The Moria Stories - The Redhorn Pass And Red Nails
Posted: Mon 14 Oct 2024, 00:16
The Moria Stories - The Redhorn Pass And Red Nails
A Solo Roleplaying Play Report - the One Ring RPG
By Arthur Dallas
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Characters
- Ibin (male) dwarf is a treasure-hunter and he has a valiant heart. His betrothed Alfrigga is of the line of Durin but she will agree to marry Ibin only if he finds the family jewel Ring lost in Moria.
- Guldi (male) dwarf has obsessions that consume him. He wants to find as much treasure as possible from Moria. He poses as a guide to Moria and he has been hired by Ibian for the one third of the shares of the treasures found in Moria.
- Dori (male) dwarf is Ibin's nephew. He is keen to help his uncle in his quest for Moria and is always up for adventures. He is very enthusiastic.
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THE CAVE MOUTH
Ibin the dwarf of the Blue Mountains advances with determination through the Redhorn Pass. His boots crunch in the snow, each step steady despite the howling wind that sweeps down from the peaks, cutting through the thick furs wrapped around his sturdy frame. His breath forms mist in the freezing air, but he presses forward, his heart burning with purpose.
He grips his axe tightly, the weight of his mission heavier than the mountain storm. Alfrigga’s voice echoes in his mind: "Bring back the lost Ring of our family from Moria, and only then shall I marry you." He knew it had been said in jest—half a dare, half a challenge—but to Ibin, it was a promise. He would not return without the ring.
Behind him, Guldi trudges along, his steps more hesitant, his eyes flicking nervously between the snow-draped rocks and the treacherous ledges. His beard, long and unkempt, is coated with frost, and his once-proud posture is hunched as if the weight of years of obsession is pressing down on him. His claim of being a guide, an expert in Moria, feels increasingly questionable to Ibin. But for now, he trusts Guldi’s knowledge of the mountains.
Dori, Ibin’s nephew, bounds ahead with youthful energy. The storm doesn’t dampen his spirits; he laughs as he battles against the wind, his adventurous heart thrilled by the dangers around them.
“Uncle Ibin! We’re nearly there!” Dori shouts over the roar of the storm, his face lit with excitement, his cheeks flushed. “Once we reach Moria, the real treasure hunt begins!”
Ibin’s eyes narrow as he scans the jagged cliffs ahead. The storm grows fiercer with every passing moment, the snow whipping around them in thick sheets. They won’t make it far in this weather. Suddenly, something catches his eye—a dark shadow in the mountainside, almost hidden in the snowstorm.
“There!” Ibin calls, pointing towards the dark shape. “A cave mouth. We’ll take shelter from the storm there.”
Dori squints through the snow and grins. “It looks like a crevasse, Uncle! We’ll be able to protect ourselves from the wind, make a fire, and eat.”
Guldi lingers behind, eyes darting nervously. “Aye, it’s a good place to stop... but we should be cautious. We just passed the Scar of Celebrían,” he mutters, voice low. “Not far from the old Citadel of Barazinbar now. The stories say... well, they tell of white ghosts that dwell on this pass. An old woman, veiled in white...”
Ibin waves off the tales with a grunt, his eyes fixed on the cave. “I don’t believe in ghost stories, Guldi. They’re told to frighten children. We’ll make a fire and rest.”
Guldi’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head slightly. “Believe what you will, Ibin... but this pass is full of old, dark things. Evil things.” He doesn’t argue further, though, and they move towards the cave.
As they approach, the wind howls louder, as if warning them away. Snow piles high, and the crevasse yawns wide, the entrance black and cold like the mouth of some ancient beast. Ibin steps inside first, his axe at the ready, scanning the shadows. It’s dry within, though the air is sharp and thin, a smell of dust and old stone filling the space. The cave stretches deeper than expected, with the flickering hint of passages beyond.
“Here we’ll rest,” Ibin says firmly, dropping his pack and unslinging his axe. “Dori, gather some wood. Let’s make a fire.”
Dori nods eagerly, scampering to the cave’s mouth to find what little dry wood he can beneath the snow. Guldi lingers behind, staring into the depths of the cave with unease.
“I don’t like this place,” Guldi mutters under his breath, his fingers twitching nervously at the hilt of his sword. “Too close to the old haunts... too close to the things that should stay buried.”
Ibin crouches, pulling out a flint and striking sparks. “Fear will do us no good here, Guldi. We’ve got a long journey ahead, and this storm could last for hours. Best we make ourselves comfortable.”
As the fire flickers to life, the cave walls glow with a soft orange hue, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. The warmth of the flames brings some comfort, but there’s an odd feeling in the air, something unspoken lingering between the three dwarves.
Dori returns with a bundle of wood, tossing it onto the fire with a grin. “There! Now we’ve got heat, and once the storm passes, we’ll push on. Nothing can stop us, Uncle!”
But Guldi doesn’t share Dori’s enthusiasm. His eyes remain fixed on the cave’s depths, where the firelight fades into darkness. “There are things in these mountains that hunger for the blood of dwarves,” he mutters darkly. “We may not be alone here.”
