NationStates Jolt Archive

Khazad-dûm. Mansions of the Dwarves. This most ancient of names struck a chord of sorrow, anger, and hope for the future among every Longbeard in the Domain. The world had changed during the transition from third to fourth age. No one could really be sure where the ancient locations of Middle-Earth now lay on the greater checkerboard of Terra. Twice it had been occupied, and twice the dwarven kingdom had been destroyed by orcs and the fiery Maia spirit of the Balrog. The dwarves must have breathed a sigh of relief when Tharkûn had finally emerged victorious in his struggle with Dúrin’s Bane, but still the deep delvings lay empty, until thousands of years later they were deserted.

The dwarves of Liang had always looked back to their most ancient homeland (barring Belegost, which had long since been destroyed in the War of Wrath) with a touch of yearning for its restoration. They had never had the means…until now. Besides sentimental and honor-bound rewards, the veins of mithril had been pursued only as far as medieval technology allowed. The dwarves had no doubt that more of the precious metal lay in the depths, if only they could get there. Perhaps in the deep sections of their hearts, this might have been another reason to search for the veritable gold mine (or mithril mine, in this case) of the deep metropolis.

And so the dwarves came to the next quandary. Where to find it? The world, as previously noted, had changed much over the passing millennia. Khalinikhâs, the leading dwarven mathematician/inventor, had some idea. Using the locations of both Arda and Mordor (with their respective rulers, Morgoth and Sauron), a complex computing process was used. Mordor and the Five Kingdoms’ position relative to each other was compared with ancient maps of Middle-Earth, comparing Moria’s position in ancient times to where it should be concidering tectonic plate drift between Mordor and lands like Harad. The result was a supercomputer, Khalinikhâs, and dwarven geographers working day and night to discover a possible location for the lost realm of Khazad-dûm. Many islands, isthmuses, mountain ranges, and caves were discarded as useless.

It was only one day, when staring down at a nondescript C-shaped polar island, that it hit the exhausted dwarf smack in the face. Caradhas! Fanuidhol! Celebdil! In his excitement, he flew out of his seat, spilled coffee all over the supercomputer, and sent a cat curled up on his foot flying across the room to land square on its feet right by the door. He rushed off with the maximum speed, yelling to the entire colony that the three mountains of Moria had been found, and Khazad-dûm would be restored. Dwarves flocked about him and he told the story of finding the three mountain-peaks that surrounded Moria from the air. After exhaustive searching, he was sure this was it. None doubted him.

The dwarves would need allies for this, yes, powerful allies who could bring powerful aid. Neither Andvari, nor Khalinikhâs, nor the overall dwarf-lord had any doubts about the consequences should Morgoth find out. Simple: He mustn’t find out. The island was in neutral territory, which made it all the more necessary that it be claimed for the Liangites as quickly as possible. And so Andvari began casting about for allies, before he settled on two in particular. The Eternal Noldorin Empire of Menelmacar. The star-realm of the Noldor was a superpower by anyone’s measure, and if anyone could act as a counter-weight against Melkor, it was the Elentári. This being a secondary reason to the fact that Khazad-dûm had never opened its doors to anyone besides the friendly, like-minded people of the Noldor. The Noldor were the closest in mind and heart to Mahal’s children, and it would be well enough to have them on their side in recovering the ancient place where that friendship had been forged (even if they seemed to be harboring the current ‘kill immediately’ person on the dwarves’ list). Second, the Libertarian Paradise of Sunset. Besides being, simply enough, trustworthy, the Sunset had been extremely helpful in setting up the dwarves’ Martian colony, proving friendly enough through all of their dealings. It was a Sunset corporation who had designed the sea-domes, and their expertise had been invaluable. Not to mention their elite scouting when it came to matters such as these. Rumors had been flying about certain polar avians…in any case. The proper channels were observed, and missives rang out from Barazûn, highly encrypted, flying towards Carnil and Sunset.

Meanwhile, as Khalinikhâs worked, the dwarves’ readied their own teams on Earth. Not, perhaps, as elite as the recent, ah, ‘mission’ into Menelmacar, but certainly enough to bring down what awaited them in the sunken pit. Historical reports suggested the Mines of Moria would be home to hordes of medieval-tech orcs, and none were hated worse than this special brand of evil. Fury and desire would drive them to the same heights as the five brave dwarves that died avenging themselves (as well as plenty of expertise).

The translator of the Red Book had compared the Dwarves to the Jews. If so, then this was their Zion.

Replies flew back and forth between the Martian north pole and the nation straddling the equator. An acceptance, then questions, then answers, then more questions. Back and forth the messages flew even as on the ground men and women prepared for a very cold expedition to the ancient home of humanity.

Recruits were drawn from the best of the best though the best were not always warriors. The dwarves desired after the wealth and heritage of the site but for the government of Sunset the knowledge and information such an expedition could reveal were the important points. Thus the call went out for the best of the explorer-researchers and the best responded. In a whirlpool of light the SDF Columbia emerged from the wormhole gate in Martian orbit and her crew joined the expedition.

Their numbers would have to be limited - the location was close enough to Arda that too many would be noticed. Thus it was decided that a mere twelve men and women, two penguins, and a combat android named Snowball would represent both the nation of Sunset and the name of the Sunset Exploration Command in this most secret of missions. Half would be the command crew of the Columbia, and half would be 0 Division operators. Between the two groups they had collective experience on a hundred worlds.

Would it be enough for an expedition into a world that fell twenty thousand years before their nation was founded?

----

"Twelve thousand rounds of two centimeter CAM... Ten Daiklaive battle suits... two Grand Daiklaive battle suits... Two IntelPenguin..."

"Twelve thousand? Are you sure that's enough?"

The team was gearing up and the gun bunny's from 0 Div were going through the preliminary list of equipment. Two gun nuts in the same room is asking for trouble - a half-dozen is well past trouble and into downright hazardous. Commander Harvey, executive officer of the Columbia, walked by and paused in the hallway listening. As they rattled on she laughed a little to herself - her last mission had involved her escape from an alien facility with little more than a blanket and a chair. They could have used twelve rounds of ammunition - twelve thousand would have been a blessing.

With barely a whisper the expedition departed Northwestern Liang and headed north towards the polar island the historian Khalinikhâs had identified as their goal. It was an auspicious day to depart - the sky was clear and the seas calm as the MIDF submarine glided out of the port. Small waves broke over the wedge-shaped conning tower where the three leaders of the joint expedition stood looking north towards their destiny. Khalinikhâs, the historian himself, stood next to Captain Edge and Major (ToBeNamed) as the submarine rode lower and lower in the water. Finally the three turned and wordlessly clambered down the ladder into the conning tower. Soundlessly the hatch dogged itself shut and the craft disappeared under the waves.

Below decks the teams were finalizing the stowage of their gear and making introductions. Battle suits were locked into place in the waterlock, dwarves shook hands with elves and humans, and the sailors tried to avoid the land walkers who were endlessly getting in their way.

It would be a month north to the ice then another week under it. The submarine could go faster, but the slower they went the less likely they were to awake the interest of the manevolent power in the North.

The dwarf known as Khalinikhâs was already godlike among his own people. Distantly related to the royal family, the inventor/mathmetician/historian was a jack-of-all-trades and master of all of them.

