Introduction...

[tomcat]

After the cataclysm of the First Age and its destruction of Beleriand, the Dwarven realms of Belegost (Kh. Gabilgathol) and Nogrod (Kh. Tumunzaha) were also victim to the re-shaping of Middle-earth. Fleeing from the destruction, the folk of Linnar of Belegost migrated in different directions; some establishing new homes in the northern parts of the Blue Mountains, while others came unto Khazad-dûm where they co-mingled with the folk of Durin.

When the Dwarrowdelf met its fate from the power of the Balrog, the exiles of Belegost that lived there followed the folk of Durin and had a hand in the settlement of both Erebor and Barukkhizdin in the Iron Hills. It is from the Iron Hills that this adventure will begin following a path south through Mirkwood on to Moria and its passages that lie under the eastern-most mountain, Bundushathûr, which the Elves called Fanuidhol and Men named Cloudyhead.

Tori was born in Khazad-dûm in the year 1931 T.A. He was a descendant of one from the house of Linnar that had taken up residence in the Dwarrowdelf many years ago after the destruction of Belegost. Though he was not of Durin's line, Tori was given a great duty within the Dwarven-city, that of Key-warden to the eastern Halls and the great vaults that were there.

It was in these vaults that were stored some of the treasures of Khazad-dûm, but most important were kept the standards for weights and measures that the House of Durin based all of their values on. The Key-warden was the only one that could take from the vaults a standard and it was his duty to see it safely returned, under punishment of death or even worse, exile.

Tori was responsible for the accounting of the raw ore that came up from the Mines that weaved deep under Bundushathûr. Passages out of the East Halls on the First Deep would take one down deep under the eastern mountain and it was here that Tori would spend a great deal of his time overseeing the valuation of the ores that were drawn out of the earth.

When the Balrog was unleashed and Durin VI was slain, the Dwarves fought a futile battle with the Demon of Power only to eventually flee from his wrath. The folk of Durin and those of Uri and Linnar became exiles and migrated north and east to at last settle in Erebor, the Lonely Mountain, and the far off Iron Hills beyond.

During the raging battles and confusion, Tori misplaced those he was held responsible for, his keys. Without them, he was unable to secure the standards so that they too could be brought along with the Dwarves in their migration. Without these weights and measures, established by Durin I himself, the Dwarves no longer had their standards to base their wealth and resentment and anger festered. Tori and his line would forever bear the brunt of that resentment and shame became synonymous with his name. The Key warden became a pauper in a realm of riches.

It was in 2810 T.A. that Kori, a descendant to the long deceased Key-warden, decided the time was right for the family's reputation to be restored. The great War of the Dwarves and Orcs had ended eleven years ago and it had a devastating effect on the Orc tribes of the Misty Mountains. Their fewer numbers should allow for access into the old Dwarf home, finding the keys of Tori, and assuring that the vaults of Khazad-dûm were still secured. As long as Durin's Bane was not disturbed, a company could enter and escape and Kori could restore his families name; restore what once was.

[tomcat]

Kori sat by himself within the tavern's common room. He was not used to being around so many that were not of his kind, and so he made little effort to converse. He kept looking towards the door to see the return of his nephew, and he hoped that his search had bore fruit.

The Dwarf craftsman had sold all of his possessions to be able to embark on this journey, and now nearly all of the coin was spent. Still, Kori believed that they had most things they'd need and to pay the hired hands he would use promises of treasure... treasures of the House of Durin!

Though it grated his Dwarven-sense to offer up things that were not his to offer, still, he knew that if he was successful, then the weregilds could easily be paid. For with his success, pride and respect shall return to his name and that of his grand-sires and he and his kin would no longer have to live like paupers amongst their own.

The tavern's door opened, allowing the grey-light of day to cast within, blinding him momentarily. A heavy-set woman lumbered in and the door closed behind her. Kori looked back down to his beer.



[OOC:] Take the opportunity to introduce your characters here as they move about Lake-town prior to meeting with Kori and his nephew (GoB's character). Through private word of mouth, or perhaps a discreet flyer, GoB's character is trying to petition some aid. You guys can know each other if you want, or draw yourselves together here as you please. I will bring together any loose ends if they occur.

