Furik felt as if it was boring down on him, watching his treachery.

""Tis just a globe of silver way up there! Quit your staring you nosey thing, you!" Furik shook his fist at the sky, but stopped when he heard the telltale call of the Messenger. From the grove came a stout Orc, a red eye painted across its black chest.

"Hoy thar' blackbeard! How fares yer shiny Dwarf lord now after Jerekk slit his throat? Har!" snickered the vile creature, his left eye was missing from its socket.

"The assassination was unsuccessful," stammered Furik, the Orc glared at the Dwarf with a cold fury in his eye. "But, he is going mad from that ring, oh he sure is! Don't worry, it will be easier to knock him off, I'm sure of that!"

"Filthy blackbeard! Now the shorties know we're comin'! There'll be no gettin; in thar' now!" the Orc snarled. Furik cowered in fear, as the Orc moved in for the kill.

"Wait!" shouted Furik. The Orc kept its blow from striking its target and glared at the Dwarf impatiently. "I am still of use! I can wait here and prevent the messengers from entering Moria! I can get some Petty Dwarves here and we'll stop any Elf or Man from gettin into these gates. Please, just don't kill me!"

"Aright then. But one more screw up and I'll eat yer heart in front of ya!" retorted the Orc; Furik fainted with relief.

[LadyDernhelm]

The sun had not begun to set before the Lady Galadriel had made her preparations to journey alone to the Mines of Moria, the great caverns from which the pure mithril was delved. Celeborn ever protested, but she heeded not his warnings.

Wrapped in a shadow-cloak, the star on her finger dimmed and hidden from mortal eyes, she left Lorien and traveled swiftly and silently, seen by no one. Fierce determination was in her heart, and she felt no fear as she narrowed the gap between herself and the gates of Durin, Lord of Moria.

The shadow-moon rose in a blue sky as she traveled, signaling the forthcoming dusk. The sun sank into the West, bathing the land in which she traveled with a yellow-red glow.

By the time the sun had dropped completely over the horizon, and the country was awash in darkness, she was descending into the shallow canyon in which the Doors of Durin sat.

"In Star and Moon shall these doors be seen alone," she murmured, for the silvery tracings had not yet appeared. Still some way from the door, she sat, and waited.

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

After the Orc had disappeared into the darkness, Furik awoke from his faint. He was alone, his knife clutched in his greasy fist.

He laughed to himself and coughed into his dirty beard. I outsmarted that stupid Orc, and while I should leave now, the eye is always watching, he thought. He knew that he had no choice but to fulfill his task, and block anyone from coming to Khazad-dûm.

He set out for the small shelter the Petty Dwarves were using as their base of operations, and called out to them, "Min! Lim! Drin and Hik! Get your ugly beards out here and help me!"

From the bushes came a cowardly reply, "Frik, is that you?"

"Why of course it's me! I need you cowards in there to help me raid the travellers en route to Moria! Come on now, lets get a move on! We are watching the eastern gates!" Furik, whose real name was Frik, shouted. The four petty Dwarves came out of hiding, all equally grimy and unkept, and they trembled in sight of the moon.

"It's coming for us it is Frik! Tell it to leave us alone!" cried Drin, the others calling for Frik's aid as well.

"It's the moon, and you will learn to appreciate it after Lord Sauron nabs you up and sends you under his eye! So keep your beards up and let's go!" Frik shouted. The other Dwarves wailed in fear, and blindly followed their leader onto the road. "Unsheathe your knives and crossbows; we wait here in siege of any that travel this path. After we shoot them dead, we take their things and become as rich as Durin's folk in the mines!"

"Yes! We shant be so petty once we become rich as Durin! Oh yes, this will work for us it will!" cried Hik. Instantly, the morale of the petty Dwarves strengthened at the mention of rewards and riches for their endeavors. They chattered amongst themselves of all the riches they would have, and how many Dwarf-lass' they could buy with it, but they soon tired and fell in a satisfied sleep.

Around 2 o'clock, Frik awoke with a startle. Oft in the distance, he spotted a white thing coming towards them, a soft trail of golden hair flowing silently behind it. Min and Lim trembeled with fear and held onto one another like small children in the dark.