It was Khalinikhâs who had led the ship-building and designing efforts that had formed the nucleus of the Liangite Space Forces. It was Khalinikhâs who had designed the special weapons that the dwarven strike team had used on its attempt at Alexander Kazansky's life. In fact, the marvel of a dwarf had actually invented several completely unique (and top-secret) substances that certainly had more than a few war-like purposes. And now the middle-aged genius would add to those accomplishment the discovery of the lost dwarf-realm of Moria. To him it was a crowning achievement on his 230 years thus far, despite having many more to come.

Adrenaline and excitement built as the submarine scoured the edges of the mountain, and Khalinikhâs calculated, approximately, where the West-gate might lie. The West-gate was on the south-western side of the island. In ancient times it would have been at the foot of the mountain Celebdil. After many sites were discarded after 'activation' attempts proved useless, a smooth surface of rock was spied as the site for the next attempt. Painstakingly, the various Menelmacari, Sunset, and Liangite crew members exited the craft in their suits again, and a pressure dome was erected around them. As all the freezing cold water was pumped away, Khalinikhâs motioned to a Menelmacari mage, while taking off his own suit helmet. Not for the first time, the mage moved to the smooth, cold surface of the rock, leaned in close, and murmured softly, beautifully.

The effect was immediate and amazing. The brilliant radiance of the silvery arch and the Fëanorian writing became visible. They had found the West-gate.

All of the dwarves gaped in awe, and Khalinikhâs began reciting by memory, seemingly in a trance, the translated Quenya below it. He never faltered once, and the other members of his crew mouthed out the words behind him, almost hypnotically.

The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter.

And below this,

I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.

The words Balin and Gimli had both looked on when they had entered this realm. Khalinikhâs and the other dwarves looked on in complete reverence for several minutes, before the re-discoverer of the Dwarf-mansions uttered a single word. Gandalf, Tharkûn to the dwarves, had uttered it centuries before , and now, almost afraid to say it, it came in a rush of excitement from the dwarf's tongue.

Mellon!

OOC: A little background. This post probably should have been placed just before Liang's last one.

IC:

The Menelmacari submarine MIS Halatirno, was a fairly large craft, about the size of a Typhoon, but rather more advanced... a Lingwilókë-class, her normal role was patrolling the depths in near-silence - Menelmacar's vaunted gravships were fearsome craft, but underwater they tended to show up on sonar like a Christmas tree. While Halatirno carried a weak gravitic drive that could regulate her depth (though not powerful enough to lift the craft out of the water entirely), her main propulsion was via the electrostatic scales that covered the entire exterior of the hull. These scales would open and close as a current passed through them, pulling the submarine quickly and almost silently through the waves by a principle similar to that used by the body of a snake. It was, essentially, the logical step beyond the much-vaunted "caterpillar drive" so popular in many realms' submarine navies.

Halatirno was, nominally, a hybrid boat, she usually had guided-gravitic-missile vertical launch tubes filled with Nárhyanda inverse-pulse cruise missiles, but also had many of the capabilities usually reserved for fast-attack boats. But Halatirno's missile bay had been virtually gutted to make a cargo bay capable of holding everything required for this mission. Along with the submarine's original crew were a squad of Mornahossë with full equipment, led by the illustrious Idhrindiel nos Fithurin, and a combat mage by the name of Nárlanyo. Several Menelmacari officials were also present, a pair each from the Prefecture of Science and the Prefecture of Trade.

It was these supplemental personnel who had joined the Sunset and dwarven personnel in the pressure dome; Celebrimbor himself, the very same whose name shone on the gates, had wanted to come, but had been occupied by a prior engagement. And so, it was with words Celebrimbor had given him that Nárlanyo brought forth the shining doors, and Khalinikhâs spoke the ancient password, and all the Noldor watched in awe as they swung open for the first time in thirty thousand years....

Stone grated on stone as the doors swung outward lighted only by the few lights the team had set and the smaller lights on battle suits and harnesses. It must have been much like this when the doors were last closed millenia ago - a few flickering torches in the night reflecting off the lake outside then all would have gone black as they slammed shut. The waters of the lake were gone now, intermingled with the waters of the rest of the world and who could say what happened to the creature that dwelled there?

Now the lights stabbed into the darkness beyond. Now they lit pillar and stair and archway in the grand entrance hall of Khazad-dûm. Dust and dirt covered everything but even with that and the masses of cobwebs that threw strange shadows on the floor the craft of the dwarves was apparent. Fluted pillars rose from the floor to the ceiling dozens of meters above covered with fine carvings with the cobwebs adding a surreal quality to them as they flowed in some slight breeze.

It fell to the discoverer to cross the threshhold of this place and after a moment he awoke from his revelry and walked forward. Armored footsteps sent up poofs of dust as he crossed into the ancient hold of his kind. Once again the dwarves walked the halls of Khazad-dûm.

Behind him the others awoke and moved according to pre-laid plans. A pair of dwarven warriors, elven Mornahossë, and human operators swept inside and fanned out to secure archways and stairs against possible attackers. Outside the dome the Halatirno lurked about a kilometer away with the pair of penguins taking up a patrol around the bowl that surrounded the door. Just inside the door elven hands weaved the softly spoken words of magic into complex wards that would avert seeking eyes elsewhere and cause those mortals who looked on the dome to see nothing but still water.

One by one the rest of the team entered the mansions of the dwarves as they finished their preparations. The last to enter were the elven mage then the two Grand Daiklaive battle suits. With them went the last of the light and the doors again stood alone in the darkness.

The best estimates of the time it would take to walk the breadth of the truly expansive dwarf halls of Moria put it at four days on foot. Khalinikhâs did not hope to start the trip right away, of course, for they still had quite a few problems to overcome.

First of all, the orcs. Despite being purged by Dain Ironfoot at the Battle of Azanulbizar, the last time the Mines had been traveled through there had been hundreds, maybe thousands of orcs still in there. Over several millenia...they can have done nothing but multiplied. Drastically. Khalinikhâs had his doubts about walking into Moria without an army, much less three teams, even if they were elite. He took some solace in the fact that the orcs possessed nothing worse than swords, armor, bows....and cave trolls.

Second, the problem of simply getting from West-gate to East-gate. If the Red Book was correct, the ancient defensive bridge of the dwarves had been smote to ruin by Tharkûn in an effort to destroy the Balrog. If they had proceeded without this knowledge, they might have been trapped at the end of Moria with a black chasm ahead and thousands of orcs behind.

Third, the problem of getting to the most culturally important site of all: The Chamber of Mazarbul. The wizard the elves knew as Mithrandir had taken the liberty of caving in the site of Balin's tomb in a contest of wills between himself and Durin's Bane, burying the site of Moria's last Uzbad beneath rock and stone. While this was on the 7th level of the Mine and could be bypassed by going through the upper levels, the fact remained that all the Records, regalia, and Balin's resting place remained caved in.

With these three problems in mind, Khalinikhâs took his first step into the ancient homeland of the dwarves. Lights flickered on and off immediately, and
Khalinikhâs swiveled his gun around, searching at every corner for the hordes of orcs he knew lurked in the deeps. At every step, he heard imagined drum-beats, only to dismiss his paranoia as the beating of his heart, reciting Poe in his mind. At every moment, he stood on edge, ready to dodge filth-encrusted arrows, only to re-assure himself with the mithril armor beneath his cloak, fighting down the streams of adrenaline rushing through his veins.

As it was, the first day they could not be expected to make the round journey, and so it was as more of a reconnaissance in force that they made their first steps into the deep, as attentive and alert as always.

