The heroism of the dwarves!
The Misty Moors
A round hill rises here, often half-obscured by mist steaming from cataracts, the upper reaches of the northern tributary of the Bruinen.
From this hill the lands about can be seen easily: north, beyond the cataracts, the foothills of the Misty Mountains to the west, a valley descending toward the lowlands of Rhudaur, green with trees to the east, the line of the Misty Mountains and traces of an old road or path climbing up into the hills. South, the land rises gradually into a high moorland, barren, crisscrossed by ravines, punctuated by small stands of trees and tumbles of rock. To the southeast, the view is obscured by a line of heavily forested ridges.
Contents:
Korvor
Ovor
Dwarven Camp
Thari
Obvious exits:
West and East
[Thari(#31038)] It's been nearly two weeks since the caravan left Rivendell. There's been no big rush so far, though many songs have been sung about home around the campfires in the evening. East the dwarves have gone, but more north, cutting through the moors.
Ever the gash of the Pass nears. Soon the khazad will be tested there again. Shadow seems to pour from the cleft, preying on the mind and making many recall the heavy losses suffered on the road westward.
Soon, however, the shadow seems less of a metaphor and more of a reality. A dark, muddy road is cut from the base of the pass east-to-west, where there was never a road before. The pace of the caravan slows as the road is neared, then stops when it is finally before them.
Many, many feet have walked this way, from the pass-- from it, for the majority of the footsteps point westward. The stench is horrible, the ground littered with filthy dung and trash, and in the middle of it all is what appears to be half of an orc. Here are there are wheel-ruts as well.
[Frarin] Among the ranks of the caravan is a line of five ponies, three burdened with goods, two with riders. Frarin rides at the head of the lineup and behind him comes a much younger dwarf, though greatly similar to the merchant is this youngster in appearance. As they ride, the younger dwarf seems to be asking a string of questions, for the beleaguered Frarin is forever saying quietly "No, lad" or "Yes, lad" or "Ask you father, Gerin." Finally, as the smear of the High Pass looms, the merchant holds up a hand to the young dwarf behind him to stay his words. "No more, Gerin. Keep your young eyes alert," he can be heard to say by those closest him.
Soon there is the appearance of the muddy road leading down from the Pass, however, and the entire caravan comes soon to a stop. Lifting his eyes to the filthy highway, Frarin's nose wrinkles at the stench coming from it and he passes a hand across his face. Brows coming together with some unknown worry, the merchant raises himself in his stirrups, then dismounts the grey pony upon which he rides. "Wait here, lad," says Frarin, handing his pony's reins to Gerin. That said, he starts to walk towards the fore of the caravan, one hand upon the war hammer looped at his side, the other still holding the stench of decay from his nose.
[Combat(#13388)] Ovor takes off Small Metal Shield.
[Thari(#31038)] Thari is driving a small wagon when the caravan stops. Her nose wrinkles as she stands, pulling her own ponies to a halt. She leans over the edge, peering out at the dark, churned earth of the moors. "What by forge does this mean?" she calls out to anyone near. She secures the reins and climbs down, trotting forward, other dwarves moving up to study the curiosity as well.
To anyone who inspects closer, there is blood on the ground. One great footfall near the edge might call the attention of someone experienced-- it's huge, so much larger than that of any orc, and yet still man-shaped.
[Ovor(#20753)] Of the Dwarves moving forward is the Thane of Zinbar, Ovor, and one of his Huskarls. Scowling at the smell, he brings his war hammer from his back, eyes flicking around His Huskarl stays a pace behind, murmuring briefly to himself. Upon reaching the front, the Thane pauses in his walking, shaking his head slightly a moment as he looks around. "Wonderful..." The words are quietly murmured.
