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_ArthurDallas_ · Mon 23 Sep 2024, 00:13

The Moria Stories - The East Gate Of The Moria
A Solo Roleplaying Play Report - the One Ring RPG
By Arthur Dallas
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Characters

- Gorlakh (male) is an old Orc of the Misty Mountains. He is in charge of keeping watch over the East-gate of the Moria and the Dimrill Dale. Gorlakh is loyal (to a certain point) to Gorgol son of Bolg and Gorgol's lieutenant Malech One-Eye.
- Drolg (male) the first lieutenant of Gorlakh. He would like to cut Gorlakh's neck and takes his place as leader. Drolg is 100% loyal to Malech One-Eye.
- Thesha (female) is Gorlakh's loyal warrior. She is Gorlakh's second lieutenant. She is very impulsive and always prioritizes strength and attack.
- Pic (male) the Stone-Troll is Gorlakh's henchman. The grip of his authority. Pic listens only to Gorlakh. His function is to barricade the gate doors when necessary, brutally dismember Gorlakh's opponents, and guard the prisoner Eagle Padroval.
- Grug (male) an orc from Mordor tries to make contact with Gorlakh in order to bribe him with gifts. He wants to bring Gorlakh's allegiance to Mordor. Grug follows the orders of the Mordor Orcs of the Mountain Galleries. Gorlakh knows that the Dark Lord Sauron has returned. Gorlakh will align himself with the winning side.
- Tig (male) is a wild man. He has lost his speech except for a few words he utters to negotiate what he sells. Tig sells dwarven weapons found on the battlefield of Azanulbizar to orcs and merchants who pass by. Tig loves Eagles. He likes to see them soaring in the sky. He doesn't like that Gorlakh keeps an eagle prisoner in the East-gate.
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GORLAKH

As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, Gorlakh stirred from his slumber, his eyes snapping open with a practiced alertness. He lay on his pallet, surrounded by the familiar comforts of his lair on the second floor of the East Gate Entrance Hall. The door, barred and secured, was a testament to his caution; he knew that in the world of orcs, loyalty was a luxury few could afford. His two wolf-wargs, Axe and Blood, lay by his side, their eyes gleaming in the dim light as they watched him rise.
Gorlakh took a moment to feed his loyal companions, their growls and snarls a soothing accompaniment to his morning routine. Satisfied that they were content, he made his way down to the first floor, his footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls.
The lair of Pic, the Stone-Troll, was a cavernous space, the air thick with the stench of damp earth and mold. Pic, Gorlakh's henchman and the grip of his authority, stood guard, his massive frame looming over the prisoner, Padroval the Eagle. Gorlakh approached, his voice low and gravelly.
"How is our prisoner guest this morning, Pic?"
Pic's response was a low rumble, "He is still treating his arrow wound, Gorlakh."
Gorlakh nodded, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the Eagle. "Put some more brown ointment on him, and stay here to watch my room. I'll be back."
With a grunt, Pic nodded, his massive hands flexing as he reached for the ointment. Gorlakh turned, his gaze sweeping the great hall beyond the lair. Several orcs, busy with their morning tasks, caught his eye, their faces a mixture of fear and respect as they greeted him.
Gorlakh's stride was purposeful as he made his way back up to the guard post, the sound of clanging metal and murmured conversations growing louder with each step. Inside, several orcs slept, exhausted from the night's watch, while others busied themselves with their duties. Gorlakh's lieutenants, Drolg and Thesha, stood at attention, their eyes locked on their leader.
"Well, what is the situation this morning?" Gorlakh asked, his voice crisp.
Drolg, his first lieutenant, spoke up, his voice laced with a hint of resentment. "The night patrol brought back three wild Elks for dinner. The changeover has been made with the guard post in the old tower of Dimrill. Further reinforcements arrived during the night. We now have a total of 35 orc archers, 150 orc guards, and 5 orc drummers. We have let some Elves pass through the Dimrill stair again last night, Malech One-eye will not be happy."
Gorlakh's expression was unreadable, but his voice betrayed a hint of amusement. "It does not matter. The Red-Nails will take care of them in the citadel of Barazinbar, or it will be the orcs of Mordor in the mountain Galleries who will do it. Let's go feed the crows of the Dimrill Dale."
Thesha, his second lieutenant, nodded eagerly, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "I'll come with you, Gorlakh. I love watching those crows squabble over the scraps."
Gorlakh's smile was a thin, cruel line. "Very well, Thesha. Let us go pay our respects to the crows. They are, after all, our loyal spies and allies in this forsaken land."