[GandalfOfBorg]

The door to the tavern opened once again, a short yet stout figure stood in shadow with the sun at his back making it difficult to recognize who it was.  When it shut again, Kori could see it was his nephew, Nori.  "Ale," he demanded from the barmaid and crossed the room to join his uncle.  Setting down his pack but keeping his axe, Demon's Fang, the last heirloom of his family to survive since the loss of Khazad-dum, near at hand.  He looked cross and a bit dejected.  "I fear we have struck out here, too, uncle.  This place has no real warriors or men of honor.  I talked to a few and posted a notice, but I don't have high hopes.  There are other towns to the south closer to the Halls whom would have more of a stake in helping us as they are harried often by the orcs of mountains..." he said, voice trailing off.  He couldn't look his uncle in the eye with the cloud of failure hanging over him.

OOC: Character sheet forthcoming

[tomcat]

Kori saw the younger Dwarf's frustration. It was something that they had lived with their whole lives - generations of lives to be honest.

"We will see what comes of it," said the old craftsman. "Since the dragon sacked Erebor*, this town of men has become a'bustle with foolish adventurer seekers trying to sneak in and retrieve our gold. Surely there are a few here that will be interested in what we have to offer - though we cannot speak of their honour. We shall give it another couple days' time."

Kori took a long pull on his ale, the foam clinging to his full, greyed, moustache. He wiped it away with his sleeve.

To the outside observer, at least those that were knowlegded in Dwarven culture, Kori's appearance was not what one would expect. He did not wear all the trimmings and baubles that would adorn most dwarves. His clothes were very worn; his leather tunic showed signs of age; and though neatly tended, his long beard did not bear any jewelry. In fact, Kori appeared to be a very plain dwarf.

The craftsman had many years on his shoulders and his face was grooved with hard lines. His hands showed evidence of years of work in the forge and tanneries. Kori and his nephew were of Linnar's folk who had taken up with the Dwarves of Durin ages past - and now reside with them in the Iron Hills.

Suddenly the owner of the tavern approached with a wooden tray loaded with food. The tall man passed the dwarves who eyed the sumptuous looking array as it was delivered to a nearby table. Kori promised it would not be long before he too would be able to provide such things for his house.



[OOC:] *Smaug sacked Erebor in T.A. 2770, forty years prior.

[Cut]

At the far end of the common room, near the corner were the gloomy fireplace sparkled, sat a lone figure, an untouched mug of ale sitting on the table before him. The young person was rather tall and slim. On the side of his table, leaning against the rough wall of the tavern, was a leather backpack and beautiful wooden staff. Wearing a cloak in deeply green and slightly grey colours, the only part of the body he was showing was his face. And that face belonged to an elf. The most prominente feature were his slightly pointed ears and a pair of very keen green eyes. The elf was sitting perfectly still, only his eyes darted restless arround the room, taking dilligently in everything that was there to see. They eyes spotted the tavern owner passing the table were two dwarves were sitting and talking. For one moment the green eyes observed the two short but stout figures. Some sort of spark seemed to be glowing in the elf's eyes, then again, that might maybe just have been a reflection of some glowing wooden sheet in the nearby fireplace. Suddenly there was a crack within the fireplace as a new piece of wood was cast into it and caught flame. The formerly glowing   fire began to flicker and started to cast more light on the elf's table, revealing  a leather map pouche and a piece of parchment, that before had been resting in the shadows. With that, the elf turned his attantion away from the common room and it's occupants, to the map in front of him.

Seen now by more light, the elf' faced showed his apperant lack of age. He looked very young. Younger actually, than any elf that the people of Lake-town had ever seen. Not that they did see many elves these days.
The trade-visits of the fair folk that dwelled in Mirkwood had become increasingly rare over the last years, but no one really seemed to notice or to care. But today, once again an elf was sitting in the common room of Lake-towns second best tavern and appeared to be studying the people and reading a map of some sorts...

[Elrohir]

The tavern door opens up.  His face is covered by a shadow, but you can see his figure quite well.  He is a big man, very big.  His muscles bulge with every step.  He takes a couple steps forwad, and you can tell he isn't clusmy.  He moves with a...grace not found in men in his stature.  He nods at the barmaid, "Ale, madam".  If it wasn't for his size and for the constant clink of his sword against his mail, you'd expect him to be a rogue.  He stops to talk to a couple more people before he stops by Kori.  "I heard you are looking for some brawn on your adventure.  I'm your man.  I won't be able to come up with any great plans, but I will follow whatever command is given (if I don't have any complaints).  I won't back down no matter what threat walks around the corner", he says with a wild glint in his eye.  You want to believe every word of it too, he has that kind of personality.  You can now see him from up close, he's very young in the face, with chin fuzz.  He's got short light brown hair.  He's wearing a tunic over his armour, but you can still tell it's been recently polished.

