View Full Version : The Hobbit ~ Delusions of Grandeur (Historical RPG)

Beren Camlost
25/Feb/2013, 10:16 PM

~Banner, courtesy of Rainelle Hérandil~

....Thráin had been taken alive and brought to the pits of Dol Guldur.
There he was tormented and the Ring taken from him, and there at last he died.

So Thorin Oakenshield became the Heir of Durin, but an heir without hope...
he thought of weapons and armies and alliances, as his great hammer rang
in his forge ; but the armies were dispersed and the alliances broken
and the axes of his people were few ; and a great anger without hope
burned him as he smote the red iron on the anvil.

~ Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings : Appendix A - Part III : Durin's Folk

In the year TA 2841, Thráin - the King of Durin's Folk - departed from the mountains of Forlindon which the refugees of the Lonely Mountain had fled to ; his plan was to revisit Erebor but the Dwarven ruler and his band of proud, faithful companions became opposed by a myriad of misfortunes and were pursued by the servants of Sauron. Thráin was inevitably captured at last and was tortured in Dol Guldur at Mirkwood ; the Ring of Power he wore was taken from him.

Meanwhile in Lindon, Thorin, believing his sire had been killed in Mirkwood when his fellows brought back news they could not find him, Oakenshield took the mantle of King of Durin's Folk and made life better for his people in the Ered Luin but he could never forget the fall of the Lonely Mountain and neither did his fury abate. He dreamed of grand alliances and war. The wise wizard Gandalf he befriended and together they forged a plan to win back Erebor from Smaug the fire-drake...

In Delusions of Grandeur, the tale of Thráin's doomed quest and Thorin's rise to power will be told.

Rules :

1.) All Plaza ones apply.
2.) Follow the prompts given to you by either me, Haflin who is playing Thorin ; Balin and Dwalin will be lieutenants of Thrain so if they give directions to Dwarves in the party bound for Erebor, they are to be listened to.
3.) This is the link to the OOC/Sign up thread HERE (http://www.lotrplaza.com/showthread.php?28866-The-Hobbit-Delusions-of-Grandeur-Sign-ups-OOC)

Beren Camlost
25/Feb/2013, 10:19 PM
TA 2841

~ The Halls of Thorin : Source HERE (http://tolkiengateway.net/wiki/File:Thorin%27s_Halls.jpg)~

"Surely you do not think of returning to Erebor ?" said Thrain.
"Not at my age," said Thror. "Our vengeance on Smaug I bequeath
to you and your sons. But I am tired of poverty and the scorn of Men.
I go to see what I can find." He did not say where.
~ from Appendix A : Part III - Durin's Folk

The Ered Luin Mountains
The Halls of Thrain

Thrain, King of Durin's Folk
Ori, a dwarf of Durin's House

"Where are they ?" impatient Thrain muttered angrily as he paced the carpeted floor of his spartan quarters at the clan "mansion" in the Halls of Thrain. The city had been established years ago just a few miles south of Lune's western tributary when the Erebor remnant which Thrain led with Thorin left Dunland to relocate to the northern mountains of Lindon among the Broadbeams.

Thrain IIwas a large, vigorous king ; his beard, dark-brown and luxuriant, fanned across his muscular chest. His eyes were wide and dark beneath bushy brows and his calloused hands were large and powerful. He wore a black, woolen robe this evening and within a pocket he gripped the Ring of Power, the last of the Seven, his sire Thror had given into his keeping. It was an exquisite article of jewelry and magical ; it amplified the hardiness of the Dwarven wearer and had the ability to multiply the product of what was mined by the wielder....unfortunately, the band also accentuated a Dwarf's greed....

