Year 2947: Theft of the Moon

[Vladim]

Nori looks like he's about to speak, drawing in air and opening his mouth, before quickly shutting it as Borin describes to Idunn what exactly she's found. The rust-haired dwarf then nods in agreement with his cousin's assessment of the find, his glued to the equisite piece until Borin's question to him breaks his focus. Shaking his head and blinking his eyes, Nori at first seems disoriented and confused. "Wha? Huh?" he barely get out before the fog in his mind lifts and he processes what he's been asked.

"No," is the simple response at first, before looking to Gramtyng as he asks more about the book. "Some reference to Dáin, and Frór, and then the birth of Thráin II... and one I wasn't sure of... Raenar," the dwarf then adds, honest about his ignorance to the name.

[Vladim]

Borin & Nori

Raenar the Plunderer - a giant Cold Drake especially hated by all dwarves, but especially those of the Grey Mountains. It was him who had sacked their ancestral halls and slaughtered Thrór's father, Dáin I, and his brother Frór, after all. It was because of him that the dwarves fled the Grey Mountains - Grór to the Iron Hills, where he founded his own Halls, and Thrór to the Lonely Mountain, where he declared himself King Under the Mountain, where he remained until Smaug had arrived. Figuring out the dates relevant is either Lore if you want to recall using things you read... But this is technically a test of your memory, so I suppose Riddle works as well.

Update: Dain I and his son Frar were slain at the gates of their hall in the Grey Mountains, by Raenar the Plunderer, in T.A. 2589. The birth of Thrain II was in T.A. 2644. The events do have around 50 years between them but it allows to guess the rough time period.

[Vladim]

"Around 2600 or so, give or take 50 years. The dragon is probably long gone by now, dead or returned to the north with its ill-gotten gains. We should consider burying these noble dwarves; they deserve it, after all this time." Borin was somber; the death of any dwarf was a sorrowful event, but to lie here forgotten and lost, with no one even knowing their names...there were worse fates, but not many, in his eyes.

[Vladim]

Almarion looked at the strange finds and listened as others disucssed history. She looked upon the dragon scale with wonder however. Not out of any greed. Dunedain were not greedy by nature being taught to survive with whatever they could come up with.

She did feel a slight stab of insult when Nori suggested what Man could or could not build. Her own folk had been great once and they had been great builders indeed. The men of today were not so skilled it was true but her folk had shown what men could truly achieve if they put their minds to it. And also how far and fast they could fall. But she said none of these things. Instead in her mind she saw the great wyrm that must have owned the scale. She had heard stories of dragons but only stories. Dreadful but also beautiful and mighty. She woundered how that scale had come to be where it was found.

"I concur. The dwarves should be given the respect they have been denied and returned to the earth with honour."

[Vladim]

Nori scratches his head with his left hand, looking a bit befuddled as Borin gives an approximate date of when these poor cousins may have sealed their fate. “Three hundred years?” he asks rhetorically, looking back to the stairs. “Has it been that long?” the dwarf then asks in a similar, far-off tone. “I’d heard tales, but never imagined seeing anything he might have been apart of,” Nori then tells no one in particular, looking about the fellowship as they continue to inspect their trinkets.

At that point, his hand gripping his axes tightens a bit, the leather on his glove making the wooden haft ‘speak’ as he does so. Looking to Borin, he gives the other dwarf a firm nod before glancing to Almarion. “Aye, we should bury them – but this place still chills my bones. To see something leave that much damage, on stone no less… I don’t like it,” the dwarf protests. “Some should keep watch and we should leave this place as quickly as we can.” At that point, the dwarf then looks around to the others for consensus - as if waiting for others to either agree with him or offer an alternative.

[Vladim]

The Bride nods, indicating her agreement quietly. They should bury the dwarves-leaving them thusly would not do, and she is willing to linger in this cursed place for a little longer, so that they can do this. But she does not want to remain longer than that...

[Vladim]

Almarion

Well, it wasnt a bow, but I hope it'll come in handy for you anyway. What you find is a ruby brooch, looking like it's intended to be used as a cloak clasp. The ruby has been refined and chiseled down into the shape of a dagger piercing a leaf. The craftsmanship is quite remarkable, and even to your eyes, it is easily visible as that of the elves, but from which era, it is difficult to tell. If shown to the dwarves, they would be able to tell you the worksmanship is that of Beleriand. It is worth 80 Treasure Points if sold, and possesses a Blessing of Stealth: On Stealth Rolls, you always add your Wisdom to the result. So, if your regular Stealth Roll is 1d12 3d6, you now roll 1d12 3d6+Wisdom. Plus, if you spend a point of Hope, you may turn a success on a Stealth Check into a Magical Result: This basically invokes some manner of 'magic' based on how sneaky you're being. Perhaps you manage to sneak by a whole army marching beside you, or conceal yourself faced with an adversary you cannot escape. Its a narrative tool for you to use and justify normally impossible things. It does add 1 point of Sauron's Attention, though. Oh, and there's something else:

The brooch is cursed. It is not easy to tell, but the depths of the stone are darker than they should be, even when sunlight shines upon them. Of course, it is not a Dark object: merely a precious one that has been tainted by being in close proximity to something dark. You could cleanse it of its filth, but to do so, you must learn of the nature of the curse, and consult a Loremaster at the end of the Adventuring Phase, then complete the condition for lifting the curse.

[Vladim]

Gramtyng simply nodded with an uncommon for him serious look; he could understand wanting to bury your kin, and letting them rot like this was simply dishonorable, no matter who they were. In the end, they were all the Free People of Middle-Earth, and none should be simply abandoned so. It was the right thing to do, so he'd went to get the shovel but paused: after all, that was the custom of his own people - and where in this swamp would they bury these dwarves? What other ways did the people use to lay their own to rest? There were, generally speaking, a few: Given to the Earth, like among the Woodmen and Rohirrim; stone tombs, like those of the lords of Gondor Aldor spoke of? He'd heard that the eldest of their line gave themselves to the fire, but they were few. The bard could not recall many other specific manners of honorable burial; perhaps asking the dwarves would be best.

"Nori, Borin... How do you wish to bury your kin? I've no knowledge of the customs of your people when it comes to this subject, but the earth here... Doesnt seem deserving of them. And shutting them away in this room once more seems almost cruel, after died here. And the only other thing I can think of is..." The minstrel shrugged helplessly: "...a pyre." He stood ready to help, whatever his friends decided on. "I suggest we seal the room back up before we leave... It feel repulsive to think orcs would camp in here."

Magric, who stood nearby, watching silently as he leaned against the wall, turned his head in the direction where he knew Mirkwood lay, off by a few days of travel. He waited until the bard was done speaking and then spoke himself in a calm, quiet tone, to no-one in particular: "Should put up a watch... Perhaps two tonight. Once we're done sleeping, should leave this place early in the morning. Dont want to be late."

[Vladim]

After Gramtyng makes his suggestion about building a funeral pyre, Nori glances towards Borin - a silent gaze as if to ask his thoughts or perhaps his permission. It's a solemn, grim look of a decision having to be made where there is no joy or even contentment to be had. Taking in a deep breath through his nose, his nostrils flaring in the process, Nori looks back to the Rohirrim and nods his head a few times, his eyes averting to the ground as he does so. "Aye," he eventually says, his focus coming back to Gramtyng's face. "They will not be buried in the earth an' this..." The dwarf looks about the stone interior of the crypt. "... /tomb/ is not fitting as a final resting place. They shall go as burned dwarves," he then adds, eyes glancing around those gathered as if it had some significance.

"If y'll keep watch," Nori's eyes run across the non-dwarven members of the fellowship before turning to his cousins. "... we'll prepare the pyre an' move our kin." He then briefly waits for Borin and Hepti to agree to the plan, either verbally or through some gesture before adding with a bittersweet tone, "Then we'll sing them off."

[Vladim]

Borin had nodded along, half-listening to the bard's words. Until the man suggested they burn their kin. At that, he looked up sharply, a slight frown on his face. He met Nori's eyes, still frowning. The expression grew a bit darker when his cousin agreed to the pyre. Borin spoke up then, his voice hard. "These dwarves chose to live here. Chose to die here. This is their home. They deserve to be laid to rest here. We could always try to pull the ceiling down atop them. That way no orc scum will ever get the chance to use this place for their own again. They'd appreciate that."

[Vladim]

Bella volunteered for whatever watch she would work best at. She decided to let the dwarves decide between themselves how best to honor their dead from the limited options available.

[Vladim]

Borin's suggestion is met with a sorrowful look, as if the subject was just too grim to be spoken. But somehow, the dwarf finds a way to get the words in his head and heart to make their way past his lips. Nori speaks with melancholic intensity, trying to show empathy but at the same time assure Borin so as not to offend him. "Then we shouldn't destroy their home or their work, but leave it so that time will not forget them," he tells his cousin, moving closer to him. The rust-haired dwarf then tries to extend a hand to place on Borin's shoulder as he explains his thoughts further, trying to win him over. "They shouldn't be left for eternity crushed under this stone or found, trapped by enemies... Let us send them off as true warriors and honorable dwarves, just as they did in the valley of Azanulbizar."