[Cut]

The sound of the tavern door opening once more made the wood elf look up again from his map. He watched the newcomer, a huge man, approach the two dwarves he had observed earlier. The man began to talk to the dwarves. The elf strained his ears to hear, what it was, that the man was talking about, but the laughter and busy noises of the inn drowned most of it. But the elf was sure to have heard the words 'adventure' and such in the statement. Without realizing it at first, a small smile showed on his face.
What were the dwarves up to and what would they answer? Back in the Realm he had heard nothing good of dwarves. Sort of a gap had appeared between the two peoples that once supposedly had been friends. The elf had read alot about those times when Elves and Dwarves had met and traded, but those days were long in the past. Today he knew, other elves would be frowing upon him sitting in a common room of a man-town, listening in to a conversation of two dwarves and another stranger.
Nevertheless the elf was fascinated and immediately pushed the troubling thoughts of his left-behind-home away and looked down on the parchment in front of him, an elder map of middle-earth he had copied from Thranduil's archives before leaving.
Doing so he strained his ears in hopes to hear more of the conversation taking place at the table of the dwarves...

[Telcontar]

The door to the inn opened, and those who gazed at it looked for where the face should have been, not finding it the eyes dropped lower, perhaps a dwarf, lower indeed the eye would have to look to see the face of Gumbo. Like the quick gust of a breeze the door was opened and in a russle of wool and cloak was closed again. The folk of the room being increased by one more. 
The Kuduk stood half as tall as a man, and his cherub like face could easily be mistaken as a child, but there was something in the walk, more like a swagger, that told of experience and life out of doors. The hair on his head was a curly as that on his feet and Big People always had an urge to tussle it about when he was near them, the weapons that hung by his side, however discouraged such an act. Others more traveled believed they had found a dwarf possessed of two oddities, that he was clean shaven and that he was usually happy. Few knew that he was a Halfling, for he was far indeed from his people and his home. Wanderlust drove him deeper than that of the sea calling in a western bound elf and was obvious from his mannerisms. He was always on the move walking around, exploring and figititing if confined to one spot for any length of time. It was no surprise that wherever it was he came from he wandered off from it without a second thought and would probably only return there by accident.
      Walking briskly up to the two dwarfs and appearing almost to have passed through or under the very large man they were talking to he presented himself to the dwarves bowing slightly.
"Gumbo Bellybottom, West Farthing, at your service and your family. I have served and worked with your folk in the Blue Mountains, and been spear companion of Lord Thrain in his travels in the west. I hear you are planning on going to places unknown to most, and those that do know them sing of them with great loss. I would like to see this place for myself. I'm at home underground and handy in many skills, not the least of which is an extra pair of hands in moments of need. I'll not ask for money from you, as I see this expedition is to improve your lot as much as any other, but a fair share of what's earned and an equal voice in which to say my peace as a full member. Talk amongst yourselves, I wait your decision. Good day."

Turning to the tall man before the table. "Good day."

And before a breathe has passed the lips in response he is off and over to the bar climbing upon a chair and standing on a stool.
"good day lady, Gumbo Bellybottom, West farthing..........."

[GandalfOfBorg]

"Clearly you've never met such a demon to speak such a bold statement," Nori said, not looking at the man whilst he finished his mug. When he finally did look at him, he a gave a 'hmph!' and motioned for him to take a seat.  "But clearly we are in need of your assistance regardless."

----
OOC: Oh dear, not a Kender... ooops, did I say that?  oh, wrong world.

"Fumbo Jellybottom or whatever you call yourself, come over here and let us get a better look at you.  My uncle Kori, here, will dispense with the conditions, rights, and contracts as you so require but he will tell you if you have a say in anything."

[tomcat]

[OOC:] Keep on with what you guys are doing but, I have edited Elrohir's post re: the Balrog. Durin's Bane is not necessarily common knowledge to folk - even the Wise speculate.