"Balin is the voice of reason in the community ; he's probably dispensing wisdom into the thick heads of a few brash lads, milord,"answered Ori as he speedily composed a document for their two friends to sign at his scribner's desk in the corner by a paned window that offered one a panoramic view of the surrounding wooded mountains and the still river. A remote kinsman of Thorin's, intelligent and dependable Ori was a capable scribe ; he wore a grey mantle and a belt of gold and silver, a relic of the wealth he possessed once upon a time in the Lonely Mountain before the kingdom was claimed by Smaug. His chestnut hair was arranged into a bowl cut and Ori's facial hair was fashioned into a chinstrap beard ; he wore a cableknit scarf and mittens - it got sort sort of cold and windy in these parts. "If I recall correctly, Dwalin told me he has a viol recital -"

"- none of what you said is as important as retaking Erebor," Thrain snapped, "and if they're not here in five minutes, I'll stalk the streets of this city until I find them and when I do I'll put the fear of Durin's Bane in them !"

Suddenly the door opened ; Balin and Dwalin stepped inside with big Bombur in tow, a surprise guest.

"Well I suppose that won't be necessary now," Thrain thought to himself silently, glancing at chuckling Ori.

Thrain implored the brothers inside with a wave.

"Do shut the door, one of you. This meeting is private," Thrain ordered and took a seat on an iron chair at his desk by Ori's, facing Balin and Dwalin and Bombur. There were chairs provided for the siblings and a third but...most likely Bombur wouldn't be able to fit and so had to stand.

"Took you fellows long enough," grumbled Thrain as he crossed his strong arms against the surface of the desk. "I guess that's because you had to drag Bombur's wide arse up the stairs."

Thrain laughed, looking fondly at his rotund friend. "Alright, let's get down to business," Thrain, always straight to the point, spoke decidedly, becoming serious now. "What is spoken inside this room doesn't ever reach Thorin's ears. Savvy ?" He looked askance at Ori again who had stopped writing, intrigued ; Thrain hadn't said this to him before. "That means you, too, comrade."

"Of, course, sir," Ori agreed clearly and resumed his scribbling.

"I'm going to wrest Erebor from Smaug's claws," Thrain announced without preamble.

"Our people are scratching a meager living up here ; we're a proud race and I can no longer stand idle watching our august folk live hard and in impoverishment. I've become restless and discontent. Gold is ever on my mind. The Ring I have can begat us more but it needs gold to breed gold - and there is plenty at the Lonely Mountain."

Thrain opened a drawer in his desk and removed a map and a key. "These will aid us in accessing the secret entrance of Erebor through which my father and I escaped during the wyrm's sack of the place. We'll need a host of Dwarves with us ; we can get inside, attack Smaug who won't be expecting us, and kill him. We'll have our home back and our treasures and more gold than ever before.

"We'll become rich off the profit we'll make by trafficking with the Iron Hills and with the men of Dale who will become prosperous again. It will be a mighty new era for Durin's Folk and the mortals of Wilderland east of Mirkwood. You'll see, I'll show you. If I have help. Gentlemen, Bombur, I need the three of you to spread the word around town asking for support. Tell them to keep this plan a secret. I don't need Thorin to know what we're up to ; he needs to stay here to govern our people in my absence. If my son discovers our plot, he'll want to come along. And there will be many who follow in his wake ; I don't need too many lives endangered."

Thráin settled his back against the chair. "I'll speak with Thorin tonight, telling him a half-truth," he explained somberly, "saying that I've grown weary. I'll bring some Dwarves with me to make a fortune among the lands of men in this region and the Misty Mountains ; we'll return home when we have plenty funds to succour our people."

Thrain drew his palm over his face. "You three ought to go and get started."

Thrain signalled Ori. The Dwarf arose and gave the parchment first to Balin and handed him a pen. "You three sign this," Thraincommanded. "Its a roster for who those willl be going with me ; I want your signatures. There's also an explanation of the dangers we may face. I hope the three of you aren't afraid of vampire bats and stone giants...."


Eafurth and Drifa, listen to Thráin
Reply as you wish, agreeing to help, and drop by the Riverstone Tavern
to recruit people - NPCs and canon characters like Dori - to Thráin

Haflin, I'll RP Thrain speaking to Thorin sometime tonight !