"Shh! It's an Elf! We'll shoot her dead we will, come on now! Assume positions!" whispered Frik, and the others wailed in fear and cowardice. "Get over there now!" hissed Frik, and he kicked Hik into his position. The white Elf came ever closer, the flowers and the trees seemed to lean towards her in reverence. As she neared their position, Lim screamed in fear.

"The White Sorceress!" He screamed like a human child, and the others followed his example. Childhood horror stories came into their puny minds, and they ran off into the darkness, tearing at their beards and squealing like piglets. Frik alone remained, his position given away by the Petty Dwarves, which were easily the most cowardly creatures of all Middle-earth.

The black bearded Dwarf stepped out to meet her, blocking her path.

[LadyDernhelm]

Galadriel halted, her white face illumined by the moonlight as the glowing orb slid into place in the topmost realm of the sky. Behind the dark Dwarf blocking her path, she spied the silvered etchings that marked the Doors of Durin flickering softly into existence.

The Dwarf in her path stood, insolently unmoving. Casting aside the shadow-cloak which she wore she raised her hand before him, and it seemed that a star shone between her fingers and filled her being with radiant light.

In a voice fell and commanding upon the night air, she spoke to him.

"Why do you seek to bar the way I take into Moria?"

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

"You- you're trespassing on private property! Don't make me fire my crossbow!" stammered Frik, his voice quivering with fear. Her hand had grown as white as the stars overhead, and her being radiated with an inner fire more potent than all the forges of Khazad-dum together.

"I warn thee one last time, petty Dwarf. End thine insolence and step back, or face the consequences!" cried Galadriel, her voice calm and threatening, like the stormy skies before the tempest.

Frik held his ground, determined to get his just reward. His slimy face twisted in determination, and he fired the bolt from his crossbow, aimed directly for the White Lady's chest.

[LadyDernhelm]

Galadriel raised her hand higher, and it seemed at once as if a blinding star had descended to rest upon her finger. The arrow fell away, harmless to the ground, and Frik averted his gaze from the hurtful gleam.

"The warnings of Galadriel do not go unheeded," the Lady said in a voice at once fell and calm, and filled with the light that illumined her being. "Leave now, thou fallen child of Aulë, depart back into the shadow which is thy home. Crawl back to the bosom of thy master and tell him of the things which have come to pass this day, and may thy tidings be a dagger in his heart."

Slowly she dropped her hand to her side, but still she glowed with a light that pierced Frik's Dwarven eyes so that he could hardly bear to look upon the Elf Queen as she stood in her majesty.

"Now stand aside, that I may pass and conduct my business with the Lord of Moria," she commanded, "For his might is greater than thine own or that of those in whose service you are, and it is to him that I must speak ere the moon sets this night."

[Anamatar IV]

Aldarion stood on the shores of Middle-earth with his ship half wrecked beside him. He had lost several crew members. The man turned to the waves still foaming with storm and shook his fist at the great clouds.

"Curse you, Osse!" he yelled aloud, not fearing the Lord's wrath. "Curse your waves and your fell winds! Curse Erendis and curse my leaving without the blessing of Uinen!" At these words Aldarion fell to his knees and wept. He put his hands on his proud face and cried aloud. He had chosen the love of Uinen over the love of his betrothal and now even Uinen had forsaken him. So great was his sadness that his men around him fell into solemn mourning.

Suddenly Aldarion stood. He turned away from the sea and paced quickly to the hull of the ship. The waves had rendered many holes in it. Already Cirdan's shipwrights were coming to work on it, for it had shipwrecked on the shores of Mithlond.

"Come!" Aldarion called to his men, maybe twenty or so. They were girt with short swords and wore no mail for they did not expect battle. Only Aldarion was dressed in white mail with a long sword around his belt. "We must get mount. We will seek Gil-galad and help him if we can." Aldarion and his men took off sprinting to the fortresses of the Grey Havens where Cirdan made abode and where they hoped to find steed enough. Before long they had mounted and were riding.