A reconnaissance in force meant that someone had to take a look around, find the location of the enemy, and report back. If one were to come across any enemy scouts it was also a good idea to kill or capture them. This was exactly what Sergeant Hoya and Ulthor were attempting to do...

When the teams had entered the mines they had established a base camp in a side chamber of the entrance hall and had proceeded to liberally lace the surrounding rooms with all kinds of electronic monitoring devices. While the scientists readied their equipment and started their catalogs the warriors planned and plotted. Crates were opened and a dozen coal black cats were dispatched into the depths with orders to seek out the orc and report back. Electronic intelligence was all well and good but there was also nothing like a pair of sentient eyes in some situations. Thus two members of each team were dispatched to scout along the prospective route from east to west and report back.

Now Hoya and Ulthor slunk from shadow to shadow with a pair of Mornahosse gliding along like the shadows themselves somewhere to their right. Behind the two pairs were a pair of dwarves ready to rush to the rescue if either team encoutered a problem. Those in the lead had left their battle suits back at the base camp and were clad in armored skin suits instead. Though both teams favored their plasma rifles these were with the dwarves - silenced projectile weapons were the rule. All three teams were silent as ghosts though there was plenty of communication via subvocal and cybernetic systems.

Now chance had brought the two across their first victims. A pair of orcs - though these were not the orcs the two had fought under the red soil of Mars - was pulling apart a rotted scaffolding and retrieving the bits of iron. The two operators informed the other team and moved in for the kill after surveying the area.

"Nothing on this side - anything over there?"

"Nothing - no guards at all. Exiles maybe, or scavengers."

"Think we can grab them both?"

"Do you think you can keep them both quiet on the trip back?"

This from one of the elves. They were sweeping towards the two humans in case these two were part of a larger group.

"Don't want to carry a stinky orc three klicks?"

"No."

"Don't blame you myself - that one looks like he has some kind of mold all over one side of his head."

"Probably green mold. Once the stuff gets on your skin it grows deep until it kills you. Watch yourselves."

Hoya was once again thankful for the dwarves knowledge of the deep places of the earth as he slinked towards the pair. Ulthor was right beside him and he checked with the elves again just before they crossed the final pair of shadows between themselves and the orcs.

"We have found nothing. Strike true."

It was over in a moment. The large heavy slug from Ulthor's pistol splattered the moldy orc's brains all over the remains of the scaffolding while Hoya snapped the butt of his pistol across the other orc's temple like a whip. A bag loaded with a non-lethal knockout agent was pulled over it's head while it's hands and feet were quickly bound. They had gone far enough for one day - time to head back with their prize. Eavesdropping devices were placed around the rapidly cooling corpse and the teams melted back into the shadows.

"Well fuck me running," muses Marius Hasek, shaking his head. "They've gone and found Moria, eh?"

His brother nods. "That would appear to be the case," came the answer, as the Dunlending unfurls a large map between them. A promiment marking had been made at the city's location, as per the findings of their master. "And apparently, we're expected to do something about it. The Man Downstairs wants us to head an expedition to the East Gate, primarily on account of the fact that Elves and Dwarves have been seen in the west. The problem of the Orcs can be easily solved by travelling with a small contingent of them; we have some descendants of the Moria goblins of old; and their presence should identify us as allies and allow for safe passage through the mines. Imagine the Menelmacari's surprise when they come upon us halfway through. Surely it will make them think twice about settling in; if such is their intent."

Marius nods in response, cocking his head to get a better look at the map. "True. If there are Noldor with them, chances are they're not just passing through. I imagine they want a share of the wealth, as it were. Moria's still bound to have a healthy amount of mithril in the deeper places, and this is no doubt the purpose for their presence. The humans..." he trails off, squinting at the topography. "I don't know what they're doing there, but their motives are probably a bit more benign," he finishes doubtfully.

Janos spits. "Right," he counters without missing a beat, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "I've frankly doubt those of our race who have come to ally with the Noldor. I doubt their purpose is any less benign than those of their Elven counterparts. All will be treated as hostile."

"I suppose," answered Marius, fidgeting with his stylus. Shaking his head quickly, he looks down to the map again. "Right then, down to business. A Revenant class heavy dropship will take us to our location... here," he explains, tapping his finger on the map, a short distance away from the projected location of the East Gate. "Two clicks from the Gate. We travel with our small band of orcs to the gate and proceed inward from there, with a team of twenty men. From there on in it's a matter of reaching as far west as we can before interdicting the Menelmacari and their cohorts. As the situation provides, it might be more prudent to simply watch them, but this depends on whether or not they know we're in the area. I'm sure they'll come up with some way of reading the Rev's signature."

Janos rolls his eyes. "Of course they're bound to assume it's us, too. I suppose that's one of the consequences of belonging to one of the only world powers with the audacity," his eyes bug out a bit and he waves his hands in an exaggerated show of contempt at the emphasis, "to act to their detriment. I don't suppose we'll be able to trust in secrecy for this one."

Marius nods in response. "Indeed. We'll have to tell Khaled and Toro to keep a sharp eye on any developments from Menelmacar proper. By all accounts they've sent only a small team; anything larger and we'll be expected to counter, of course. We should keep a healthy contingent of marines on standby. We're travelling with Sable Fist, no?"

Janos checks his papers. "Yep. Born and bred to counteract the Menelmacari Special Forces; I wouldn't expect any less." He whistles. "Twenty Sable Fist. Ought to be a hell of a time," he surmises with a toothy grin.

Marius stands quickly, taking up his satchel and checking it. "Of course. Now lets get moving."

Within the hour, a heavy dropships left port from the Fortress of Chains; the primary stronghold for the Hasek brothers' operations out of Dunland. Not being so stupid as to take a direct course to Moria [since it was relatively close, after all], instead they had the craft piloted out to a low orbit, where it would stay for the better part of an hour before descending from the opposite direction.

Soon, Twenty Sable Fist, two Marshals, and close to thirty goblins would touch down near the East Gate, to exert their masters' will on the Lost Mines.

[OOC: Liang said I could :D ]

The dwarf known as Khalinikhâs curled up into a ball after a good’s night sleep, drifting off on thoughts of orcs, mithril, and avalanches. When he awoke, he was far less cheerful. The rather conspicuous Five Kingdoms’ dropship had confirmed everyone’s worst fears: Morgoth had gotten involved. Most likely by use of the palantir he possessed, though perhaps there were other things, for Khalinikhâs put anything else far above the seemingly incompetent Vala. While perhaps the dwarves would not hate Sauron as much as the elves did, Morgoth had a special place of disgust in their hearts. The Balrog that managed to drive them out of that deep place had been nothing but one of Melkor’s pawns, gone rogue after the Vala’s original chaining. The killing of the original Azaghâl of Belegost had been, of course, Narguzbad’s doing, by the dragon Glaurung. This stirred up even more thoughts of how Morgoth had delightfully created the race of dragons that were responsible for much ill-fortune later. In short, of all the relatively small number of dwarven enemies, Melkor Unchained was undoubtedly the highest.

And so it was perhaps with more pent-up fury than fear that the dwarves geared up for the long journey into the mines the following day. They had every intention of going in, killing every last damnable orc and Five Kingdoms’ servant in every last level, and throwing precaution and diplomacy to the wind. The fury in their eyes’ was the only revealing factor of the grim mission they intended to go on. Khalinikhâs did not even bother a second conversation, once the Menelmacar confirmed it was Melkor who had landed the dropship, and the next day proceeded to march right through with a deafening ‘Mellon’ and barely a second word to the other teams; automatic rifle, mithril armor, and grenades at the ready. If hotheadedness was not apparent from their usually calm demeanor, it would come as a shock to their allies that dwarves kill enemies first and never ask questions.