Beren Camlost
25/Feb/2013, 10:21 PM
The Ered Luin Mountains

Gavin, husband of Dis
Dis, wife of Gavin
Gloin, a dwarf of Thorin's fellowship

"Do you know how hard it is to find willing Elven buyers for my toys ?" Gavin, the husband of Thorin Oakenshield's sister, griped at no one in particular among his Dwarven friends which surrounded him as he stared into a mug of apple ale ; he was drinking at Riverstone, the bar Dis owned in town in sight of the Lune River. The handsome and well-built, dark-haired toymaker winded up the brass crank of a clockwork bear and let the immense toy prowl the surface of the bar toward Dori, a companion of Thorin's.

"Surely Elf children would enjoy playing with something like this, right ?" Gavin pressed his fellows following a swig of the crisp, delicious alcohol.

"Darling, you might want to refrain from selling your merchandise to the Firstborn," Dis gently advised Gavin who was down on his luck. She deftly tugged off a cap that sealed a bottle of Woodchuck Cider for Gloin who was shaking his head, muttering foully about snobby Lindon Elves. Gloin, clad in a white hooded cloak, was infamously moody.

Dis gave the dwarf his drink and leaned over the bar to lightly press her lips against her spouse's brow. "Most Elves will treat us cooly. Simple fact."

She was a sweet woman, Dis ; Thorin's sister was a plump albeit lovely woman and her blond hair was long and lush. She had been married to Gavin for several years but as yet the couple had no children.

"We could be richer if I sold my wares to the Elves," Gavin insisted quietly before taking a long pull of his ale.

"I'm happy, dear, and we're getting by just fine." She patted his scruffy cheek. "Don't fret, Gavin."

"Well, look at the three who's shown up - Brains, Brawn, and Blubber," Gloin remarked wryly as he watched Balin, Dwalin, and Bombur enter the snug tavern. He gestured, waving them over to the bar.

Giggling, Dis poked her head into the kitchen and notified the cooks that Bombur was here ; the Dwarves collectively groaned.

Beren Camlost
26/Feb/2013, 03:03 AM
Thrain, King of Durin's Folk

The Ered Luin Mountains
The Forge of Thorin Oakenshield

Thrain stood quietly in the entryway of his son's forge, searing the image of Thorin shaping iron with heavy hammer-strokes indeliby into his conscious ; Oakenshield's father wanted this memory to stay with him long after he was gone from Lindon.

"I hate to interrupt your crafting, Thorin, but we need to speak about something," Thrain apologized, raising his voice to be heard above the din of the instrument's pounding as he stepped closer, hands clasped behind his back. He sat at a work bench and looked into Thorin's eyes once his son had taken a seat across from him.

"I've never been one to equivocate, Thorin, so I'll say it straight out. I'm leaving for a while and you must lead the Dwarves until my return."

He paused, needing to observe how his son would react to this startling revelation ; as Thrain had hoped, he handled it rather well. Thrain relaxed, believing he could trust him indeed.

"I've become disenchanted, edgy. I think it wise to seek lucrative opportunities elsewhere which, if proven successful, could benefit the refugees here at home," Thrain confided in Thorin as he reached to hold the Ring of Power that hanged as a pendant from the silver chain at his neck.

"If our folk are strong and opulent, we could win allies to our cause and storm Erebor as a united host to defeat the Dragon. I have never forgotten your grandfather charged me to vanquish the beast ; one day I will have my vengeance," he explained huskily, gripped by the magic of the Ring and the ardor that burned hot within him to reclaim the Lonely Mountain. "It is with deepest sorrow I leave you."

He seized Thorin's shoulders. "To deliver our people from poverty and shame, I must depart and where I go you cannot follow."


Haflin, you can have Thorin working industriously
in his forge and musing on the fall of Erebor and the
misfortunes that have befallen the House of Durin ever since.

Respond as you would like as Thorin but inevitably have Oakenshield
accept the mantle as regent of the city until Thrain's return.