THE CROWS

As the great gate of the East of Moria creaked open, Gorlakh and Thesha emerged into the bright morning light, their eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of danger. The air was crisp, with a hint of dew.
"Watch out for the two eagles, Thoradel and Taentirith," Gorlakh cautioned Thesha, his voice low and gravelly. "They are not very happy that we have captured their friend Padroval."
Thesha nodded, her hand on the hilt of her scimitar, her eyes scanning the skies. Gorlakh, meanwhile, reached into his pouch and produced a handful of rat eyes, which he offered to the crows gathered at his feet. The birds, their black feathers glistening in the sunlight, pecked at the offering, their beaks snapping with eager hunger.
The crows, Gorlakh's loyal spies and allies, had learned a few words in the Black Speech, and they often warned the orcs of approaching dangers. As Gorlakh fed them, they began to speak in the harsh, guttural tongue of Mordor.
"Shakab (eagle) ... shakab (eagle)," they croaked, their eyes glinting with a malevolent intelligence.
Gorlakh's head snapped up, his gaze following the crows' warning to the skies above. There, soaring in a surveillance flight, were the two eagles, Thoradel and Taentirith. Their wings beat powerful and slow, their eyes fixed on the orcs below.
Gorlakh and Thesha exchanged a wary glance, their hands instinctively reaching for their weapons. They wore hats to protect themselves from the sun, but even the shade offered little comfort against the piercing gaze of the eagles.
"Let's not stay outside too long," Gorlakh muttered, his voice barely audible over the cawing of the crows.
As they turned to re-enter Moria, a clumsy and skinny individual approached them, his gait awkward and unsteady. It was Tig, the scavenger, a wild man deformed by the years and hardly able to speak.
Tig's eyes, sunken and desperate, locked onto Gorlakh, and he spoke in a voice that was barely above a whisper. "Give you dwarf weapons... and you give me food."
Gorlakh's expression was unreadable, but his voice was tinged with a hint of curiosity. "Tig, you are hungry. Come on, we will talk inside."
With a nod, Tig followed Gorlakh and Thesha back into the darkness of Moria, the great gate creaking shut behind them, casting the outside world into shadow. As they disappeared into the depths of the fortress, the crows watched, their black eyes glinting with a knowing intelligence, their harsh cries echoing through the stillness of the morning.

TIG

As Gorlakh, Thesha, and Tig entered the great hall, the aroma of the three roasting wild elks wafted through the air, enticing the senses and stirring the stomachs of the gathered orcs. The hall was abuzz with activity, several orcs busily tending to their tasks, while others lounged about, awaiting the day's main meal.
Tig, his eyes fixed on the buffet, hastened towards it, his hands grasping for whatever food he could find. Drolg, Gorlakh's lieutenant, approached Gorlakh, his expression serious.
"Gorlakh, we need to coordinate the patrols in the area." Gorlakh nodded, his attention divided between Drolg and the commotion brewing near the buffet. Pic, the Stone-Troll, lumbered into the hall, his massive frame drawing the attention of the orcs.
Meanwhile, Gloreg, a young and impetuous orc, stood up, his voice ringing out across the hall. "More wild elk! I only eat dwarf heads. I don't want any of your wild elk."
Thesha, the 2nd lieutenant, stepped forward, her voice firm and authoritative. "Shut your mouths and eat what's there. Otherwise, we'll feed you to Pic." Gloreg, undaunted, sneered at Thesha. "I make a mouthful of Pic."
Pic, his eyes fixed on Gloreg, lumbered forward, his massive hands closing around the young orc's waist. With a swift and brutal motion, Pic dismembered Gloreg, the sound of snapping bones and screams echoing through the hall.
The orcs present, chastened by the display of Pic's power, returned to their goblets of Orc Draught, the invigorating drink used by orcs, and no longer raised their voices.
As the commotion died down, Tig, seeing the open door of Pic's lair, seized the opportunity to slip inside unnoticed. He advanced, his eyes adjusting to the dim light, and came face to face with the eagle Padroval. Their eyes met, and Tig smiled, his voice barely above a whisper.
"You are beautiful. You should not be here. I would like to see you fly in the sky. I like eagles."
Tig reached out, his hand stroking the eagle's feathers, and to his surprise, Padroval seemed to understand him, letting him touch him without flinching.
"Free me," Padroval said, his voice low and persuasive, "and I will give you a gift."
Tig, entranced by the eagle's words, removed Padroval's chains, and the eagle was free. However, there was one last problem for Padroval to overcome: escaping the great hall and reaching the East Gate.
Padroval's eyes locked onto Tig, and he spoke, his voice weaving a subtle spell of persuasion. "Go start a fire in the west corridors, and you will get a reward."
Tig, as if pushed by an internal force, left the room, his feet carrying him towards the corridors with a sense of purpose he couldn't quite explain. The eagle's words seemed to have awakened a deep-seated desire within him, driving him to act without question or hesitation.