"Where shall we find the Elven King?" One sailor asked Aldarion.

"Cirdan tells me he dwells now in Eregion."

"Where is this Eregion?"

"It is an Elven fastness in the east under the shadow of the Mountains of Mist."

"That is far away!" the sailor remarked exasperingly.

"Yes, and let us hope we can reach there before...." Aldarion trailed off and he spurred his horse to ride harder.

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

Every light in the sky attacked Frik in that blinding instant. The radiance of the moon, the essence of the stars, and the white sheen of Galadriel's being, all pierced the eyes of Frik, causing him to clutch vainly at his dirty face.

He shrieked like the final death cry of a rabbit, the sound was frightful and hideous. The light did not waver, nor did Galadriel, in her might and fury for she heeded not the cries of Frik, and the petty Dwarves in the valley below heard their masters pain, and they wept for fear.

When at last she deemed the Dwarf unable to do her any harm, she let her hand fall to her waist; the light of the moon and the stars returned to their proper places.

"Thou hast now but two choices: to flee or to cower to thy vile master. Either way, thou shall fail utterly, for the Dark Lord sees and knows all. For thine treachery thou shall fall into the blinding darkness, and not even thine creator Aulë shall rescue thee for fear of staining his mallet forever black," she spoke, her voice reverting to her normal tone, her eyes extinguished of her terrible power.

Frik wept, for he was blinded by the light of Galadriel and his pitiful eyes teared with blood. He staggered away from the path, defeated, crying out for aid from his companions. But the petty Dwarves kept their pace, never once looking back for their leader. Of Frik's fate none can tell, some say he was devoured by Wargs in the darkness, and others speak of a one-eyed Orc; ripping his blinded body limb from limb.

[LadyDernhelm]

Galadriel watched the Dwarf go, contempt within her for the wide workings of Sauron and the foolish corruption of the petty Dwarves.

After Frik had passed from her sight she continued down until she drew level with the glimmering Doors of Moria, where she was halted by the Dwarven door-wards.

"Who passes this way?" cried one. In response, Galadriel raised her hand, casting off the shadow which she wore for the final time, and spoke her name softly.

"Pass," the door-ward said, and she entered into the deep of Moria. Before her went the second door-ward, to warn his Lord of her arrival.

Author's Note--

Does anyone know what Moria was like when the Dwarves actually inhabited it? All I have to reference is FOTR....

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

"We have been quite lonely as of late, Lady, for the sky grows darker by the day and less people travel these roads in search of the craft of the Khazad," explained the warden, as he led Galadriel through the tunneling passageways. He held aloft a single torch, illuminating the path in an orange sheen that rejoiced in touching the White Lady's skin. She was like a blazing star that came into the earth, slowly waxing and fading from its brilliance.

"Lady, you seem as if you have been in a confronation. Is there anything you would like to report of our borders?" inquired the warden.

Galadriel smiled to herself, and replied, "Nay my friend, the problem has been extinguised." The warden gave no further reply, and the two walked on in silence. Soon the dark tunnels became well-lighted corriders of pewter and rock, and small delvings could be spotted. Her golden locks bounced smoothly with her stride, and she was amazed by the Dwarves' craft. "Your realm is impressive, and I can tell that Durin has made the Khazad prosperous under his rule. Azabahd, you may depart for I know the way to Durin's chamber," she instructed.

Azabahd jumped at hearing his name, for he gave it to her not. Nonetheless he left her and stood in the darkness, admiring her delicate form weaving its way through the tunnels, until none but her pale white radiance could be seen.