01/Mar/2013, 02:39 PM
Ered Luin
The Streets of the City

“I’ve been waiting for ye long enough, ye plump lout!” Dwalin mumbled as he walked along the streets of the city. Why couldn’t Bombur keep up? Ever? It was always him who slowed them down; why, if they ever had the chance to do something legendary or magnificent, surely it’d be him who’d ruin it. He’d be too slow, or too fat. He’d fall in the river, or he’d break the rope, or something.

The broad, husky Dwarf had been summoned to the Halls of Thrain for something undoubtedly important. As he had been with Bombur when the summons came, Bombur insisted on coming along to find out what was going on. Dwalin, with much rolling of eyes, and many stops, sighs, and mutterings, had watched him tag along, stopping to look at every confection and morsel hawked in the streets.
Bombur thought that Dwalin’s hurry was unnecessary. If Thrain truly needed them so badly he’d have come to find them himself, and that was that. Besides, he wasn’t hurting anything? What if he found something for lunch on the way? That would be killing two birds with one stone, and he made a point of that to Dwalin who ignored any and all speeches from the weighty one. Bombur stopped, dropped a coin in the hand of a merchant, and selected a large, green apple from a basket. It had seemed to be calling out his name and the temptations was simply too great.

More than a few steps ahead, Dwalin continued with his lecture on punctuality and being polite because Thrain was the king after all and how it would never do to keep him waiting as long as Bombur had……”BOMBUR!” he screamed out in his deep, booming voice. The transaction complete, Bombur shuffled ahead quickly, but not quickly enough to avoid Dwalin’s menacing countenance. Dwalin grabbed the already half-eaten apple from the pudgy hand of the stout Dwarf and hurled it behind him. It landed in a group of children who saw the commotion and thought it best to play elsewhere. Dwalin stuttered and sputtered, trying to think o a proper remark to make to one so slow, but all the came out was “STOP EATING! Come on!”. He grabbed Bombur by the arm and forced him ahead of him to the Halls of Thrain.

Ered Luin
The Halls of Thrain

“We understand and won’t speak a word. We swear it.” Dwalin stated solemnly. “Don’t we!” he looked sharply at Bombur, giving him a fist in the arm. “Yes, yes, we do!” Bombur wailed out. “Why are you always so mean to me? You never trust me, you always think I spill the beans! Wait.. what are the beans? Speaking of beans, I like kidney beans myse-” Dwalin sighed and cut him off. “If you would be quiet maybe you would give him a chance to tell us, and stop thinking of food!” Bombur was momentarily subdued.

They listened intently to Thrain’s plan, nodding at all points. This was certainly the only way to return to their former glory, and they each knew that Thorin could never find out or it might be disastrous for their people.

Dwalin's crisp, neat signature quickly graced the roster and then Bombur took the pen in his thick fingers. His own handwriting was rather fat and wide, but clearly legible on the roster was the name Bombur.

"Well, let's get some men!" Dwalin beamed, his eyes gleaming for adventure. On their way out, they turned to Balin. “See you at Riverstone!” said Dwalin as he left.

Ered Luin

They entered the Riverstone Inn – Bombur quite jolly, Dwalin melancholy. “What’s on the menu tonight?” roared out Bombur, rubbing his stomach enthusiastically. He was, by the way, very fond of food. Soon he lost himself in jugs and dishes in a corner booth apart from the troubles of his more mature companion.

Dwalin explained the situation to those present. “We need people to come with us, to help us retake our own! Yet Thorin must never know – if he found out who would lead us when – if – we all perish?” He let the last sink in. They knew they were going to their deaths – some, at least. But to paraphrase what a bard of the Rohirrim later said, “better to avenge a friend than to mourn one’s loss”. Dwalin scanned the crowd. “Who will come?” He asked. “When my brother comes he can tell you more; he knows more about these things than I do.” He finished, speaking of his brother Balin.

