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 The Book of Mazarbul

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Azog
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Name: Kell
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PostSubject: The Book of Mazarbul   Mon May 09, 2011 10:22 pm

The Book of Mazarbul
Recorded from an ancient text discovered deep within a mountain range in Eastern Europe
By:
Nathaniel Battaglia
For:
A creative project assigned in the class:
“Literary Lessons from the Lord of the Rings”
Taught by Linda Trumbo

All information in the first section is purely factual, the rest is my own creation.


Here follows the account of the re-colonization of the great Dwarven city Khazad-dûm, as recorded by Ulf Spikefoot, son of Baldur of Dale, lore master to Balin, son of Fundin, in the year 2989, in the Third Age of Middle Earth. I shall begin by giving a short history of the place we are traveling to in hopes of rebuilding it to its former glory.
In the First Age of the world, Aulë, master smith to Ilûvatar, forged the race of Dwarves. He made seven of them, in the hopes that he might be able to relay his knowledge to them. However, Ilûvatar did not accept the creation as the firstborn of Ea, or Middle Earth. In sorrow, Aulë prepared to destroy what he had made. Ilûvatar, in mercy, decided to give Aulë’s children life. However, these Dwarves were not the children Ilûvatar had imagined, and so he put them to sleep inside the mountains. Long after the Elves were created, Durin I, who is called Deathless, awoke inside Mount Gundabad, as one of the Seven Fathers of our race. He traveled to the lake Mirrormere, at the roots of the mountain that is now called Caradhras in the Misty Mountains. There he founded the city which is called in our tongue Khazad-dûm, though the Men of the world call it Dwarrowdelf. Durin ruled his vast city for seemingly endless years, thereby earning the title Deathless, but in his latter days he finally succumbed to age and died near the end of the First Age of our world. He was succeeded by his descendants until the reign of Durin, being the sixth of that name, who ruled in the middle of the Third Age. In his days, the Dwarves had gathered to themselves much wealth, for they had withstood the assault of Sauron from without the mountains during what are now known as the Dark Years. But, becoming ambitious, the miners delved deep into the mountains in search of the rarest and most valued metal: mithril, or truesilver. There, in the darkness of the deep places, they unintentionally awoke a Balrog, fell servant of the Dark Lord Morgoth, who had fled from the mountain Thangorodrim when its evil fortress was destroyed and concealed itself in slumber in the bowels of the world. The terrible creature, wreathed at once in both flame and shadow, and wielding a burning sword, slew the king Durin, and a year later, his son Náin as well. The Terror became known as Durin’s Bane. At that time, Khazad-dûm fell and earned its Elvish name: Moria (“Dark Chasm”). They who escaped made their path to Erebor and served under Thráin I, Náin’s son, until 2589 when they were ravaged by war with the dragons of the Grey Mountains, and abandoned that area to wander. Once, they returned to Erebor under Thrór but were driven away again by Smaug the Golden (who later was slain by Bard of Esgaroth). Desolated and brought to madness by age, poverty, and grief, Thrór returned to Moria with only his companion Nár (from whom sprang Óin and Glóin, companions of Thorin Oakenshield on his quest against Smaug the Golden) and was murdered and beheaded there by the Orc-king Azog in 2790. Enraged by the slaughter of his father, Thráin gathered a host of Dwarves to himself from all the corners of the earth over the course of three years. All of Durin’s Folk mustered to support his descendant Thráin in the War of the Dwarves and the Orcs. Like a cleansing fire, burning out all uncleanness and impurity, this host religiously sacked and burned every Orc stronghold they discovered from Mount Gundabad to the Gladden, ever searching for Azog that they might return judgment on him. Finally, in Azanulbizar (also called Dimrill Dale) the combat climaxed, and Azog’s armies, outnumbering the Dwarves and with the bonus of elevation, seemed to have the upper hand. This final battle, known to the Elves as Nanduhirion, is known as the most terrible battle in history by loss of life on both the Dwarf and Orcish sides. Had the Dwarves of the Iron Hills not arrived fresh to reinforce, the battle may have been lost. They hewed their way through the ranks of the enemy to the very gates of Moria, where Náin son of Grór did battle with Azog himself, and was slain by him. Then at the gates, Azog engaged and was beheaded by the thirty-two year old stripling Dáin Ironfoot. The battle ended in pyrrhic victory for our people, but after it Durin’s Folk dispersed, their oath of vengeance being fulfilled, and not having the will to confront Durin’s Bane, which still lurked, a demon in its lair.
Now, in 2989 of the Third Age, Balin, son of Fundin has brought us together, one thousand of the Longbeard Clan plus our women and children, to retake our city and restore it to its former glory.