[Frarin] The silver merchant passes Thari's wagon just as the second dwarf calls aloud the inquiry. Slowing, Frarin glances up as Thari climbs down from the wain and he lowers the hand covering his nose. "That is what I should like to know," he says, shielding his eyes as he looks up towards the High Pass. "Some foulness of the Enemy, if the stench is any sign." Pushing on through the mud of the road's edge, he comes at last to the front of the caravan. The dead orc, or half an orc, before the party brings a glint to Frarin's eyes and his brows bunch even tighter than before. With a sudden grunt, he looks to the ground upon which he stands and takes a quick step back. "There's blood all over. Look! The ground is filthy with it."
Thari trails after Frarin, one hand on her nose and the other on her axe at her belt. She stops a few yards from the edge of the great wide mess and looks up a the mountain. "Blood?" She steps back a little bit. "Was there a war here? Where's all of the dead?"
"They eat their dead," one of the warders reply nearby. "They were takin' the food with 'em."
"But where were they going?" Thari asks next.
[Ovor(#20753)] At the mention of blood, the Thane glances to the ground and frowns. Turning to his Huskarl, a few quick words are exchanged before the other Dwarf heads back to where the Thane was. Ovor, meanwhile, turns to look to the other Dwarves, catching Thari's question. "An excellent question." The words are almost rumbled out before he rests his hammer on his foot. "And, of course, how many of them are there?"
[Frarin] Frarin catchs the warder's reply to Thari and pulls a face at the thought of orcs and their dead. "A war? Between who?" he says, fretting. "The elves have not come here for several months now and the people of Beorn would not venture this far west." He stoops towards the earth, dark eyes scanning the churned mud with disgust. "Perhaps we should be asking how we could have missed whoever passed here, for the tracks lead down from the pass. Or indeed, if we have missed them at all." He pulls at his beard, unusually fidgety as if ill at ease. There is strain in his face as he looks again towards the High Pass. "If they eat their dead, why leave just this one...half of one, here? It's as if-" but his words are stayed, for his darting glance catches suddenly the strange track near the edge of the road. "Durin's beard, what's on earth is that?"
[Thari(#31038)] A warder walks over closer to Frarin, his face pulled into a deep frown, and crouches down. "Trolls. That's a troll-foot, by Mahal. What else could make something so large?
"Trolls," Thari says in a low voice, almost awed. "And there were so many here.." She turns her head to listen to Ovor and his Huskarl, then again for Frarin. She reaches for her own beard, her hand falling uselessly on her chest. She stomps her foot. "Where would they be going? There's nothing that way, not for miles and miles, remember? Nothing at all until Bree and the Shire." She gives a gasp and stomps forward into the tracks, looking westward.
[Frarin] "Trolls?" says Frarin, eyes narrowing as he looks closer at the tracks. "By Durin, you're right. I wouldn't have guessed with all these tracks. But trolls above ground in the mountains? That sounds more typical of the Trollshaws." He paces along the edge of the road, arms crossed and tapping a finger tapping against his lips. At Thari's comment, however, and following gasp, Frarin looks up and stands quite still. "Surely not," he says quietly, though he does not sound convinced. "Bree and the Shire? They are miles away. And what quarrel could the beasts of these mountains have with those folk? Beyond the usual. But still, this must have been an army, a great one." He looks to the ground away. "Warder, how old are these tracks?"
[Thari(#31038)] The Warder also walks into the stinking, dried mud, his red beard wagging as he studies the earth. He nears the dead body, but not too close. "I don't know. Looking at it-- a week? Maybe less?" He lifts his head and looks back at the audience gathered on the cleaner ground beside the mud.
"Those poor hobbits!" Thari's grey eyes are narrowed, her hand shading her face as she looks westward. "It goes as far as I can see! What if they're after the hobbits? Have you ever even seen one with a blade? I haven't! At least they have some men, but if they die, then they can go on and go for the Shire!"
[Frarin] "I don't think that a hobbit has wielded a blade since brave Master Baggins and the Company of Thorin!" says Frarin, disbeblief rending his usual composure. He looks away westward, then again towards the High Pass, then west once more. "A week, you say?" he replies to the warder. "They could be miles away from here. But still, it would be a large company, if these tracks are any tell. They would move slowly..." Sucking in a breath, the merchant seems greatly troubled. "I do not know why the orcs and trolls of these mountains would venture so far west - what have they to gain? - but still, my heart is ill at ease with this. Warder, where is your master? Could we send some stout riders west, in hopes of alerting those peoples in Bree and the Shire? Or," he adds darkly, "see what has become of them, if we are already too late?"