The descent from Gate-level into the deeper levels of the mines went quickly, and perhaps the dwarves were not as stealthy as they could have been. Orcish scouts were by and large shot (silently) and disposed of. Larger bodies met with largely the same fate, their rusted, filth-encrusted weapons matching up quite poorly with the modern-armed, mithril-armored dwarves that faced them. They left no survivors, and any orc scout that fancied himself the one to rouse the alarm was quite regularly shot in the face. Occasionally, when the orcs got close, a gleeful team of dwarves pulled axes and decapitated them swiftly. After all, warriors who have done nothing but fight among themselves [in fact, Khalinikhâs reckoned, they most likely were embroiled in civil war at the moment] for centuries with no formal training and no real competition would prove the goblins likely to not be able to put up a fight with the lowest rabble from the surface. The dwarven anger was hardly assuaged when they encountered orcs wearing old dwarven armor, infuriating them all the more, though they stayed quiet. A loud noise would trigger a reaction several orders of magnitude greater than a certain Shire-hobbit’s mistake at a certain well.

What should have been covered in two days was covered in one, the hardly exhausted dwarves making excellent time through the mines. The Chamber of Mazarbul was avoided; instead the dwarves’ stuck to the level above it. Then again, of course, the closer they got to the levels adjacent to the Chamber, the closer they got to the epicenter of the orcish hordes. Every one of them was ready for it. Khalinikhâs was as eager as the warriors trailing him for orc-blood, but he knew they would need at least a few hours of rest before any loud noises were made. And so, regardless of whether the Menelmacari or Sunset had decided to follow the hotheaded, probably foolish dwarves on their little warpath, the team lay to rest, a different dwarf standing watch every hour for five hours of sleep, outside the outskirts of what was presumably the center of orcish authority, waiting for the dark, gloomy morning in the mines and the revenge it would bring.

"Here kitty kitty..."

The coal black cat looked up at Commander Harvey with it's golden eyes as it sat and awaited her orders.

"Bless the person who finally invented a cat that comes when called."

Captain Edge chuckled as he prepared the package for transport by the cat towards the presumed location of the new arrivals. This one was to carry a mixed bag of sensor packages for drops along the way as well as a single nasty suprise for someone who decided they would like a new housecat. Others were already on their way after having returned from the depths and heights of Moria with their intellgence.

----

Sergant Hoya paused as he placed another miniature sensor package in the crack between an archway's intricate stonework and the plainer wall behind it. Plain was an understatement though as Hoya had been consistantly impressed with the craftsmanship of each room. Despite the ravages of time, scavenging, and obvious battle damage each new room was a piece of art in itself. Murals of a battle long past wrapped around the wall at what was for him chest height with smooth stone above and below.

Myomers silently expanding and contracting he crossed the room and placed another sensor under a fallen pillar and looked to where Ulthor stood watching the entrances. His broad battle suit looked almost dwarven itself, right down to the heavy plates that had protected the human inside from both axe and arrow.

"Finished?"

"Yerp - let's get moving. Don't wanna fall too far behind."

The two had been assigned to follow the dwarves, map their passage, and essentially count the bodies. Not all the counting had been of those dead by dwarven hands - the two had destroyed a small knot of orcs who had come screaming in from a side chamber after the dwarves had passed. Incredibly one-sided the fight had been over quickly as heavy rounds smashed through ribs and craniums with efficient precision.

Much valuable intelligence had been gained so far by the two. They now knew that these orcs didn't much care for bright light. Ulthor suspected they didn't care much for loud noises either, but they were not yet ready to test this. Strobe grenades were kept ready however - they might want more prisoners.

----

Snowball was on patrol. The combat android didn't have to worry about anyone sneaking up on it and slitting it's throat so it just went from room to room killing any orcs it found. It's instructions were just that - visit every chamber it could find within 500 meters of the base camp and kill every orc it found. It was then to place a sensor package in the corpse or at least a sizable bit of it. The rules of engagement stated that loud noises were to be avoided so the white android usually just walked up to them and pulled bits off. The orcs made quite a bit of noise when it did this - it had just melted one group instead but that was not the most efficient use of power and the orcs made noise anyway as their bodies fell apart.

'Snowball - Progress report.'

The android didn't pause as this request came in from the base camp. It just added another total to the orcs killed as it twisted a head off even as an axe rang off it's armored head.

'Arc Sweep Complete: 67%, Orc Casualties: 47, Sensors Placed: 49'

'Good job. Estimated completion time?'

'Four Hours, Nineteen Minutes, Twenty Three Seconds.'

'Anything unusual?'

'Facility matching description of blacksmith located. Facility matching description of cesspit found.'

----

Those who remained at the base camp had gathered together earlier with the elven Mage for a quick ceremony. Now they stood in a circle, hands linked and weapons slung and with one eye on the sensor status boards, waiting for the Mage to begin.

*Tag* I shall post in a little.

-------------

A little change in plans, I won't get involved unless it is needed, or I see oppurtunity to help allied nations. I will keep reading this and keeping tabs on it.

*Tag* I shall post in a little.

(If there be underground tunnels, if there be precious ore, there be the Clans!)

OOC:

It should be noted that I really don't care one way or the other if High Orcs posts, as to Menelmacar they do not exist. Thusly, nothing High Orcs does will impede, hinder, damage, injure, kill, destroy or affect in any way any of my personnel or equipment under any circumstances whatsoever. If that wasn't sufficiently clear... I can't help you.

Game on.

IC post pending.

OOC: If this is in the North, then it is likely very near Wazzu proper (Sweden). But then, Wazzu has neither knowledge of these goings on, nor reason to intervine. Certainly a red flag would have been put to the detection of the landing of the 5 Kingdoms dropship...but in a world of a hundread thousand nations, what is one red flag amongst billions?

So for now, Wazzu remains blissfully unaware and unconcerned, and this post remains a tag.

Have fun with the RP all, it looks great, and I'll be reading intently as time is available. :)

The dwarves awoke after their short nap with a vengeance. The first thing that happened, and possibly the last, was that the dwarf known as Zagar picked up a hefty assortment of rubble, took it to one of the many spiraling wells, and threw it down with the most possible noise. As if this was not enough, he proceeded to throw a carefully timed grenade down as well, which exploded quite neatly after coming out the other side, flinging fragments away that clanged against walls to mix with the sonic explosion the grenade itself created.

Grinning broadly, the armored and armed dwarf then sat down, pulled out a large package that seemed to swish as liquid does, and simply waited. The other fourteen dwarves did likewise, pulling out packages and then sitting down to wait.

It wasn't long. Doom, doom, doom, doom-boom. Drums in the deep. The beating of the drums grew louder, and louder, and louder. The rhythmic beating of the drums that had chilled endless generations of dwarves to the bone falling, for the first time, on the ears of the fifteen reclaimers of Moria. It did nothing but harden their resolve.

Slowly, as the drums grew cacophonous and within voice-range, the dwarves took up covering positions along the grand hallway, and began to chant their ancient warcry in a sort of duel of sound with the Moria orcs. All of them looked through the scopes of their assault rifles and grew silent as the swarms of orcs, behaving as fire ants when you poke their nest, crawled out of every nook and cranny, hurtling towards the dwarven shield-wall with fury and hatred in their eyes.