Ibin rises, staring into the shadows with steely determination. “If there are things that lurk in the dark, let them come. I have faced worse than shadows and snowstorms.” He grips his axe firmly, ready for whatever lies ahead. But even as he speaks, the storm outside howls louder, and a faint sound echoes through the cave—the wind, perhaps... or something else, deeper within the mountain.
The three dwarves settle in for the night, but none of them sleep easy. Outside, the storm rages on, and the wind carries with it whispers of ancient, forgotten things. In the depths of the Redhorn Pass, the mountain waits.
ORCS
Dori stirs in his sleep, his breath shallow as a dream takes hold of him. In his mind's eye, the blizzard outside fades away, and the jagged peaks of the Redhorn Pass are bathed in an ethereal light. A soft melody fills the air—haunting, like the last notes of a song long forgotten.
A woman appears before him, an Elf of exquisite beauty. Her hair is silver like moonlight, cascading down her shoulders, and her eyes—deep, sad, and filled with pain—gaze at him as if seeing through the ages. She wears a shimmering cloak, pale as the snow, but her steps are slow, burdened. Orcs are upon her, crude and snarling, surrounding her in the pass. Dori watches, helpless, as the Elf woman fights them off with grace, her sword flashing in the dim light. But her wounds slow her, and sorrow is etched into every movement.
Suddenly, the scene shifts. The Elf woman is no longer in the pass. She stands at the edge of the sea, gazing toward the distant horizon, where the light of the east glows faintly. She steps aboard a ship, tall and elegant, the sails gleaming silver, and as it sets off towards the horizon, her gaze lingers on Dori, filled with unspeakable sorrow.
Dori’s heart aches as she disappears into the light, leaving him behind, and the sound of the waves fades into the cold wind of the Redhorn Pass.
He jolts awake, his chest heaving as if he had run a great distance. The cave is still, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant howl of the storm outside.
“You talk in your sleep,” Guldi’s rough voice breaks the silence. He’s sitting by the fire, his eyes glinting in the flickering light, staring at Dori. “Dreamed of the Elf woman, didn’t you?”
Dori blinks, still shaking off the remnants of the dream. “How... how could you know that?” he asks, bewildered.
Guldi’s expression is grim, his voice low. “Everyone dreams of her when we stop here. Celebrian, the wife of Elrond. She crossed this very pass, long ago, and the orcs waylaid her. They wounded her so deeply, she couldn’t endure Middle-earth anymore. She sailed to the Undying Lands in the east... to find rest.” Guldi's eyes shift to the fire. "Her pain lingers here, in this cursed pass."
Dori swallows hard, remembering the sadness in her eyes. “She was so beautiful… and so full of sorrow.”
“Quiet, both of you,” Ibin growls, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s crouched near the entrance of the cave, eyes sharp and alert. “There are people at the cave mouth… advancing this way.”
Dori’s heart leaps, and Guldi stiffens. Ibin quickly moves toward the fire, trying to smother the flames with his cloak. But he’s too late.
The sound of heavy boots crunching and the guttural voices of orcs fill the air.
“Well, well,” one of the orcs sneers, stepping in with a twisted grin. “Dwarves over here. Dirty little dwarves… we’ll take away their desire to come and bother us.”
The second orc, larger and more brutish, steps forward, a heavy chest clutched in his thick arms. He heaves it onto the ground with a thud, smirking at the three dwarves.
“Look what we’ve found!” the orc says, his voice full of malice. “What do you suppose is in the chest, eh? Perhaps something your kind will never see.” He spits on the ground, pulling a rusted blade from his belt. “We’ll see if you live long enough to care.”
Ibin stands tall, his axe at the ready, his face a mask of defiance. “We don’t want your chest, orc. Leave us, and there’ll be no bloodshed.”
The orcs laugh, their yellowed teeth glinting in the firelight. “Bloodshed? Oh, there will be bloodshed, dwarf. Yours!”
But before the orcs can advance, a cold wind sweeps through the cave, carrying with it a feeling of dread. The fire flickers violently, and then dims, as if the very warmth of the flames is being drained away.
Out of the shadows at the cave’s mouth, a figure appears. Pale as death itself, she moves with an eerie grace. Her skin is corpse-white, her long hair falling like brittle strands of frost down her back. She is dressed all in white, her robe flowing around her like mist. But the most striking feature is her hands—long, claw-like nails stained red as blood.
Dori gasps, recognizing the figure from the stories. “Red-Nails…” he whispers.
The orcs freeze in their tracks, eyes wide with fear as the spectral woman floats toward them. Her voice is a chilling whisper, like the rustle of dead leaves in the wind.
“What do you have to offer for your passage?” Red-Nails asks, her blood-red claws gleaming in the dim light.
The orcs stumble back, their bravado crumbling. “We… we brought treasure,” one of them stammers, gesturing toward the chest. “It’s yours, take it! Just… just let us go!”
Red-Nails tilts her head, her eyes cold and empty. “Treasure?” she murmurs, as though the word holds no meaning to her. She drifts closer, her presence suffocating, the air growing colder still. “I do not want treasure. I want your lives.”