Aerlinn Mordagnir
04/Mar/2013, 09:03 PM
Ered Luin


Ketil stared balefully over his pint at the cheery Dis and her gloomy toymaker of a husband. The thrice cursed young, foolish, and stupid--what joy! Aye, the things he dealt with for good fare, at least the children could do that much right. He half-listened to their inane babble at the bar, mumbling a sarcastic running commentary under his breath. "Yes, surely, what the elves need to knock them off their pretentious pedestal is miniature, wind-up bears. All hail the craftsmanship of Mahal's people!" He took a swig of his drink. Perhaps what the elves truly needed was more beer. No wonder they were touched in the head--with all the sour wine they drank and the eternity they had to build up their eccentricities until they turned from quirky to outright mad. "Grapes--phaw!"

Another bunch of dwarves piled into the inn and Ketil groaned along with the cooks. He needed to find someplace less popular. He wasn't here to be social, for Durin's sake. He heard someone--what was his name? Dalin? Dral? Dori...no, that was someone else. Dwalin?--say something impassioned about "retaking our own". Ketil nearly let his head fall with a thunk onto the bar. Endless, useless quests--what a way to spend one's life. Still, the old dwarf tilted his chair back against the wall and listened. This could be interesting, and he was under the impression that Balin, at least, had some amount of sense. Hopefully he would arrive soon.

06/Mar/2013, 12:25 AM
Ered Luin
The Streets of the City
Balin made his way down the street. In his younger days, when in haste, his white beard would fork and his scarlet cloak would whip out behind him like a dragon's tongue. Now, his beard just hung and his cloak dusted the ground - occasionally lifting to licking the breeze. He glanced neither left nor right but straited ahead. He was late. He was very late. Yet, his old bones would not allow him to roll along like he use to.
"One must make haste!" grumbled the old dwarf, "and fast as can be! But carefully yes. I must not fall and break my neck!"

28/Mar/2013, 05:01 AM
Thorin, Prince of Durin's Folk

The Ered Luin Mountains
The Forge of Thorin Oakenshield

He never forgot and he never forgave...

The hammer in his hand rose and fell upon the hot iron bar that he was molding on the anvil of the forge he frequented. Sparks flew with every impacting clank of metal on metal in the dark heat of the forge; a great chamber lit only by the glowing red bowels of each furnace in the room. Sweat poured off Thorin in rivers because of the heat but it did not disturb him. The incredible heat of the furnaces stripped away the corruption of ore just as it helped him strip the miseries of his mind. Every day was a labor in frustration for their people ever since the great calamity claimed their once great kingdom. Now Thorin looked about himself at his once proud people. What had they been reduced to? A camp of refugees living on the scraps of power that had once been their own. Barely surviving, salvaging and scraping by; it was all so...hard to cope with. There wasn't a moment that went by that the old images of fire and death from the skies filled his mind; his home in shambles, his people broken and only a few remaining...

Never forgetting and never forgiving...

His chest heaved as he let a great cleansing breath from his nose almost hot enough to steam. With a pair of iron tongs he threw the half formed piece of metal into a large trough of water where it sizzled and steamed energetically with a loud whoosh. From the corner of his eye he spied movement and looking around saw the dour form of his father striding towards him. Thrain did not usually disturb Thorin while he was busy in metalwork and so the dwarf prince quietly wondered on what occasion his father came before him. He did not have to wait long for an explanation. The heir of Durin's line waved Thorin over to sit at a workbench near the furnace he had been working at and the two sat, neither one looking at all the least bit content; of course neither one had been happy in a great long time. Thrain spoke first saying,

"I hate to interrupt your crafting, Thorin, but we need to speak about something, I've never been one to equivocate, Thorin, so I'll say it straight out. I'm leaving for a while and you must lead the Dwarves until my return.”

Thorin tried not to let his feelings show but his brow furrowed nonetheless. He didn’t want to see his father go and knew asking him where would be unfruitful as the man obviously didn’t want his son following him. Somewhere inside he knew this day had been coming ever since the great war that had taken so many of their folk for little gain.

“I…understand, my king.” He said in submission even though his mind rebelled at being told to do nothing while his father risked himself.