"The dwarves have returned, my friends! Zagar called out with grim sarcasm, and with that, the first bullet rang out from his gun, cleanly sweeping through an approaching line of orcs and killing them outright.

With that, the melee was on. The sounds of battle drew only more goblins from the cesspools they lived in, and the dwarves mowed them down, wielding their assault rifles like water hoses on a fire. Utilizing chokepoints and killzones, disgusting piles of dead orcs piled up in walkways. Soon the dwarves took on roles of sheep-herders, goading the orcs into one great mass that needed constant trimming at the sides. As they formed the orcs into a rough square, all the time cautiously retreating, Zagar and Nuri pulled out the large packages they had held earlier, attached hoses to them, and sprayed normal water out over the orcs, wetting them partially. The Sunset members must have been amused, for this was nothing other than pure, distilled H20. The packages were surprisingly large, and together fourteen of them proved enough to atleast dampen the orcs. Following this, the two dwarves directed the stream of water at the ground the orcs were walking, their only object to wetten it.

Now came the finale. All fifteen dwarves pulled out insulated grenades, timed them, and threw them with terrifying accuracy at various chokepoints.

When they burst, cries of Ghâsh! Ghâsh! erupted from the orcish lines. They had used it once before to warn of the Balrog, now it was an entirely different affair. Ghâsh, of course, was ancient Black Speech for 'Fire', and what a fire it was. In ancient times the East Roman Empire had utilized a compound known as Greek Fire, the grenades the dwarves threw might be compared to that. The epitome of secrecy was used in its construction, and it was not a few of the reasons the dwarf known as Khalinikhâs was renowned among his people, for it had been him who had invented it. Only the royal family knew its secrets. It burned on water, and whenever it came in contact with the liquid its heat intensified. It was a liquid fire, controllable, and the orcs screamed in terror as the dwarves gleefully took out what looked startingly like a giant perfume container, and sprayed Dwarven Fire out amongst the enemy. It was adhesive, and no matter how hard the orcs clawed at it, it stuck. It lit up the damp ground in sheets of fire, and the nicely extensive square of dampened ground Zagar had created meant they ran only into more fire. The dwarves rushed to all sides of the perfect square of flame, killing any orc who rushed outwards with characteristic efficiency. It was not long before the flaming masses attempted a break-out in their torment, but their flesh was charred, and they soon succumbed to the intense heat the water on their skin had created. As the disorderly hordes of orcs gave way to disintegrating piles of ash, a last flaming arrow caught the dwarf known as Nalin off-guard, finding a chink between helmet and breastplate. The dwarven fire that had lit up the arrow quickly disintegrated it, but it also ate through Nalin's skin, ending, very painfully, the young dwarf's life.

It was the only thing that could dampen the dwarves' spirit. Khalinikhâs' fire had destroyed hundreds, maybe thousands of Moria goblins, leaving nothing but piles of ash as evidence for Melkor's henchman. Only the two Sunset had seen the devastation of Dwarven Fire, and the dwarves' quickly asked for oaths of secrecy.

Nevertheless, the small amounts of the substance that the dwarves had brought was gone. It would be up to axe, grenade, and rifle for any other kills (and a few more nasty surprises, perhaps). In the aftermath of the assault, Nalin's remains were buried in the stone of Moria, not the first, and not the last. The dwarves, realizing that lighting up a huge hall would most likely attract Melkor's henchmen should they see it, (despite having twenty miles of Moria to get through first, with no map) abandoned the area and pulled back west, deeper into the Mines, where they contemplated their next move.

"Here kitty kitty..."

...

Others were already on their way after having returned from the depths and heights of Moria with their intellgence.

...

Those who remained at the base camp had gathered together earlier with the elven Mage for a quick ceremony. Now they stood in a circle, hands linked and weapons slung and with one eye on the sensor status boards, waiting for the Mage to begin.
"Aaaaah, excellent," Idhrindiel chuckled. The auburn-haired Mornahossë smiled as the sensor pods seeded as far through the mines as the IntelKittens had managed to foray came on line, and linked back to the portable holoprojector she carried. A few quick commands, and she had crossreferenced the incoming data with the maps the dwarves had earlier provided. They did not have intelligence from the entire cave network yet, but they did have it from a substantial portion. The Five Kingdomers would have difficulty reaching them undetected, and so would the natives. Satisfied the mapping effort proceeded apace, Idhrindiel smiled again, her sapphire eyes gleaming in the light from the holo. She shut it off again, returned it to its place on her belt pouch, and rose to join the circle.

Nárlanyo's task, meanwhile, was more difficult than one might think. Essentially he was providing what an online gamer would call a 'buff' - To the MIDF the spell was lúcë velafëar - enchantment of soul-sight. In actual practice, elaborate ritual and even spoken incantation was rarely necessary save for the novice mage. The power to cast came from within the caster by sheer force of his will and his faith in his own strength and capabilities, not from any arcane word or gesture or rare hunk of crystal or piece of organic material. However, such things did often serve as a focus for the beginning mage, not unlike in basic concept the 'magic feather' of Dumbo the Elephant.

For the soul-sight to work on those non-Menelmacari gathered, however, some ritual was required, if only to boost their belief that the spell would be effective. For all whatever briefings they had received, it was almost inevitable that among them there were more than a few skeptics. The linking of hands was an even more basic requirement - for Nárlanyo to make the enchantment last for the remainder of the engagement, he needed as much magical energy to draw on as possible. Physical contact simply allowed him to draw on the natural magical reserves inherent to all life - or specifically, the other soldiers. They wouldn't be using it anyway.

The enchantment itself was a simple thing, really. It allowed the target to perceive fëar, the souls of the living, and occasionally, the lingering wraiths of the dead. It provided a very simple tactical advantage - stealth would be rather less effective on those affected. Nárlanyo explained this to the group, mostly for the benefit of those from Sunset and the dwarven realm. "You will be able to see the souls of both friend and foe for the remainder of this mission," he said. "This may be unsettling, occasionally you may see the ghosts of those who died here previously, if they have not passed to whatever afterlife Eru has allotted for them. But do not be afraid, for they cannot harm you. What you want to be worried about is the living - both orc of Moria and human of the Five Kingdoms. I assure you that you will be able to tell the difference, and you will also by extension perceive goodness or evil in the hearts of those you see. The enemies we face will appear noticeably darker. There is no more effective IFF signature available. Does everyone understand?"

There was a series of nods from everyone present.

"Excellent," grinned the elf. "Then let's begin." He closed his eyes, concentrated, began drawing power into himself, from deep within himself, from the others present, from the living rock of the mountain in which they stood... he sent his mind back and recalled the Quenya chant associated with lúcë velafëar, which he hadn't used since well before graduation. The chamber fell silent, except for the voice of the mage...

As was said, a spirit that did not go to the afterlife that Eru Illúvatar had prepared for it could linger in the world. Many spirits could suffer death, yet had not the gift of mortality. Among these the greatest were the Valar, and among them, the greatest was the spirit known among the elves as Morgoth, the black enemy of the world. But he was not the only dark spirit to enter the circles of the world upon its creation. With him came others, of great stature, such as Sauron, the Abhorred. He was a Maia, one of the greatest of those spirits created by Illúvatar from his thought, barring the valar. In the Elder Days, there had been others of their order, the Maia. Some, such as Alkanphel were great, while others, some orc chieftains and fouler creatures, were lesser. Scarce lesser than Sauron in might were the Valaraukar, demons of might.