[Elrohir]

An elf!, Beren thinks as his eyes wonder from the barmaid, to a drunk having quite a few beers, to the corner, where he sees a tall and skinny being alone.  "I'll be back, then you can tell me your answer. I don't care (much) about rewards, and I'll show you I won't back down from any dangers.  But, I can't show you in here.  It is neither the time, nor the place, so time will be the judge of that", he says to the dwarves.  With that, he walks over to the corner.  "Good day to you, sir", he says.  "Are you from the woodland realm?".  He eyes him suspiciously, but not in a bad way.  Beren is interested in elves, only being out of laketown once in his whole life.  The one time he went out, it was to the woodland realm, with his pap.  At that time he was planning on being a simple merchant, but since then he has been studing the art of the sword.  He silently chuckles as he remembers the scrawny ten year old he used to be.

[Cut]

Yet another costumer had entered the tavern and headed to the dwarven table. This time it was a hafling. The young elf had read a lot about the friendly people that dwelt mostly in and near the Shire and called themselves Hobbits. But what was a Halfling doing out here in the north? As far as he knew Hobbits didn't travel that far and usually stayed close to their quite luxurious homes and enjoying live by not being too far away from their soft beds and their warming fireplaces.
The small figure crossed the room with a swaggle and appeared right before the dwarves. There he held a short but impressive speech that his clear voice carried through the noesy room. Thanks to his keen senses the elf could understand most of the statement this time. Having finished, the Hobbit that called himself Gumbo Bellybottom withdrew to the bar, ordered a drink and striking up conversations with, well, everyone close to him, especially the waitresses.
Intrigued by the strange assortion of peoples he so far had only read about, within the confines of such a small town, the Elf's attention soon shifted back to himself and his surroundings, as he saw the man that had been talking to the dwarves before the Hobbit had entered, walking towards him.
He was being observed by the man with watchful eyes as he crossed the common room, but the Elf didn't see any hatred or distrust in them.
Stepping up to the table, the man greeted the elf rather friendly and asked "Are you from the woodland realm?".
The elf mustered his best Westron (which wasn't well used, but surely well learned and rehearsed) and responded: "A good day to you as well." He shifted his a head a bit to one side, revealing his pointed ears more clearly and continued, "To answer your question, yes, I hail from Mirkwood, the Realm of King Thranduil. Have you ever been to the woodlands, that I call home?"

[tomcat]

Kori had become uncomfortable with how open the recruits were advertising his business. Well, there was only one way to hire folk he surmised, and that was by announcing it. Still, it was against his Dwarven nature to have his task so revealed.

He picked up his tankard and looked to Nori, "Nephew, gather the recruits and bring them to our room here in the inn. I prefer anymore of our business to be discreet."

Nori understood, and as a Dwarf himself, felt his uncle's discomfort.

The companions had a small first floor room down the hall and to the right. Kori began his way back, leaving the task of gathering the man and halfling to his nephew.

[Elrohir]

Beren sees his ears, confirming him an elf, and the fact he said he was from the woodland realm.  "What is your name, and what is your profession?  You look like a master of lore, or magic.  As for me, I am Beren, son of Ceren, the merchant.  Anyway, yes, I have been there, once, nine years ago.  My father wanted to trade some items there, and wanted me to get away from the normal everyday life of Laketown.  That was my first, and still to this day, only trip outside of Laketown.  Then, if you choose to believe, I was as small as that hafling over there.  Something happened there that changed my life, if you have time for a story", he says.  The halfling is a queer fellow indeed.  What is he doing all the way up north.  As for the dwarves, the old one looks awkward and uncomfortable.  But, if this is my way out of Laketown, I'll take it.  He usually goes over first impressions in his mind after he meets them.  He goes back at looking at the halfling, which was starting to get entertaining, but shifts his mind back when the elf starts to talk.

[Cut]

The Elf stands up in one fluid motion and gives Beren a slight respectful bow with his head. A bit more than a nod, but way short of a full bow. The elf obviously is well mannered but shows just a bit of pride. Giving a friendly smile when he hears Beren, now a giant of a man, comparing his younger self to the Hobbit, the elf speaks again. "I go by the name of Caranmîr, and I am indeed a keeper of lore..." he pauses, but only for the slightest moment and adds "and a student of the world, you could say." He motions with his right hand to an empty chair near his table and sits down himself, "please, Beren, join me at my table and tell me the story of your venture into Mirkwood. I am very interested to learn what has happend to you".