THE ESCAPE

Suddenly, a deep, resonating thud shakes the doors of the East Gate. Gorlakh’s crooked ears twitch. Another BOOM follows, as if something immense hammers against the door. An orc guard stumbles forward, panting as he approaches Gorlakh. "It's the other eagles, Doorwarden," he gasps, pointing back toward the gate. "They’re banging on the doors with their heads!"
Gorlakh narrows his eyes, his jagged teeth grinding together. Before he can respond, another shout echoes from the west. "Fire! There's a fire in the provisions of the west corridor!" The panic ripples through the Orcs, a wild confusion spreading across the ranks. "Thesha!" Gorlakh barks.
Thesha, Gorlakh’s second lieutenant, already strides into the fray, her eyes gleaming with fierce energy. "Everyone hold your ground!" she shouts. "Get water from the cisterns, form lines, move now!"
Her voice slices through the chaos like a blade. Orcs scramble to obey, forming a ragged line toward the fire. Smoke begins to seep through the cracks in the walls.
"Drolg, take charge of the fire!" Gorlakh orders, his voice laced with urgency. Drolg, ever eager to prove his worth, leaps into action. He snarls at a group of Orcs to follow him. The first lieutenant heads toward the west corridor, already barking orders to smother the flames with wet hides.
Gorlakh turns to Pic, his massive Stone-Troll henchman who towers over the other orcs. "Pic, block the East Gate!" Gorlakh commands. Pic grunts in response and lumbers toward the door, his heavy footsteps shaking the ground. But before Pic reaches the gate, a shadow sweeps over the East-gate, darkening the ceiling for a brief moment.
Gorlakh looks up. "What in the name of Morgoth—"
A high-pitched screech fills the air as Padroval, the captured eagle, dives from the heights, crashing onto the two orc guards stationed at the gate. Their bodies are crushed beneath his talons, their cries cut short in a gruesome splatter of blood and bone. "Archers!" Gorlakh roars.
A handful of orcs grab their bows and let loose a volley of arrows. Padroval takes two arrows in the wing, but he fights on, slamming his massive beak against the doors of the gate, prying them open with sheer force. Blood trickles down his feathers, yet his eyes blaze with the fire of freedom.
Pic arrives, towering over the scene, but before he can slam the gate shut, Padroval pushes forward, his wounded wings flapping weakly. Above, the other two eagles, Thoradel and Taentirith, circle in the sky, screeching in defiance. In a swift dive, they swoop down to aid their brother.
With a final wrench, Padroval forces the doors wide enough to escape, his talons digging into the stone. Thoradel and Taentirith dive, catching their wounded comrade and helping him to rise into the air. The arrows whizz past, a few coming dangerously close, but the eagles are already soaring higher.
"No!" Gorlakh bellows. His rage boils over, his black eyes fixed on the fleeing eagles as they disappear into the gray sky. He turns with a snarl and glares at Pic, who stands dumbfounded at the gate.
"You idiot!" Gorlakh roars, and with all his fury, he strikes the Stone-Troll across the face with a violent slap. Pic stumbles back, lowering his head in shame.
"It's your fault, Pic," Gorlakh growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You let him go."
Pic says nothing, his massive shoulders hunched in submission. Gorlakh’s rage only intensifies. In a fit of fury, he unsheathes his jagged blade and decapitates two young orcs standing nearby. Their heads roll onto the stone floor, their bodies crumpling in a lifeless heap.
"Now Malech One-Eye is going to be very angry," Gorlakh mutters, his breath heavy with wrath. His eyes flicker to Drolg, who returns, having managed to control the fire. Drolg says nothing, sensing the danger in Gorlakh's simmering rage.
Gorlakh’s gaze shifts upward again, toward the sky, where the three eagles are now but distant specks. The wind howls through the gate, carrying with it the bitter truth. The eagles have escaped. And Malech will soon know.
In the background, we see Tig coming out of the East Gate with an innocent look and not really understanding what just happened. He runs off to catch a rabbit.