[Thari(#31038)] "Alerting?" Thari repeats incredulously. The lady's hands go to her hips and she swings around to face the rest of the dwarves. "What use is 'alerting' going to do? We're allies of the hobbits, you know we are! Don't you remember what old Bilbo did for us? We'd still be mining coal if not for them! We need to go out and stop the goblins!"
"Just us against so large of a group?" repeats the red-bearded dwarf near her. "We'll all be killed! 'Twould be better to send out scouts, as he says."
[Ovor(#20753)] "Bilbo helped us, but no other hobbit did." The Thane decides to speak up, after being in converse with his Huskarl. "I would hardly call that allies. Maybe our distant kin over in the Ered Luin, but us ourselves?" An eyebrow is arched a moment before he shakes his head. "Calling us allies would be a stretch."
Ovor falls silent a few moments, tighting a hand around his hammer. "But, we also cannot let this group simply go. They may come up assault /us/, if nothing else. It is in our interest to see them taken down."
[Frarin] "Nay, do not misunderstand me, master Warder!" says Frarin, seeming to take heart at Thari's sudden determination. "Not scouts, but message bearers. A lightly clad dwarf on a good pony can travel quickly, and that might perhaps give Bree and the Shire some warning of the danger that approaches them." He listens to Ovor and is silent for a time, seeming to consider both Thari and the Thane's words.
"We are all allies against the mighty darkness that now troubles our world, even the little people of the Shire who know no better. And Thari is right, it would be a shame upon the children of Durin to leave the home of Bilbo Baggins to the ravishing of orcs! Perhaps you are right, master Warder, we may be killed. But we risk that upon the road daily. Could any dwarf among us return home to the safety of our halls with a clean conscience, seeing what we have seen today?"
Thari gasps and turns again, this time her eyes sparking silver fire as she glaers at the Thane Zinbar. But just as fast, the storm passes, and she is grinning at him, grinning for Frarin too and nodding. Even the warder beside her (some might know him as Nofin), is starting to nod, his hand going to his war-hammer.
"Surely we could hold them off long enough to evacuate," Thari says, businesslike, now walking back and out of the mud, boots squelching firmly. "We made it through their fortress! I think could face the beasts. And I hope the one who took my beard is there," she adds fiercely, "So I can take his head in payment!"
[Ovor(#20753)] The Thane is silent for several moments, seeming to mull things over with the occasional glance over to his Huskarl. His eyes seem to dimly light for a moment, and a smile briefly appears on the Thane's face before he masters it and frowns once more. Hefting his war hammer, he rests it on his shoulder.
"Clan Zinbar does, of course, support reassuring the allies of the Mountain that the children of Durin do not lightly forget any assistance rendered to them... nor do we forget any who fight against our foes. And as children of Durin... we do not lightly forget the slights and insults done to our race by our foes, and we will gladly support any plan that involves the settling of matters."
[Frarin] "Yes Thari, your words lend heart," says Frarin with a grim nod. With an unusual display of emotion, the merchant kicks a clod of mud towards the mangled orc carcass, then stamps his foot down. "And Barazin and Bundazanul with thee, my lord," says Frarin with a nod, "if Thari and I are any evidence. Let all the clans of Erebor march to battle!" He looks quickly back along the caravan, catching sight of his young nephew Gerin among the lines of ponies and wagons. Nodding as if having made a silent decision. "We must act with all haste," he says. "How soon can riders be made ready? I do not know this land as well as others, is there somewhere where wagons and goods can be stored so that the caravan can travel on ponies alone?"
[Thari(#31038)] "That little valley just to the south, wouldn't you say?" The dwarves suddenly seem grimly focused, some unhitching ponies, others unloading goods into waggons. "Leave maybe a dwarf behind with the women and any younglings."