Thrain said something else but his son didn’t hear much as he focused on his father’s hand as it pulled out a ring from the necklace he wore around his neck. Thorin watched Thrain gaze at the ring with eyes of fire and speak about the glory of retaking their home. While his heart also burned for these things he did not know if there was any strength left in the world to help the dwarves against such a terrible enemy. But perhaps his father did and Thorin would just have to have faith in his king.

“In sorrow you may go father, but not in despair.” Thorin declared with a sad smile. “I will ensure the home of our people is maintained here. Though I am sad at your going, a man must do what he thinks is right.”

His father seemed pleased with this answer and Thorin saw a wide smile from under his great beard. As they both stood, the king took his son’s shoulders with his strong arms. Thorin would always remember his next words.

“To deliver our people from poverty and shame, I must depart and where I go you cannot follow.”

Thorin nodded and with a last look at his father’s ring of power that had given his race great wealth, embraced him with his own arms.

“Go with the blessing of Durin, father and bring our people back to glory. The road is dark but if there are any amongst us with the strength to prevail it is you, king.”

When his father left, the weight of his new responsibility sank in on Thorin’s but the soon to be king did not know just how hard that weight would soon be. He returned to his forge, raising his hammer and striking the hot iron once more, hoping his father would reforge his people as he forged these weapons.

Never forgetting and never forgiving...

Lost Tales
28/Jun/2013, 10:02 AM
Bofur, brother of Bombur
Ered Luin

It had been a long day for Bofur at the mines, and it was with all intents and purposes of drowning himself in cheese that he entered the Riverstone Inn. It never occured to the dwarf that he would find himself running smack into a Dwalin busy recruiting for a quest. Bofur blinked.

"Well...if you don't want Thorin to know why in all of Ered Luin would you announce the quest at an inn?!?" Bofur looked quite exasperated. And then he espied his brother. Something flashed in Bofur's dark eyes and then he marched up to Bombur. "And where have you been? This is the second time this week you've ditched me, brother. If I die of overwork it will be all your own fault."

Bofur, it would seem, was in a bad mood.

Some enterprising dwarf somehow slipped a tankard of frothy beer into the disgruntled Bofur's hand. One large swig of the cool liquid making its way down his throat and the dwarf was feeling better. Then his voice could be heard plain and clear, "I'm not going."

Beren Camlost
09/Jul/2013, 05:47 AM
The Ered Luin Mountains

Gavin, husband of Dis
Dis, wife of Gavin
Gloin, a dwarf of Thorin's fellowship

Gavin snorted, glaring scornfully at old Ketil. "Talk to me like that again I'll shove that cup down your throat, old-timer," Gavin warned. He was a toymaker but that didn't mean the Dwarf didn't have a temper like others and the strength to brawl when he felt compelled to. Gavin smirked at Ketil. "You're just upset because you're glory days over and you've got nothing to live for."
"Dear, be kinder to the old fellow," Dís asked, touching her burly husband's arm. "I don't want any fights in my tavern."

Gavin and Díswere both alarmed and fascinated by Bombur's revelation. "Retaking Erebor? That would be too dangerous," Dís said worriedly, glancing at her husband who was staring silently at the jolly, rotund man with a deadpan expression.

"You're not thinking about joining his crazy, idealistic crusade are you, honey?" Dísasked, twisting the fabric of her apron.

"It could give us the money we need," Gavin replied.

"I told you that it's not important," Dís fussed.

Gavin took her hand gently and softly kissed it. "We can't support children well if we don't have finer coins in our pockets, princess." He grinned widely at her. "There ought to be a big enough house for those rambunctious rascals to play in, too."

Gavin rolled his eyes as he listened to Bofur complain. "Oh, c'mon! Bofur, do you know many Dwarves won't remember this night tomorrow?" He swept his meaty hand, indicating at least a dozen drunken fellows who were asleep at their tables or looked rightly hammered.