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We have now camped near the Dimrill gates of Khazad-dûm. We are all preparing our axes and armor for the expected (and hoped for) battle with the defiling Orcs that is to ensue upon our entrance. Balin has sent out scouts to reconnoiter the entrance to the mines and discern whether our entrance will be disputed or if we may enter safely. Let us hope for a light guard.
Our scouts have returned, bearing tidings of few Orcs stationed as sentries in the entranceway. We are all much relieved to hear this, as it would rend our hearts to attempt to batter down the Great Gates, skillfully crafted and scribed with many runes in all the languages of Middle Earth. We hoped to find the entrances unguarded, for this is the first expedition back to Khazad-dûm since its destruction in the time of Durin VI in T.A. 1980. Now, over a thousand years later, the Orcs infesting the site have become complacent and lazy in their undisputed rule, and they shall pay dearly for it.
We are now firmly entrenched inside the mines. We drove out Orcs from the Great Gate and guardroom. The battle was swift and decisive, a score of Orcs against a thousand Dwarves. However, further inside there was a company of them and we retreated out into the sunlight to better see our enemies, as we were not acclimatized to the darkness inside. We slew many in the bright sun in the dale. Flói was killed by an arrow. He slew the great half-troll captain who led the assault, and whose head now stands on a spear outside the Dimrill Gates and his underlings’ bodies burn on the plains. Before entering again we buried Flói under the grass near Mirrormere. Flói is the first casualty of this endeavor, and it reminds us all of the bitter cost we shall have to pay to take back our ancestral home. After the ceremony we entered the gates again and prepared to assault the hall.

More to come later... Just so I don't swamp the server... Hehe
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Elric

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PostSubject: Re: The Book of Mazarbul   Tue May 10, 2011 11:27 am

I don't know if we are suppossed to comment, but you can delete this anyways, admin.. Very good, I loook forward to reading more. I have not read about azogs demise in quite some time, but I am sure that the info will come in handy. On the whole... I look forward to reading more!
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Azog
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Name: Kell
Race: Korrallthian
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PostSubject: Re: The Book of Mazarbul   Wed May 11, 2011 1:55 am

We have taken the twenty-first hall of North End to dwell in. There is in the East side of the hall a shaft wherein is an elevator on pulleys (strangely still in useable condition) used for the transport of workers down into the mines, and ore up from there into the forges above where we are now. The wreckage we encountered wrenched our hearts with horror and instilled in us the hottest sense of revenge imaginable. The mummified bodies of our ancestors had been stripped of their armor and weapons and piled in a corner, unburied and uncared for. The sight of the defilement of our fathers transformed our company from conquerors and liberators into wrathful avengers. We swore an oath as we buried our forefathers’ remains: we would not lay down arms until all foul beings in Khazad-dûm had been destroyed, be they Orcs, Wargs, Trolls, or worse.
I do not think our presence has been realized by the horde at large. None of the Orcs we have encountered have escaped us alive. We hope to keep this situation as long as allowed, for once the host realizes an intruder is present, it will exert all its force to expel it. The twenty-first hall we are camped in is one of the larger in the city. Its ceiling is well over two hundred feet tall. The highest recesses stand far beyond the reach of our torches. In the days of old there were many skylights in this room that led out into the bright sun and provided light, but I suppose they have been covered by the Orcs to blot out the light. Balin sent out a group to clear away the rocks that covered the skylights and now the cavern is lit in day and we only need use fuel at night. The light, besides keeping our spirits up and saving us the bother of burning wood in day, will also help us if we have to fight again in this room, as Orcs are hesitant to fight in the light and are much weaker there than in darkness.