Thari pauses to bow deeply and quietly to Ovor, Thane Zinbar, then just as suddenly straightens and looks over her shoulder. "What's that now? No! You can't be leaving the women behind when there's so great a number!" She jogs toward her own wagon.
[Ovor(#20753)] An almost feral grin comes to the Thane Zinbar at the mention of battle. "I shall leave two of my Huskarls behind to guard those who remain, which leaves me with their Captain, Farkin." Slipping the hammer off his shoulder, the Thane lets it fall onto his other hand, a dull sound comming from the metal on metal impact.
"That is all I can spare from the guard I brought with me." He turns, watching the Dwarves as they begin to shift goods.
[Frarin] "I would not leave any dwarf alone in this country," says Frarin, dark eyes alive. "Not even when we march to battle. If we overtake these orcs, then perhaps the younglings and," a hint of a smile, "what women will permit themselves can be hidden." He starts back towards his own lineup of ponies, calling as he does to those curious dwarves not privileged to the debate at the fore the caravan. "We ride west, cousins! Prepare to unhitch wagons and hide your goods in that valley to the south. Let all with ponies ride them. I have three spare ponies myself, once they are unloaded, and the ponies from the wagons can be brought with. We have need of haste, cousins, and if we can, all should be found a mount."
[Ovor(#20753)] "Myself and Farkin will need a mount. We would be most grateful if we could use two of your ponies, son of Florli." This the Thane calls after the Barazin before he begins to walk back to the caravan, speaking rapidly to his Huskarl.
Thari clambers up her wagon, grabs the reins, and clucks to her ponies before having them turn the whole thing around. Here and there, other wagons begin to move as well.
[Frarin] "Of course, my lord," says Frarin, bowing to the Thane. "They shall be made ready as soon as they are unloaded." Returning to his nephew, Frarin mounts the grey pony upon which he had earlier ridden. The young Gerin seems to once again begin excitedly questioning his uncle, but the silver merchant grumbles several replies before saying loudly, "No, Gerin, you shall not! Now see to the ponies, lad."
[Ovor(#20753)] The Thane nods before pausing to speak with his other two Huskarls that have approached him. They converse quietly, a few series of nods from the Huskarls before the Thane sends them on their way. At the loud words of Frarin, the Thane arches an eyebrow a moment as he glances over at the silver merchant. "Is there a problem, son of Forli?"
Thari's waggon seems to momentarily have troubles. She clucks at her ponies again, makes it back up, and then straightens out. She, too, glances over with interest at Frarin.
[Frarin] "Nay, Thane," says Frarin, face clearly unhappy with having allowed himself to attract attention. "My brother-son, he wishes to accompany our company if we overtake the orcs. But he is barely forty-eight, I would be loath to bring back ill tidings to his father. It is no matter, he understands." The dark look on the young Gerin's face suggests otherwise, but he says nothing as he follows Frarin into the descent of towards the southern valley.
[Ovor(#20753)] The Thane frowns slightly, eyes flicking to Gerin. "Indeed, too young to accompany us into battle. Do not test it, either, I would recommend." This latter is clearly meant for Gerin before the Thane turns his attention to other matters.
[Thari(#31038)] "Don't hold it too hard, lad," Thari recommends, leaning back as the wagon slopes down with the path. "I know I felt the same way, but really, I was lucky enough that my father even took me with him!"
[Frarin] The merchant's apprentice does not seem heartened, though he smiles at Thari and mutters something to the effect of "Many thanks, ma'am." The caravan steadily descends the valley's edge and the pockets of sparse trees slowly begin to thicken until they are soon suitable for hiding wagons and goods alike. Frarin brings his pony to a halt and the four sturdy beasts behind him also slow. Dismounting, the silver merchant immediately sets about undoing straps and rope and casting the ponies' carefully packed parcels onto the ground.
[Thari(#31038)] "Ho, there, Brown-eyes. Not so quick, now, Ruby." Thari stands now and drives carefully, turning often to see if her wagon's edge will hit against some tree or another. Still she moves it, ever further within the forest. Her laugh rings out. "Hope you all have locks as good as mine are!"