Gloin sighed heavily when Bofur said he wouldn't go. "Are you a loon?" he insulted. Gloin barked a laugh. "What kind of Dwarf are you?" Gavin scoffed. "Adventure, riches. Battles. What's not to like? You may even kill Smaug. You'll be a celebrity, Bofur. What do you think of that?" Gavin chugged his ale and and looked disgustedly at Bofur. "If you stay here you're a coward and a fool."

He arose from his stool. "I'm coming. At least I'll make my mark."

Emboldened by Gloin's resolve and bravery, Gavin walked over to Bombur and Dwalin. "I'm a toymaker but I'll come along. I don't know how to swing a sword but I know how to chop a tree with axe; that ought to count for something. We've hunted before. You know I'm capable with a bow."

Dís, overhearing, shut her eyes tightly and retreated into the kitchen so no one would see her cry.


Eafurth, Nen, and Aerlinn respond as you will.
Following your posts, I'll have the doomed
adventure start!

Lost Tales
11/Jul/2013, 02:39 PM
Bofur (brother of Bombur and cousin to Bifur)
Ered Luin

"I'd rather be a fool and a coward than dragon food," muttered Bofur into his near-empty beer mug. The young dwarf really wasn't happy about the turn of events. Couldn't a dwarf make a sensible decision without being labelled a coward? Where were his rights, he wanted to know?

Bofur stalked over to the bar counter and asked Dis for yet another mug of beer as Gloin, and then Gavin, volunteered to go along with this fool plan. Bofur grunted at Gloin's remark, muttering again under his short beard, "yeah, right. The only mark you'll be making is in Smaug's oversized belly." He stared deep into his mug, as though he could see his fate in the frothy beer. Then a deep sigh escaped from his lips. What was he doing fighting with his friends any way.

He made his way over to where the volunteers stood with Dwalin and clapped Gavin on the back. "I'm sorry old chap. And you too Gloin. You are right. Someone has to go out there and give that ole dragon a piece of his own." He pumped his fist in the air with a right hook. "Someone has to rid middle-earth of that treasure-seeking, treasure-hoarding menace. Someone has to go out there and show that nasty worm who is boss." Then he turned on a bright smile for Dwalin, Gavin and Gloin as he spread out his arms as though to embrace them. "And you are just the very dwarves to do it. Yes! I'm rooting for you guys. I'll see you all when you get back..." he grabbed his mug, downed the rest of his beer in one gulp, and headed for the door, "IF you get back." Thenhe made his groggy way into the night.

24/Jul/2013, 03:21 AM
Ered Luin
Riverstone Inn
Dwalin, Brother of Balin
Bombur, Brother of Bofur

Dwalin spun about to see Bofur, his stout companion's brother, enter the inn. The words he uttered infuriated Dwalin. "Well let's say somebody important tasked YOU with finding men, where do you suppose you would go looking? I went to where I was sure to find men looking for something foolhardy - yet courageous and full of camaraderie!" He darted a keen glance at Bofur.

Bombur for his part was not overly happy with his brother. "Bofur, you expect me to wrok like a horse! It's hard enough when you have a metabolism like my own, but a brother like you!" He rolled his eyes and reached for another slice of cheese and his ale. "Besides, brother, it's good for you. And I need a break every once in a while. And Dwalin needed my help." he finished the parade of excuses.

Dwalin slapped Bombur on the back. "Right I do! You need to show your brother that it is his duty to Thrain to come with us!" Gavin too interjected his concerns. Dwalin decided not to project himself into the discussion of the spouses - the bachelor was too keenly aware of the dangers of coming between a dwarf and his wife, especially concerning dragons. Then Gloin voiced his support for the adventure. Following his lead, Gavin too threw his support to the party.

"That's a good fellow Gavin. Toymaker or dragon-slayer, it is the courage and resolution in your heart that Thrains wants." Dwalin patted the toymaker on the shoulder. "I am glad you are coming, friend."