APPENDIX

The days following the eagle's escape are tense. Gorlakh broods atop the East-gate of Moria, his sharp eyes scanning the horizon for any signs of further trouble. The mountains surrounding the Dimrill Dale are eerily quiet, the wind howling through the peaks, carrying with it the scent of winter. The Orcs of the East Gate remain on edge, knowing that their master's temper is unpredictable after the recent debacle.
It is in this grim silence that one of Gorlakh’s guards approaches, his voice grating. “Doorwarden, there's a visitor approaching from the Dimrill Stair.” Gorlakh turns his gaze towards the guard, his lip curling. “What now?” “It’s an Orc from Mordor. Says he wants to parley.”
Gorlakh’s eyes narrow. The Orcs of Mordor have become bolder lately, their whispers of Sauron’s return growing louder. With a slow, deliberate movement, Gorlakh descends from his post, his ragged cloak dragging across the stone. He emerges from the gate, and the iron doors creak open behind him. Two guards stand flanking the entrance, their bows ready but lowered.
Gorlakh steps out, his wide-brimmed hat shading him from the cruel daylight. Across the uneven, rocky ground stands an Orc from the Mountain Galleries. His armor is dark and weathered, his eyes gleaming with a cold, calculated ambition.
The Mordor Orc steps forward. “I am Grug,” he says, his voice raspy but firm. “I come from the Mountain Galleries to talk with you.”
Gorlakh stands still, his gaze unwavering, hands resting near his belt where a cruel knife hangs. “Speak, then, Grug. What business does Mordor have here?”
Grug gives a low, guttural laugh, as though savoring the tension. “We know of your allegiance,” he begins, his voice cutting through the mountain air like a blade. “You are loyal to Gorgol, son of Bolg, and to his lieutenant, Malech One-Eye. A wise choice... up until now.” Gorlakh’s lips twitch at the corner, but he says nothing. He waits, his silence more dangerous than any words.
Grug steps closer, his tone becoming more insistent. “But surely you have felt it... the change in the air, the stirring of old powers. You must know it. The Dark Lord has returned.”
Gorlakh’s expression remains impassive, though his sharp mind weighs the words carefully. He has indeed heard the rumors, seen the signs. The Mordor Orcs growing in strength, the stirrings from the depths of Moria. Sauron. The name that makes even the most hardened Orcs shudder.
Grug’s voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper, his eyes locking with Gorlakh’s. “He asks for your support, Gorlakh. The Dark Lord needs soldiers, those who are willing to recognize his power. You can be part of this... part of something far greater than Gorgol’s pitiful dominion. Align yourself with Mordor, and you will be rewarded.”
Gorlakh lets out a low growl, his voice cold and firm. “I am loyal to Gorgol and Malech One-Eye,” he says, the official words rolling off his tongue with practiced ease. His eyes flick to the distant mountains. “And next time you come back here, we will put your head on a gibbet like the others there. That’s what Gorlakh says for all to hear.”
Grug’s smile falters for a moment, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. But then Gorlakh leans in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “But to you, Grug,” Gorlakh continues, his voice soft and serpentine, “I say this. I know how to recognize the winning side. Show me the strength and power of the Orcs of Mordor, and I will follow you.”
Grug’s smile returns, wider and more wicked than before. “Good. The Dark Lord is patient, but not forever. You will see the strength of Mordor soon enough.”
Without another word, Grug turns and begins his ascent toward the Dimrill Stair, his black cloak billowing behind him like a shadow fleeing the light. Gorlakh watches him go, his sharp mind already calculating his next move.
The wind howls again, and Gorlakh turns back toward the gate, his eyes glinting with the dark knowledge that the balance of power is shifting. And when it does, he will be ready.

END OF STORY

_ArthurDallas_ · Mon 23 Sep 2024, 00:22

Gunch95 · Sun 01 Jun 2025, 16:50

Very nice story

_ArthurDallas_ · Mon 02 Jun 2025, 21:13

Very nice story

...

thanks Gunch95, I'll try to make more stories (play reports) this summer ...

Arthur.

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