Galadriel had a great appreciation for the Dwarves and their magnificent structures under the earth, much unlike her husband Celeborn. She danced softly on the stone pathways, feeling the cool stone against her bare feet, and sung softly of the beauty of the Dwarves. She passed through the merchant's section, admiring the gleaming gems and children's toys, but turning away from the cruel axes and blades. Festive music resounded within the cavern's walls, and the aroma of roasted mutton and fresh vegetables tickled her senses. The stone huts, illuminated by massive torches of roaring fire, were alive with business; Dwarf-children tugging on their mother's beards, and Dwarf men testing the various weapons. Some Men and Elves were among the crowd as well, buying the products from their only makers. Her prescence however, brought many of the Dwarves to admiration and awe of her beauty, and their greedy eyes lit up as they set their gaze upon her golden head. She smiled full of mirth, and placed a small bracelet from her wrist into the palm of a small Dwarf lad. His eyes teared up with joy, as did the other Dwarves about her, and with great reluctance, she left the markets.

The corridors now grew wider about her, and she walked through the residential area, a magnificent stone labyrinth in which even she would have trouble navigating through. For a moment she stood, captivated by the dancing torches and clumsy movement of the Dwarves in their homes. The city stretched on for miles, the stone cieling of Khazad-dum looming menacingly overhead like a great brown sky full of anger and storm. Yet she rejoiced at the notion of living underground, and the change in scenery, allthough stifling, was indescribable.

Finally, the White Lady came to the Halls of Khazad-dum, referred to as the Gabilgunud, the Great Underground Hall. The massive pillars of stone were intricately designed with detailed patterns of Dwarvish architecture, all square and block-like in fashion. The gargantuan walls portrayed scenes of the birth of Durin the Deathless and the stand of Azaghal in the Fifth Battle. Upon another was a great family lineage chart, portraying every descendant of Durin the 1st, and the folk of Belegost.

So many pillars and torches, and Dwarves all about, she thought. Moria was similar to a great ant hill, forever working and shifting about, yet she knew that the work was neither aimless nor midless, and Moria was not as cumbersome as one may have thought. It was a place of refuge, of mirth, of fellowship, and most importantly, friendship. Galadriel wondered at the thought of this underground labyrinth, that so many feared and refused to travel into, was the single most joyful place in all of Middle-Earth. Bless Aule and his works! she enthused to herself.

While marvelling at the wonders of the Dwarves, she sensed a presence behind her, tainted by some dark force that even she could not precieve. She wheeled about, her golden hair like a pinwheel of pure beauty, and she raised her hand in defiance. But it was no shadow of darkness, or Orc or fell beast, it was a shining Dwarf clad in silver; Durin the IV, Lord of Khazad-dum. She looked at him without expression, but inside she was greatly disturbed by the sudden feeling of evil approaching.

"Hello there Lady Galadriel! I did not mean to frighten you!" laughed Durin, his hands extended in a gesture of welcome. He knelt down in front of her, and she bowed to him, as she knew was the custom of the Khazad. He stretched out a calloused hand to touch her own, but she did not grasp it for she noticed the naked band of gold upon his finger. Instant panic rose in her being, but she showed nothing upon her perfect face, save an expression of uneasy confusion.

"Lord Durin, I must speak with you, alone and without interruption. The shadow draws ever closer, and I fear you must prepare your kingdom for many hardships ahead, for my mind is clouded by an evil force unknown to me and my fellow Elves for a long time," she whispered, her eyes transfixed upon his ring.

Something was peculiar about that ring, and try as she might, the dark corruption upon its golden surface prevented her from percieving its true intentions. The two strode silently into the throne room before the other Khazad could spot them.

[Anamatar IV]

The riders rode a long ways but the horses bore them swiftly and tireless. And so Aldarion's guild, riding through fog and cold rain and the winds of Osse, came to the doors of Eregion, the Elven Kingdom.

Aldarion dismounted and beat upon the brazen doors with his fist and blew a great note upon his trumpet. A voice called to him from atop the wall.

"What business have you with Eregion?"

Aldarion stammered backwards to see the Elf from above calling to him. He quickly recomposed himself and called back.

"Hearken, door-warden of Gil-galad, High-King. I am Aldarion, Man from Numenore and I come to seek Your King! I wish for aid and to give the aid that I may in these times of darkness." At the name of Aldarion the door wardens promptly opened the great doors. Messengers led him through the hills and streets to the High King, where they both bowed low.

"What is it you wish, Minastir's son?" The Elven king said with a fair voice.

