"Perfect, it's dark now! Brothers, move out! Look for anything glowing on the stone wall!" After a whole afternoon of searching, they had finally dragged the task into the arrival of night.
"Kids! Move out! We need to find the way home!" Balin rallied his utterly exhausted dwarven soldiers.
"Oh for heaven's sake... so you all spent the whole day just to wait for nighttime to find a door? Why didn't you rest this afternoon then?" The Smurf, staring at the not-so-bright humans and dwarves, delivered a soul-piercing question.
"Great question. Don't ask it again." Rynar's face twitched awkwardly. Clearly, banking on luck never ends well. He and Balin, stubborn in their optimism, had spent the afternoon literally licking the wall clean with no results.
"The moonlight will guide us home!" Balin looked up at the full moon with conviction.
"Oh, Dragon God above! If I'm not mistaken... I think we've found it!" came the surprised voice of Omsk.
Rynar rushed toward the voice. Under the moonlight, a gorgeous hidden door shimmered against the stone wall. Magical energy swirled through it, giving it an air of majesty and mystery.
"There are letters! Elvish script!" Caslow exclaimed, pointing to the top of the door.
"What does it say?" Balin gasped.
"It says: 'The Door of Durin, Lord of Moria. Speak, friend, and enter!' Looks like a riddle," Caslow translated.
"A Dwarven door with Elvish writing..." Omsk shook his head, puzzled.
"Balin, do you know the password?" Caslow turned to him.
"Uhh... uh... this..." Balin and Caslow stared at each other awkwardly.
"..." Caslow was completely speechless.
"What's the Elvish word for 'friend'?" Rynar shook his head. Time to step in. Luckily, he remembered this scene from The Lord of the Rings. Otherwise, it'd be embarrassing—leading over a thousand people only to get blocked by a giant door.
"Mellon?" Caslow said in Elvish.
Creeeaaak—
With an ancient, tooth-grinding groan, the gate slowly swung open.
"Oh Durin above! Beard be praised! We're home!" Balin's eyes brimmed with tears.
"Your Highness... how did you know the password?" Omsk and Caslow both looked at Rynar with astonishment. Rynar relished the moment—nothing beats the joy of showing off without trying.
"Everyone stay alert! We're about to enter a long-sealed city! Orcs and goblins could be lurking in any corner waiting to ambush us. And don't forget—the Balrog is still hiding in the dark. Stay sharp!" Rynar ordered.
"Got it. I'll take the lead!" Omsk nodded. As the group's tankiest member, even Caslow without his dragon couldn't beat his durability.
"Be careful!" Rynar gave a simple reminder. As a battle-hardened veteran, Omsk needed no micromanaging. The man could outlive everyone else here twice over.
"Welcome to the great Dwarven city! Allow me to grandly introduce this magnificent place..." Balin chattered non-stop beside Rynar, excitement practically pouring from his beard.
"Too bad we don't have any fine ale or juicy fall-off-the-bone roast meat to celebrate!" After a while, Balin sighed wistfully, smacking his lips.
"Oh really? You're thinking about food right now? I'm still worried about the damned goblins and orcs in here. They're like sewer rats—impossible to wipe out completely!" Rynar shook his head, bringing Balin out of his celebratory fantasies. Unlike dwarven banquets, Rynar was more concerned about the lurking threats. After all, both the films and the books depicted these creatures in overwhelming numbers.
"Shh! Silence!" Rynar suddenly spotted a Lothlorien ranger running up with clenched fists. It was the signal he'd taught them for incoming danger!
"What's going on?" Rynar asked in a low voice.
"There's a hall up ahead. It's massive. The pillars rise all the way to the ceiling—must be dozens of meters high. The space is enormous—easily tens of thousands of square meters!" reported the scout.
"Balin, your turn! Figure out where we are! Don't you dare say you don't know, or I swear I'll strangle you right here. You really don't know your own house?" Rynar hissed.
"Relax! Let me think... Ah! This should be near Hall Ten! Your scouts probably wandered right into it!" Thankfully, Balin hadn't let things get that dire—he still knew his way around.
"How do we proceed?" Rynar asked. Honestly, he had zero understanding of Moria's layout.
"The ten great halls are the main areas. We need to get to the Royal Hall behind Hall One. Once we control that, the rest is easy—easy to defend, easy to attack!" Balin explained.
"So we go through Hall Ten?" Rynar asked.
"No, no! We bypass it! Head to Hall Nine! From there, we cut through Hall Four to reach the Great Bridge. Once we cross it, we'll find the Royal Hall!" Balin corrected.
"Alright. We'll do it your way. Bypass it!" Rynar agreed without complaint.
"What's going on? Why's it getting noisy up there?" A sudden clamor erupted ahead.
"We startled some goblins! The soldiers are engaging them! Bad news is—they just keep coming, wave after wave! And worse—we've spotted a troll at the far end of the hall!" Omsk ran back, his armor splattered with goblin blood.
"Damn it! We woke them up after all..." Rynar shook his head. He'd hoped to avoid trouble, kill the Balrog, help the dwarves retake Moria, grab his pay and leave. Clearing out the orcs and goblins? That was dwarven business. But alas, things rarely go to plan...
"Kids, pick up your weapons! It's time to settle the score! These filthy beasts have been squatting here long enough! Now—it's their turn to leave!" Balin raised his axe and rallied his warriors. He hadn't even finished speaking before the dwarves went berserk at the sight of goblins. Like blood-fueled missiles, they charged in, colliding with the wiry goblins in a melee so brutal, it'd make saints weep and censors clutch their pearls. Definitely not child-friendly.
"My god! The dwarves have lost it! Are they biting now?!" Caslow looked on like he'd discovered a new species, watching one dwarf chomp into a goblin.
"Perfectly normal. If goblins had occupied Rapid River City for years, you'd be even worse," Omsk said flatly, glancing at the dwarves fighting for their home with a trace of sympathy.
"Yuck..." Just imagining himself biting a goblin, Caslow gagged on the spot.