[Vladim]

Borin allowed Nori to lay a hand on his shoulder. He was tense, and felt like he wanted to hit something. He almost wished an orc would show up just then, so he could kill it. At his cousin's words, he sighed. "Seems wrong to leave this place for orcs and worse to use. But no dwarf wants to be left buried in such a way. Fine! We'll burn them, and hope they understand." Stowing his axe and shield, and removing his helm, the Grey Mountain dwarf made for the stairs, ready to begin the task of bringing the corpses up to the surface for the first time in centuries.

[Vladim]

Nori lets his cousin go to do what he feels is the best use of his time and effort without a word. A bittersweet smile forms across his lips as they've reached a grim agreement on how to deal with their fallen kin. Letting his hand slap down against his side, Nori watches Borin disappear down the stairs before taking in a deep breath through his nose and then turning to face the others that have lingered about. "Right," he says, his voice cracking with emotion. "I'm going to chop some wood... The rest of you... you do what you need to do," the dwarf adds before sauntering off.

Staying close to the ruins, Nori works feverishly to chop some trees and create several sizes of logs. The industriousness, endurance, and strength of the dwarves is on full display as he goes to town on a small cluster, bringing them down in relatively no time with a combination of axe blows and a couple aggressive pushes of the shoulder. Just before nightfall, Nori has put together enough pyres for the fallen: simple square pyres where the logs have been notched and stacked like a cabin. The centers of the pyres have been filled with kindling and whatever else can be used to promote the fire.

After the bodies are prepared and placed, Nori ensures torches are lit and those that wish to gather can do so. These are dwarves and not the kin of a majority of the fellowship, so there is no ill-will directed towards anyone that would rather linger back or not attend at all. When all those in attendance are gathered, their faces dimly lit by the flickering of flames, the ceremony is short, but certainly not lacking emotion. After staring at the pyres for a few seconds, Nori verbally stumbles into a song, his voice low and mournful.

No glimmering riches or glinting jewels,
We are blinded by our teary pools,
No halls to build or metal to bend,
Our hearts so broken, we cannot mend.

Their fires will burn bright,
No more need they fight.
We send our brothers to the sky,
To go forth, we must try.

It's clear Nori is no singer - the lyrics and pitch take a little thought, but it isn't exactly unbearable. It's the tought that counts, right?

When it has gone quiet once more and there is nothing left to say, Nori proceeds out towards the pyres, lighting each of them with his torch until the flames are burning hot and ready to consume the wooden platforms and convey their passengers to the next realm.

[Vladim]

 

After the ceremony is finished, the atmosphere around camp is somewhat somber, but as Magric had pointed out, it would be best to leave as quickly as possible so as to not be late for the Festival. To that end, a watch is quickly posted, and under Almarion's watchful gaze, the night passes uneventfully. Early the next morning, the company sets off once more, determined to make it to the festival on time. The rest of the journey is made through Beorning-controlled lands, with holdings here and there - the scent of fallen leaves was particularly present, with the recent rainfall allowing the scent to spread quicker.

Once they'd reached the outskirts of Stonyford, the preparations for the festival are well underway - men and women alike can be seen hurrying about, either cleaning up, constructing tables, or pulling along materials for other areas. No less than seven men could be seen dragging a large bull using ropes, who did not seem to keen on the idea, snorting and shaking his horns with a visible promise of violence. Some children could be seen cheering, though it wasnt immedietly apparent if their encouragement was meant for the men or the bull. Their yells of 'Shurack! Shurack!' chase the companions as they continue the trek to the housed area of the village. Off to the side, a large stage was being constructed, with several people placing uncommonly comfortable armchairs upon it, which looked terribly out of place this far from Dale.

A woman with an expression simultaneously irritated and tired could be seen directing the workers with sharp voice, gesticulating vividly - it was easy to hear her commanding tones even from the outskirts, much less here. People seemed to be generally listening to her, all except for an old man who'd attempted to soothe her feverish pace, and an arrogant looking, overly muscular man, who's scowled at nearly everyone, before furrowing his brows and grasping the bull by one horn, began to pull him in the direction the other men were trying to move it in, with visibly more success than before.

It was at this point that the woman noticed the companions, and, scowling, marched up to them, followed closely by the much calmer looking older man. She looks the companions over, before crossing her arms and finally speaking, this time in a more conversational volume, though it still carried the commanding note from before: "I am Ava, daughter of Hartwulf. This is my father. What brings you in Stonyford, travelers?" Her words are curt and somewhat snappy, but not hostile. At her introduction, Magric's expression splits into a huge, stupid grin.