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The enemy now realizes our presence. Yesterday there was a sally by them into the nineteenth hall and as we beat it back, many more came into the twentieth. We repulsed this too at no great loss to ourselves: a few scratches, a broken leg and some splintered shields. I expect the fighting will become fiercer in the days to come, and these attacks were simply probes to determine our strength. The sound of metal grinding on stone echoes around me as four hundred ninety-nine of us put axe to whetstone and prepare to slay.
Battle has become very fierce, and we have lost twenty, but we are preparing to finish the conquest of this level. There are bands of Orcs holed up in several small chambers and some trying to ascend the stairs from the lower levels. We have barred the doors leading to the lower levels and into the Endless Stair to better deal with the threat on our own level. We have fashioned a ram to batter down the barricades. It pains us to do such a thing to the decorated doors crafted by our fathers, but it would pain us even more to fail in our quest and return to our homes vanquished and dishonored. At each successive lair we raided, we assuaged a small part of our lust for the death of those defilers. No mercy was given to us, and we showed none, for there is no mercy in our minds for Orcs, and they doubtless comprehend in their warped brains why we are here and what they have done to our people. Their broken bodies we will let lie on the floor, smashed and crushed until all are slain here.

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We have secured all the levels from the one where the Dimrill Gates stand to the highest peak. There will be respite for a few days as we prepare to storm downwards into the deeper places where there will be more Orcs, and possibly even Trolls. We must also be wary of Wargs, as we have not yet secured the Doors of Durin, and even though Wargs do not love being inside mountains, they are staunch allies of Orcs and very possibly will support them against us. We must post a guard at the Dimrill Gates to ensure that we will not be waylaid by a Warg assault from outside. Now will be the time for those whose chosen weapon is the Voulg (a Dwarven spear with a stout, jagged tip). They may skewer the Wargs on the ends of their pole arms at little cost to themselves.
In our attempt to secure the stairways to the lower levels, we neglected to secure the elevator. Last night the Orcs attempted to lower it down and by that way sneak through our camp and open the doors to the stairs to flood us in the night. Fortunately, one of the watch was stationed near the elevator, and hearing the rumble of the machine, alerted Balin. Some who had also woken were of the opinion that we should cut the ropes, but Balin finally decided that we may let them come up to us, as the elevator is not nearly large enough to support a dangerous force. As the elevator rose, we arrayed ourselves around the door with our blankets covering our axes. When they began to slither over the threshold, silent as a shadow, we sprang to our feet and charged them. We sent their heads back down the elevator in separate piles into the lower levels as a warning and omen of what is to come for the rest lurking below.

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Balin has set up his seat in the Chamber of Mazarbul, (Chamber of Records in the Common Tongue) and I am attendant to him there. Among the ruins there are many scrolls and books of old. Though they be damaged, I am delighted to pore over them and glean what knowledge I may. Balin hopes that we may find Durin’s Axe in our conquest. It is claimed that a part of Durin’s spirit rests upon the wielder of this weapon, but I am skeptical of such tales.
It is night, and the Orcs have some large creature battering at our barricades on the Endless Stair, probably a Troll of the caves. Balin has withdrawn some of our spears from the gate and stationed them on either side of the doorway to the Endless Stair, to sweep across and slay the troll with their long-reaching weapons.
As planned, when the doors were finally broken, the troll burst through the gap and met piercing spears on either side of him. This injured him so greatly, he charged through the midst of our company, mad with pain and dropped the tree trunk he had been using as a ram along the way. Several of our more courageous warriors hacked at his legs with their axes until he fell deep within our ranks to be finished off. At this, the host of Orcs that poured through the gap in the wake of the monster, seeing its demise, were astounded and fell into disarray, giving us the initiative to push them back through the doors at great loss to their numbers. The fight was going so well in fact that Balin ordered a sally down the Endless Stair to establish a foothold in the level below us. This we accomplished with relative ease, the Orcs still being dismayed at the swiftness with which we dispatched their champion. When we reached the landing leading out into the level below us however, we encountered a staunch defense, the Orcs having fallen back behind a cohort of hulking monsters, half-trolls who barred our progress with massive pikes with thick hafts and broad blades. This bristling wall checked our assault with casualties and we retreated back up the stairs in defeat, but also in victory, for we had slain a valuable Troll of the enemy. When we regrouped in the upper level, a messenger reached us from the Great Gates crying that there had been a massive assault on that location by Wargs and the