"But famous dragon-food, famous! What could be so wrong with that?" retorted Bombur to his stubborn brother. "Being food fit for a dragon wouldn't be half bad, I might add! The greatest and most terrible creature in Middle-Earth....they don't randomly pick their meals, you know." His encouragement seemed to move Bofur. Bombur smiled a round, happy smile as he saw what seemed to be his brother's wavering. He would come along after all! But then like an apple falling from a tree when the wind blows, his hopes were shattered when Bofur's ill-advised sarcasm revealed the truth.

Though the loss of his brother to the company made him sad, Bombur wondered whether it was really the feelings of his heart or the ale in clouding his mind which had caused Bofur to refuse the glory of being a companion of Thrain. "Don't worry about him, Dwalin. He'll come around. But who else will come with us? Surely there's someone else!"

28/Jul/2013, 07:01 AM
In Dol Guldur, a malice was stirring.

The dark shadow and cloud which emanated from the once-shining fortress atop the bald hill rumbled and threatened, casting a heavier shadow than was its wont upon the surrounding trees, cowing creatures both fair and dark, and scattering the wood-elves back to their safe lonely spaces. The Necromancer’s power grew, and surged, and the forest quaked with waiting. The hill teemed with His servants, and clouds of black crow-kind birds circled and dived, awaiting his bidding. One such was perched atop a reaching spire, dead-black feathers ruffled against the breeze. There were others about, but he was the largest, oldest, and dourest. He cawed throatily into the air, his voice traveling upon the shadow to his many kindred, and a sudden chorus of harsh crow-voices rent the air, startling lesser birds from their perches below, and causing more than one servant of the Necromancer to look up in consternation. They did not speak in words, nor wield weapons, nor cast spells, but the birds were His as much as they, and carried death upon their wings.

In Dol Guldur, a malice was stirring.

Some unknowable touch reached out to the large black bird, and he cawed again- this time with more vigour and intent. With a great rustling of feathers and clicking of beak, he unfolded his great dark wings, and thrust himself off the spire and into the air. With the agility of a much younger bird, he maneuvered the spires and went into a steep dive, followed by the rest who had been wheeling and calling. The mass of crow-birds streamed into the fortress through a wide-flung window and into a large chamber there, where they circled and cawed and a whirling funnel of black feathers and shining claws formed. Here and there one of His servants pressed against the walls with fear, for if they were caught up and injured by the birds, they would not survive to eat their own meal that evening; rather, they would serve to mollify the tearing avian hunger. His voice filled the hall, seeking and commanding. It penetrated every part of the large black bird, and that of all his fellows, imbuing them with the sense of what must be done. As one, they cried their response. And as quickly as they had come, the flock of swirling carrionites sped from the hall, leaving it to shiver in their absence.

In Dol Guldur, a malice was stirring…

11/Aug/2013, 11:20 AM
Nori, brother of Dori and Ori.
Riverstone Inn.

"Surely there's someone else!"
The door swung open as Nori walked into Riverstone, a wide grin plastered on his face.
As per normal his face was surrounded by a halo of bushy orange hair, which was styled into all sorts of weird and wonderful shapes, mainly with the purpose of annoying his brothers, especially Dori.
Beneath the crazed hairdo his ears twitched as Bombur's words hit them.
Nori was wearing a thick leather outfit designed to work for both mining and the odd hunt, be it in pursuit of tundra-cat, cave-crawler, goblin or boar. He also carried with him his long handled mace, currently it was coated in rock-dust from its recent use in the Silver-Deep mine.
One should never be fooled however, for the mace was also deadly in combat and where it failed him Nori also carried a large selection of daggers, knives even a small hatchet.
As he entered Bofur brushed past him angrily.

"Bofur! No word of greeting for an old friend?"
Nori raised an eyebrow at the stout dwarf before turning to the other patrons of the inn.
"Dwalin! Good to see you! And Bombur! Gavin, Dis! Always a pleasure."
He sat down at the bar, grabbing a tankard of mead and drinking thirstily before slamming it down with vigour.
A mischievous and self sure grin plastered itself on his face as he flicked a silver piece towards the tavern keep and then turned to Dwalin and Bombur.
"So what is it ya are planning? Where are ya going and most importantly... What's in it for me?"