One of these had been the last Lord of Moria, until he had been slain by Mithrandir, an Istari meddler from distant and undying lands. As was mentioned, there are many spirits or Fëar that do not possess the gift of mortality. Among these there are the elves, who are bound to Eä, and when slain by grief or injury pass to the halls of Mandos. The Fëar of slain Maia is however, a different matter. It lies to them to wander the earth as ghosts of what they once were, forever unable to act, unless restored to power by a greater spirit, such as the Lords of the West.

Or Melkor…

Sable Fist High Captain Aros Antanamir stood with the two Marshals Marius and Janos Hasek at the East Gate of Moria. Before them was a 3d render of what had been mapped of the mines so far: the sensor crawlers had at present only made it about 300 or so yards in. Apparently they were correct in their assumption that there was a bridge that needed spanning. The drones had no small amount of trouble finding a way around this, and as a result the team had gotten a slightly larger map of the chasm than they anticipated, as the devices had to crawl down the east face to find an outcropping of rock from which they could jump and cling to the other side. Several had been lost in the attempt, but the margin of loss was still acceptable.

"Right, then. We'll enter once everything's set up, Orcs first," explains Marius, gesturing to the gate. "Once inside we'll have them fire up a flare to get the attention of the goblins on the other side. Our team is to stay out of sight. Ideally, I dont want the Moria orcs to even know we're here. They have a tendancy to give up information rather easily when captured, so the less they know, the better. Thermal imaging indicates... indicates...." He furrowed a brow, elbowing his brother.

Janos snaps his gaze to the hologram, pressing a few buttons on the attendant datapad. "Uh... roughly three hundred are in the area just opposite the bridge. It looks like there's a lot of debris in the area, too. They never bothered to clear it, but there are tunnels through it. We'll probably have to pass well behind the orcs... we could have to wait up to a half an hour to pass. Such as it is, our orcish contingent knows to keep a few of their number close enough to the back should something go wrong. If they do discover us, their endorsement as to our motives will be key in not having the Moria goblins turn on us. It'd be a messy situation, because as you know we're counting in part on their support to confuse the enemy teams."

Antanamir nods. "Right then. I'll go give the men their last briefing, and we'll be on our way." He salutes the two Marshals and plods off to where the team is assembled.

Moments later, they're on their way. Sable Fist units take up the rearguard, with thirty Orcs entering the mines with a various assortment of weapons and a large retracible metal span for the bridge. With no small amount of apprehension, the men filed into the gates, quickly breaking ranks to take up their preordained positions overlooking the bridge. Below, they could see stirrings on the other side as their orcs neared the bridge. The goblins appeared to be more confused than anything, and so far weren't making any overtly hostile actions.

They activated their active camoflauge, and waited. There wasn't much else they could do, at this point.

Blood covered every inch of Captain Edge's battlesuit. Some was dry but most was fresh - fresh from two hours of killing orcs in a ferocious melee that had for the first time resulted in casualties for the Sunset team.

Hours after they recieved word that the dwarves had slaughtered many orcs they had heard the drums themselves. Waiting anxiously in the dark they had watched their sensors both around the base camp and around the dwarven expedition. It had started as one small heat signature then a rush as hundreds then thousands more headed towards the base camp and the defenders who rushed to man their positions. Mixed in with the smaller signatures were what could only be their worst fear: Cave trolls.

Edge himself had been at the front line when the first orcs came into view. Sheltering behind a pillar than had been cracked in half by some long ago force he saw the first heat signature rush down the hallway towards him followed closely by a dozen more. He had fought before - fought on alien worlds and human. There were so many though...

Even as his finger brushed the trigger the first orcs were already dead. Beside him were a pair of the 0 Division operators and they did not hesitate. Cyan death lit the hallway as they moved from target to target up the length of the hallway. Shreaks echoed from the throats of the orcs as the brilliant plasma tore apart bodies and ripped limbs away in a burst of superheated flesh. Still more came on with some hurling axes or snapping off shots from bows only to have them glance harmlessly off armor and doing little more than disturbing the occupant.

Now they leapt onto the ceiling and again they were cut down to splatter across their fellows like warm chunky rain. Their movement forward was steady - for each that fell another two took it's place until they had reached the midpoint in the hallway. First one dull thump sounded then another as grenades spun into their midst and exploded with a crack. The wave of orcs advanced in pieces as body parts were thrown forward. Arms and legs mixed with the scraps of torsos and chunks of head as more grenades flew past to again liberally coat the corridor in entrails.

The first live orc had made it though the hallway now - dragging itself forward on a ruined arm with it's spine shattered. Edge had watched out of the corner of his eye as the Mage stepped up and finished the job with a single shot. Dimly he was aware that this was not the only front and that not a dozen meters away the elves were grimly holding their own passage despite a mounting wave of orcs pressing through the bodies of their kin. Orcs now pressed closer and closer to the door and Edge issued his first order of the engagement.

"Fire support, west passage!"

Behind him in the darkness a battlesuit stood and turned towards the passage. Light glinted dully off the barrels of the rotary cannon as Commander Harvey brought it up and to bear on the tunnel. The barrels spun and a long tongue of flame pulsed down the hallway as she advanced to stand above the other three battlesuits. Orcs disentigrated under the whithering firepower of a weapon created to do just that - kill orcs. Heavy rounds smashed through body after body as she panned the deadly tongue around the corridor already piled high with bodies.

"Got a biggun on therma - keep your heads down."

Harvey paused for a moment as something very large entered the other end of the passage - her first cave troll. The orcs had stopped coming in hopes that the beast would solve the problem of the nasty humans and elves for them. Now she stood waiting as it lumbered down the hall towards them. Each footstep shook the room and all could hear it's feet crack the tiles as it advanced.

"Don't put your heads up yet..."

The troll paused and raised it's club to let out a roar and that is when Harvey chose to answer. A single blast lit the room as she fired the shoulder mounted medium plasma cannon and the roar stopped. Edge put his head up and looked down the hallway to where the thermal image of the troll still stood. He watched as the knees buckled and it fell over where it began to cool. Only when the battle had ended would he find out that she had shot it through the back of the mouth as it roared a challenge.

The rest of the battle had been a blur. Orcs charged again and again only to be throw back until they had finally broken through. One of the operators had been killed when a troll had caught him between a wall and his club - not even the battlesuits could stop a half-ton of crude iron from smashing those inside like a melon. There were other assorted damages - battlesuits hit by friendly fire or in one case a combat android that had been backhanded across the room by a troll moments before it had lost it's head to a grenade in the nasal cavities.

The waiting was the hardest part. Despite the cooling system in the battlesuit Hoya could still swear sweat was beading on his forehead as he waited motionless in the dark.

'Just count orcs. What if there are no orcs to count?'

He could move his head in the battlesuit and frequently did so to 'look' around the image provided by the external cameras. Two hours in he had become aware of a drip. Water seeping in from somewhere was dripping from a sculpted spire above their own high chamber hiding place and dropping with a splash to the floor hundreds of feet below.

There was a bowl down there in the darkness. Carved by the same drip over millenia he knew now why the orcs came to this chamber - all creatures need to drink. Poison came to mind though he had no such thing. Something suitably nasty for the brutish creatures below. Even in the time he had been there he had seen one kill another though he didn't know why. Enough that they were savage enough to kill each other - the more dead the better.