"Lord, I wish to have a ship built for me. Mine was shipwrecked in the great storm. In turn, I wish to aid you in the wars that are brewing. My guild and I," at this he gestured to the horsed men behind him. "Will fight under the your banner until our ship is done. Then I will sail to Numenor and from my father I will bring the fleets and armies of the Land of Gift!" Aldarion stood up straight and looked towards the Elven king. A look of kingly pride was in his eyes.

[LadyDernhelm]

"Evil has been unloosed in Middle-Earth," Galadriel said, and there was a great sadness in her voice as she gazed steadily at Durin. "Sauron, the Deceiver of Celebrimbor, has cast off his fair raiment and let his true intentions be known. Already war comes swiftly toward us, a rushing wave of Orc-feet. They will devour this land, and the Dwarves will not be exempt from the consequences."

Durin sat in silence, his eyes glittering strangely in the candlelight. The band upon his finger glittered also, bright and untarnished. Yet from the Ring Galadriel felt malice come, and greed, the lust after that which is unattainable.

"I have come over field and under mountain to bring you these tidings," Galadriel continued. "I would grieve if destruction came to Moria, to the glorious halls of Khazad-dûm."

She glanced at the Ring upon the Dwarven-king's hand.

"My mind is clouded," the Lady concluded after a moment's pause. "I cannot foresee what happenings shall come to Middle-Earth, but my heart tells me that they shall be great, and terrible; Sauron will use the power of the Ruling Ring that sits now upon his finger to enslave the Free People of Middle-Earth. His treachery, his deceit, are unmasked, and he rides in force now against us."

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

After she had spoken, her clear eyes of mist wandered cautiously towards Durin's hand, his ring's cool surface rested against the colder stone on which he sat. The Dwarf stood in rage in defiance of this Elvish sorceress, bent on taking Durin's ring for her own.

"Why do you look at my ring so? This is a golden ring given to me by my father, Durin III! It is mine! Mine I tell you, and you cannot have it!" he roared. His eyes flashed with a black flame of greed and bore down on the white woman with accusing rage.

"Calm yourself, Durin, I come not for your golden ring, but for your attention!" she calmly replied, Durin's rage began to subside into an uneasy feeling of regret. "What has happened to you, an-Uzbad, my lord? Your words are tainted by some black force, has even Sauron caught the hardy Dwarves in his evil grasp?"

Durin cast his face in shame for the words of anger he released upon he White Lady. "I am sorry Galadriel, but those words were not my own. Forgive me," he requested.

"I need no apology, Lord Durin. I came only to warn you of the great peril that lies ahead. Sauron draws ever closer, and I fear all that we have labored for will be laid to waste by his decietful hand. Come with me, for I desire to speak with you as we draw nearer to the surface," Galadriel counselled, her golden hair swaying elegantly as she shook her beautiful face. "Long has it been since I have travelled in the festive halls of Khazad-dûm, too long indeed," she said, a broad smile spread across her face like the glorious fountains of moonlight in the atriums of the mines. The two companions left the chamber, and Durin led the Lady to the mines to show her the vast wealth of mithril they had aquired.

Galadriel still felt the prescence of a menacing evil, and percieved the ring of Durin was none other than one of the Seven. But no matter how hard she try, she could not bring herself to tell the Dwarf of Sauron's influence already upon him, for she feared his corrupted mind would only spawn anger instead of understanding.

[Anamatar IV]

OOC:

We can still continue this rp over at
http://www.middle-earth-rpg.com/index.php?s=
right from where we left off.:)

[LadyDernhelm]

I'm lost. Why would we be unable to continue it at its present location???

[Anamatar IV]

http://www.thetolkienforum.com/showthread.php?s=&threadid=11227

The Role playing forums are being deleted from TTF but the role playing portion of TTF is now there.

[LadyDernhelm]

I did see that, directly after I posted. ;) Thanks, Anamatar.

By the way, I think your name "versions" are a little bit off the deep end. Seen any psychiatrists lately? ;)

[Dáin Ironfoot I]

Just as long as there is a link to the older content... or maybe we can copy it over somehow...