[Ovor(#20753)] The Zinbar Thane sends his two Huskarls to search the ground for more prints or signs while having a quiet discusion with their Captain his hammer once more resting on his shoulder. He seems almost reluctant to place the weapon on his back now that there's the chance of combat. The Thane shake shis head slightly, smoothing out his beard with his free hand, before laughing quietly to himself.
[Frarin] The three pack ponies of the silver merchant are swiftly unloaded. Gerin, no longer pouting now that there is a task at hand, finds an oversized bush, thick with fresh spring growth and standing almost as tall as a dwarf. Together, he and Frarin drag the done up packages of silver to the bush and tuck them into the bowl of soil beneath the plant. When they are finished, the bush's precious cargo can hardly be seen. Frarin returns to the ponies, tying various bags of food onto the back of his pony, as well as an extra blanket. The three pack ponies are bare except for the packing harnesses usually used for storing goods, which have now been converted into light, probably mildly uncomfortable saddles.
"Thane Ovor!" says Frarin, calling to the Thane. "Your ponies are prepared as best I can make them, though I have no other foodstuffs to spare."
[Ovor(#20753)] The Thane turns as he is called, nodding slightly with a brief grin and nod of the head to Frarin. "Ah, you have my thanks." With a slight motion of his hand, he and the Huskarl Captain walk over to the ponies, climbing into the saddles. "I shall compensate you once our task has succeeded, Frarin."
[Thari(#31038)] Thari's worldly posessions are far too large to be hid by a handy bush, and so she does the best she can to drive her ponies as far as they are willing to go into the underbrush before unhitching them. She hops down then and jogs to load some supplies from her wagon to one pony. Some time later, she mounts the other. Her sturdy heels are tapped to her mount's side as she leads his sister. Eagerly she emerges from the trees and looks around to find other dwarves making similar preparations.
[Frarin] "If I live to receive it, my lord," says Frarin, "then I shall accept it. For now, think not on it." He soon finds a grateful rider for the third pony, then he mounts his own. Gerin follows suit. "Be on your guard, lad," the merchant says quietly to his nephew. "If the hunters become the hunted, you may well have your way." Gently digging a boot heel into the flank of the grey pony, Frarin trots to Thari's side to await the final preparations of the remainder of the caravan.
[Ovor(#20753)] "Ah, don't worry about that. When we catch up with them, they won't know what happened." The Thane grins before nuding the pony to take him towards the head of the group, Farkin trailing along behind.
[Thari(#31038)] "You can stay with me if trouble comes," Thari offers to young Gerin when he and his uncle approach. "I'm supposed to stay in the back too," she chuckles, "Though I never really seem too. We should both brush up on our combat business too, just in case."
[Frarin] "I think my uncle would have me stay away entirely," Gerin responds quietly to Thari, so as not to allow Frarin to hear. "But he has always said that we risk everything of our own decision. He would not keep me away for my own sake, I think, but rather for fear of reporting ill news to my father." That said, the young dwarf falls quiet, finally comforted a bit by Thari's words and his own musing. As for Frarin, the merchant tightens the reigns of his pony and checks the straps of his food and blankets one last time, and if he is aware of his nephew's conversation with Thari, he does not say so.
And so it is that the caravan, now unburdened with wagons and extra goods, starts its march. Or rather, its ride. For every dwarf is now mounted, some with saddles and packed goods, others awkwardly attempting to ride wagon ponies with bare backs. Warders lead the mounted dwarves, with a smaller company of the soldiers bringing up the rear. Swift does the caravan move, at least as swiftly as the stout dwarven ponies can go. The hardy beasts bear this new experience with wonderful steadiness. Strange the sight would be to foreign onlookers: a large company of dwarves, arrayed not even as a single unit of soldiers, but as merchants and smiths and guards. To the west does this most unusual party gallop, departing the valley like a cavalry of men rather than of dwarves, driven by need for haste. And soon they are gone from sight, onto some fate unknown in a land far off.