Tag for reading and for asking if I can join this wonderful thread...(At least it seems to be wonderful)

The unbridled fury with which the Mornahossë fought was, to put it simply, truly awesome to behold. The tunnel narrowed at one point, and orcs were streaming up from far below by the hundreds... The cave practically echoed with the ominous hum of plasma weapons, at least when they weren't firing, spewing massive gouts of hot sun-golden starfire at the oncoming hordes. The guttural cries of the orcs filled the hall, their corpses piling up such that they had to climb over their fellows... which slowed them down, and got them shot as well.

They cried vicious obscenities, in Orcish, and Black Speech, and a thousand other dark tongues as well, and fought - literally - past each other to get to the Elves; yet the Mornahossë, the stalwart shadow-sentinels of the Noldorin Empire, fought bravely on, not giving an inch of tunnel in retreat. Eventually quarters closed to what was much too tight for plasma, and ammunition ran low anyway... so rifles went away and swords came out, and with the shimmer of their active-camo the only sign of their presence, they practically danced in among the oncoming Orcs, blades rising and falling, lopping off ears and heads and limbs, hacking into torsos and letting vital organs and foul blackish blood and ichor and bile splash over the rocks, and everywhere the Orcs gibbered and screamed and died.

It lasted almost half an hour, this particular sortie from far below, and when it was over, it was clear the Orcs had never had a chance despite their vast numbers - in armor and equipment and training and general skill the Mornahossë had every conceivable advantage over the Iron Age level Morian Orc-hosts. They shimmered back into visibility, their dark armor spattered with the insides of their... well, yes, victims... a sea of Orcish corpses - and pieces of them - around them... one of the Orcs was still twitching, and Idhrindiel plunged her blade into its back and twisted harshly, and the Orc twitched no more.

[tag]

Khalinikhâs the dwarf stood outside the collapsed rubble underwhich lay the Tomb of Balin. The Moria orc population had been drastically curtailed, and what was left was the specter of a Five Kingdom team deep inside the Mines. Khalinikhâs could only pray the Dark Vala's servants could be reasoned with.

If not, well, numbers and establishing a permanent, thriving presence in the holy halls of the Khuzdul Zion were definite insurance against a few Black Ops and the support they might drudge up amongst the drastically reduced Orc population.

And to that end, messages to the triune of Liangite dwarf-realms rang out, the message, in a more eloquent phrasing, was "Come and Get It".

The dwarves didn't need told twice. Imagine finding Atlantis. Now imagine a group of Atlanteans that hadn't set foot there for tens of thousands of years, and you will have an inkling of the impetuous the dwarves felt. Immediately, thousands upon thousands of dwarves lined up in the halls of the Aerospace forces or the aquamarine forces, demanding organized transportion to Khazad-dûm, and meager riots broke out before the government could issue any sort of response. Eager lines of dwarves came out of tunnels that no one thought existed (and certainly shook the confidence of a certain lord's contigency plans), grabbing whatever they could find that floated and heading off in the general direction of Moria.

On Mars, much the same happened, except with the Aerospace forces as the only avenue, certain capitalistic nations would make a killing selling transportation to Moria.

Of course, with the publicity came the need for even more protection of the site. Liangjin government forces were denied access, and from the deeps came the elite ranks of the Barukzigil, the Royal Guard/Standing Army of the dwarves beneath Liang's surface, clad in mithril or mithril alloy armor, looking as regal as dwarves can look, and heading off in formal military boats to guard the entrances. Along with them came an endless streams of architects, engineers, and skilled laborers, pouring from Liang's subterranean grounds like water from a sponge.

The wet navy was almost overstretched transporting the hordes of Khazad from the Isle to Moria, but it managed.

Of course, on such a momentous occasion, the chances that some sort of honorary monument was being foregone were slim. Deep beneath the earth, the lord of Barak-dûm was in council.

A small and inconspicious black submarine marked with dwarven runes surfaced off the coast of a tiny little island. A procession of very well-dressed (or, in this case, armored) dwarves emerged, filing out of the grand submarine in a solemn yet purposeful formation designed for elegance and security.

They were the dwarves of the Barukzigil, the Silver Axes, which was somewhere between the army and the royal guard of Barâk-dûm, each of them clad in mithril and gold, elite and cold killers and yet also men of upstanding dwarfly character. Each of them took out a ceremonial axe and planted it in the ground, took out a rifle and remained in formation. Another phalanx of Barukzigil emerged next, and in the middle stood the Gabiluzbad himself.

A loud proclamation followed, read by a particularly stout and red-faced dwarf who wasn't identified. The proclamation, of course, was completely indecipherable to all but the dwarves, for Khuzdul is an incredibly guarded language that no dwarf uses without respect. It was obvious, however, that he was introducing the dwarflord.

The unveiling of the dwarf version of the Garden of Eden was just such an occasion that the holy, ancient tongue would be used. It was evident, as chanting and singing and noises of jubilation erupted from the thousands of dwarves who had made it to Moria already, that it was some sort of dedication ceremony, mixed with celebration as it was revealed.

As it came to a close, a certain chant grew louder and louder and louder, evidently the end of the opening ceremony. "Azaghal! Gabiluzbad Khazâddumu! Azaghal! Gabiluzbad Khazâddumu!" The chant was song by countless millions of dwarves across the Domain, glued to the screens that showed Lord Azaghal III Nardukher, Mightiest of Dwarves, displayed in all his imperial glory.

The self-proclaimed Gabiluzbad of Barâk-dûm (Great Lord of the Halls of Axes, literally), looked the part in his role as Lord of the Dwarves. Red, black, gold, and silver hues meshed together perfectly in his cloak, trousers, cape, and armor, yet he stood completely devoid of weapons. He stood a [towering] five foot four feet tall, easily the tallest dwarf ever heard of. His charchoal black beard was not braided, nor tied with bows or anything, it hung down completely straight and without ornament. His eyes blazed the color of flame that made his family famous, and his in particular were lit by a fire that shown in no others eyes. He looked every bit the equal or better of Lord Dao Yorinaga, his nominal feudal suzerain above the surface, and their wits were evenly matched as well. The Gabiluzbad was renowned among dwarves not only as imposing but as wise, and, particularly, clever.

This then, was the first the international community had ever seen of the Lord of Barâk-dûm, Azaghal Nardukher, Lord of the Dwarves. He set foot, looking incredibly regal, on Khazâd-dûm's shores, took one look around, and began speaking, again, in the Khuzdul tongue. The speech was emboldening, clearly passionate, and by the time he had done with the fiery speech, the laborers around were crying aloud with enthusiasm. He waved them off, and at once, a swarm of lightly armed militia-laborers descended into the land Formerly Known As the Black Pit with vigor.

Several hundred stayed behind, and got to work on the construction of twin monuments, one of Khalinikhâs, the rediscoverer of Moria, and the other of Azaghal Nardukher himself, the lord under whose authority the discovery had been made. Naturally, they were to be plated in gold and mithril and silver, magnificently huge, and, to say the very least, very well-guarded.

Disciples, the Army of the Surface-Dwellers, there on the orders of Yorinaga, milled about the construction site specifically, and the island generally, forming somewhat loose perimeters about important sites, generally overseers. Above, aerospace fighters zoomed around in case any detractors got it into their head to strike the Dwarven kingdom.