5
gates had been shut to ward it off. We were now cut off from retreat should something go wrong. It has also been reported that one of the Wargs wore a gold mail hauberk and helm, a highly unusual occurrence.

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There was today a wicked assault on the Endless Stair. We may have been lost had it not been for our lord Balin slaying the captain of the enemy. Forsaking his shield-bearers, he met with the chieftain shield-on-shield, and smote him to the ground with his bare fist. When the filth saw their leader stretched on the ground, they howled and retreated down the stairs yet again. We followed them more cautiously to find the same wall of half-trolls we had encountered yesterday. Today however, we were prepared. Through the door way we poured a withering hail of our stout and heavy arrows, felling many of the enemy. Under our oppression, they fell back enough for us to enter and form a line of battle. Our phalanx of Dwarves carrying Voulgs knelt and set up in front of our archers. The ceiling in the room soared high enough for us to get off a cross-room volley before they closed with us. The battle would have been much more grim had not we thinned their ranks of half-trolls with our archers. As it was, we steadily drove them back without much loss to ourselves. Among others, Volund and Hrothgar, two shield-bearers to Balin, fell to the enemy. We shall bury them with their shields and helms when we may.

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A week has passed, and we have expanded our holding on the lower level. I have finally been to the front of the battle and slain two. It is not customary for our Loremasters to be in the heat of battle, but today the fight was spread in three different rooms and the forces of both sides were stretched. In the end we retreated on two fronts, only pressing forward into a side hall where there is no other entrance that we may not be assaulted from that front as well.

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Our great leader was smitten in the battle today. A group of Orcs led by a captain broke through our line and engaged Balin and his guard. The captain bore him to the ground and beat at his head with the pommel of its sword. As Loremaster, I am always at his right hand and actually saved his life by slaying the Orc that struck him, and another besides! It is not normally the duty of Loremasters to fight, but when the king is challenged, we must defend him with our very lives. We have established a very strong hold on the lower level, and from the silence we think that they may have retreated to the next level down. But patience is the better part of valor. Our phalanx extends at a crawl through the halls as our vanguard, the better part of our army following behind, eagerly awaiting battle.
There is one final stronghold of the Orcs in Khazad-dûm. The ones who have not escaped are fortified behind the doors leading into the southern mine shafts. Our craftsmen have already begun reconstruction, beginning with the Dimrill Gates. They are being repaired and pitch is being prepared to fill the cracks in them. In a stroke of luck, some of our scouts in the upper levels returned bearing report of stores of iron unspoiled and even a small cache of blessed mithril! We promptly put the elevator to use ferrying down a sampling of it that we may fashion a capped ram and more easily batter down the enemy’s barricade. A few of the many forges of old are still in good condition, and we soon cleaned them out for use in molding the iron into a ram cap. Our small amount woodsmen, namely Sveinn of Dale and his younger brother Annar with their followers, sought out a massive tree and felled it, stripping it of what branches we could not use for handles, and drilling holes for stout poles to be inserted. Putting it to use, we battered down the doors and were immediately beset by Trolls. Several fell under the onslaught, and the Trolls pressed us back until we could form a battle line and give them a volley of arrows. Soon, after two or three hails of our arrows, the greater part of their force lay dead and the Trolls were bleeding from several gashes by our spears. Their blood hissed and steamed on the floor as it dripped from their bodies (Troll blood being black and quite hot, a defense against the cold dank tunnels they live in). Finally one succumbed to blood loss and the other was struck by a mighty blow from Óin, brother of Glóin. Our losses were severe; many had fallen in the Troll ambush, and we took them away to Dimrill Dale and buried them in the sun.
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