Inside Khazâd-dûm, the picture was only a little less rosy. There were still orcs to be weeded out, but this the dwarves dove into with reckless abandon, all-too-willing to avenge countless long-since committed grievances, pouring out frustration that had been building up since the original Khazo-Rukhsul War, singing grimly celebrational hyms of battle and gunning down stray Orcs. In the midst of them was Khalinikhâs, directing rubble-clearing efforts, directing other directors. His time was spent between watching the excavation of the original Chamber of Mazarbul, and overseeing the other efforts. Already deeper and deeper levels were being penetrated by explorers, as dwarfpower increased and more dwarves poured in.

Zion was reclaimed.

Relics remained in Moria. Relics carved of stone and worked by dwarven hands did not decay over time as those of other races did for they were worked by a race as old as the stone itself. In one portion of the city beneath the mountain the relics were the chambers themselves. Relics from an age when elf and man would come to Moria to trade and treat with the dwarves. Here men and elf once again walked while the hammer and chisel rang on stone in the depths.

Now however the hammer and chisel were at work again on the relics of the ages. Skilled hands worked not to remove the wrinkles of the ages but to add the innovations of the fifth age. Plumbing, electricity, communications, and more were installed as a section of the area was converted to an embassy. As the dwarves finished their work the human technicians went to work. Sweeps were conducted checking for hidden electronics though the future owners were not worried it. Routine was followed though and their own anti-snooping systems were installed in layer upon layer.

Not all the technology brought in by the humans was reserved for their use. In the depths black shapes still stalked the darkness padding about on velvet paws. They could go where the dwarves could not and there were many places damaged or collapsed by the long inhabitation of the orc. These they sought as well as other secrets concealled in the depths. What they found was faithfully reported back to their masters and strike teams again went forth to remove the orc from Moria.

Telchar Zirak was his name, a descendant of Gamil Zirak and a namesake of Telchar. From his very birth his name had given him the profession of smithworking, and it was his hammer that had brought life into the weapons of dwarves like Nilôzôr of the Barukzigil, Andvari and Azemilcar of Barazûn, and more works than one for Azaghal Nardukher himself, Lord of Barak-dûm. His ancestors had forged rivals to Gûlveig, the infernal long sword of Yorinaga, and down the line the Nogrod dwarves had made the first Necklace of the Dwarves. Let no one say the dwarves do not repay friendship, for by the hammer of Telchar gifts would be given for the two benefactors of the Khuzdul race. For Menelmacar two gifts, for Sunset a myriad. If tenfold repayment was asked, it would be given, but for now personal gifts to President Thorgardson and Elentari Sirithil nos Feanor would have to suffice.

First came the necklace to rival the great Nauglamir of his own race, and for this Telchar determined that his piece would surpass it in more ways than one. For this new Necklace of the Dwarves would be given in a show of utter friendship that would not result in accusations and war. Even Telchar could not replicate entirely the gleam of a Silmaril, but the dark flame-white jewel that would serve as the golden necklace's centerpiece seemed to radiate with a brilliant luminescence that could only remind one of the Two Trees. One could lose oneself in this necklace, for in that central jewel it seemed as if the forms of eagles soared through it's depths, flitting in and out of existence in flights that had no end. The golden necklace was alloyed perfectly in some places with mithril and silver to form a brilliant metal that shined around other completely perfect gems, all of them combining to radiate a glow like no other, enough to turn jealous heads among the highest of empresses. The perfected symmetry only accentuated the flawless diamond, emerald, ruby, sapphire, and onyx that adorned each side in a circle with the diamond in the center. The four were placed in a way to circle around the one diamond on each side, with the great jewel itself in the center, shining brilliantly, as a Silmaril or the light of Earendil would. This asthetic piece was pure gold except in places where it was alloyed with mithril or silver, and it the first of two gifts to the Elentari of Menelmacar for the discovery of the dwarven Eden. The runic Angerthas, it seemed, would only spoil the delicate interplay of gem and metal, so it was left unmarked for the time being. Feanorian characters, miniscule yet still there, spoke enchantments that squared the beauty of it upon an already beautiful form, and Telchar could not help but feel a piece of himself went with it. To Telchar especially it was a shard of Valinor.

The second item came as a slightly unusual request for the master smith, but unusuality was something he specialized in, and he always welcomed the change from the slightly mundane katanas and axes to outfit the cream of Liangite warriors. For this gift he relied also on his skill as a runemaster, for it was to be a staff, an implement fit for the greatest of Archmagi, as Sirithil nos Feanor could gladly claim fellowship to. At it's core and making up a minority of the staff's material was an incredibly rare sapient pearwood, which gave the staff a kind of intelligence of its own beyond what enchantments Sirithil herself might imbue on it. It would respond to every whim of Sirithil's will, changing it's shape or moving without the touch of a guiding hand. Around this thin inner core of sapient pearwood Telchar wove sheets of pure mithril in a manner similar to the technique Japanese and Liangite smiths had used to forge the incredibly hard and yet non-brittle blades. Hundreds of meticulously forged layers of mithril had to be tweaked exactly to make the staff diamond-hard and yet non-brittle. Then, of course, came the flexing of Telchar's own magical skills, for he prided himself on his runic abilities as well. Weaving patterns like divine winds over the staff came the runic magic that pushed it beyond non-brittle, beyond diamond-hard, and accentuated the unity which the staff could achieve with its master. Various enchantments lay on it, and any magic that a mage might perform with his hands could be magnified tenfold and channeled through the staff of power by the might of Telchar's runemaking. Spells of imperviousness to the ravages of time, rust, heat, cold, or hostile magical forces of many kinds perfected it as an intrument for the greatest of magic-users.

This, then, was the dual gift to the Noldorin Empire's Star-queen for her services to the dwarves, and a certain percentage of mithril would find it's way to the elven empire each year in addition.

And what of the Sunset president, who had guided them and aided them to the same extent? His request was even more unusual, for the adventurous Thorgardson had had his share of magical weaponry and artifacts. No, for President Thorgardson came a variety of alien woods, including the incredibly rare, incredibly valuable sapient pearwood, whose intelligence and, oddly enough, loyalty, was unmatched. It was left uncarved for now, but it was intrinsically magical and, rest assured, whatever might be formed from it would be a formidable object indeed. It would also be worth a small city. To this was added a guarantee of free trade and the special status Sunset were held in throughout the Domain. For some reason, this just didn't seem enough, and so a sort of unspoken I O U passed from Azaghal to Thorgardson, in case it need be utilized in future.

In the square, the huge monument to both Khalinikhas and Azaghal was coming along nicely, each of them striking a heroic pose in regal attire, with a altogether unecessary plaque at the bottom describing the achievements of both in discovery of Moria. Inside Moria itself, development continued at an alarming pace as transportation struggled to keep pace with immigration. To add to this excitement the Chamber of Mazarbul was nearing unearthment.

The angel's fiery sword had been stayed, and Eden had been rebirthed.

For the new Lords of Moria there were few gifts suitable: Little that interested them was difficult to obtain and what was difficult to obtain was often lost. The Men of Sunset had one ability that the Dwarf Lords did not yet have in full measure though and that, combined with one of the ancient past times of Kings, would be their gift. They could ply the stars and return after a time with the wealth of that distant world. They knew of many worlds and many species and from a hundred of these came a hundred different species. Species unseen and unknown to most were studied, gathered, and brought to Moria. The past time of Kinds was revived once again - the menagerie.