The orcs scream in terror, dropping the chest and scrambling to flee. But Red-Nails moves faster than a shadow. Her bloodied claws lash out, and the orcs fall, lifeless, their bodies crumpling to the ground.
Ibin, Dori, and Guldi stand frozen, watching in horror as Red-Nails turns her gaze upon them. Her voice, icy and detached, fills the cave.
“And what do you have to offer for your passage?” she asks, her long nails dripping with the blood of the fallen orcs.
Ibin steps forward, his axe raised, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. “We have nothing to offer but our strength and our honor. If you want a fight, you’ll have one.” Red-Nails watches him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
RED-NAILS
Ibin takes a log of burning wood and he raises it in front of Red-Nails. Red-Nails makes a shrill cry. In a very fast movement, Red-Nails takes Dori in his arms as if he were a light bag and she goes back into the depths of her cave mouth.
In the depths of the cave, the shrill cry of Red-Nails still echoes in Ibin's ears as she vanishes with Dori in her grasp. His nephew’s panicked scream fades into the dark maw of the cave, leaving Ibin and Guldi standing in shock. The two orcs, cut down moments earlier, lie motionless in their own blood, their twisted forms a gruesome sight.
Guldi, always drawn to treasure, rushes toward the chest the orcs carried and eagerly throws open the lid. His eyes widen at the gleam of gold and silver inside—rings, jewels, and elven weapons glitter in the dim light.
"You’ll be able to bring a ring to your betrothed," Guldi says, a greedy grin spreading across his face. Ibin, still reeling from Dori's abduction, snaps, "Drop that treasure, Guldi. We have to go after Dori!"
Guldi’s expression darkens, his grip on a handful of gold tightening. "You’re mad! I’m not getting myself killed for him. He’s gone! Let’s take this and leave while we can."
In a swift motion, Ibin grabs Guldi by the collar, lifting him from the ground with surprising strength. His eyes burn with fury. "You’re going to help me save him. We’ll leave with the treasure if that’s what it takes, but not without Dori. Now move!"
Reluctantly, Guldi nods, his gaze flicking between the treasure and Ibin’s unrelenting eyes. The two dwarves plunge deeper into the cave, leaving the bloodied remains of the orcs and their treasure behind. The tunnel winds steeply downward, the air growing colder and the shadows thicker.
As they advance, Guldi mutters under his breath, "You want the treasure for yourself, don’t you? You’re leading me into a trap. You’ll leave me for dead and take it all." Ibin halts abruptly and turns to face him, his voice low and deadly serious. "What are you talking about, Guldi? This is about Dori, my blood. We save him, or we die trying."
Before Guldi can respond, they step out onto a vast, eerie platform. Pale sheets of fabric hang from the ceiling, fluttering slightly as if disturbed by unseen winds. The cave feels unnaturally still, and the faint scent of decay fills the air. Scattered across the platform are the bodies of travelers, their flesh rotted away long ago, leaving only bones and torn clothes.
In the center of the platform lies Dori, his face pale but alive. Red-Nails looms over him, her corpse-pale skin glistening in the dim light. Her blood-red nails curve like claws, and as she notices their approach, her face twists into a mocking smile.
"Ah! You’ve come to offer yourselves to me," she says, her voice echoing through the chamber like a deathly wail. Ibin stands his ground, his voice steady. "We’ve come to take back our friend. Let him go."
Red-Nails lets out a chilling laugh, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "And what will you offer in return?"
Ibin hesitates, searching for words, then drops to one knee. "I’m on this journey for love," he says, his voice quieter now but filled with sincerity. "I want to marry a woman, Alfrigga of Durin's line. But she will not have me unless I bring her the family ring—the ring lost in Moria."
At the mention of the ring, Red-Nails' eyes widen with surprise. She steps closer, her pale face inches from Ibin’s. "The Ring of Durin III? The Ring of Thrór? Thráin II's ring?" Her voice takes on an edge of dark curiosity. "Those are dangerous rings, Dwarf. Are you sure you want to find it?" Ibin lowers his head, his voice filled with determination. "Yes. For love, I must find it."
Red-Nails stares at him in silence, her gaze piercing. Then, something shifts in her expression—something almost human, a flicker of recognition. "For love…" she whispers, her voice softer now, almost sad. "Very well. I will let you go. But I shall not let you leave empty-handed."
With a slow, deliberate motion, Red-Nails reaches into the folds of her white robe and produces a ring. It glimmers with an ancient power, its band silver and set with a brilliant blue emerald—the Ring of Durin III. She extends her hand and offers it to Ibin.
Ibin, in disbelief, reaches out and takes the ring from her cold, bony fingers. He stares down at the treasure he has sought for so long, his breath catching in his throat. "You... you’re giving this to me?"
Red-Nails nods, her pale lips curling into a thin smile. "For love," she repeats, her voice barely a whisper.
Dori stirs on the ground, groaning as he wakes. He scrambles to his feet and rushes to Ibin’s side, casting fearful glances at Red-Nails. Guldi stands frozen, torn between fear and greed as he watches the exchange.
"Go," Red-Nails says, her voice sharp and commanding now. "Take the ring. But beware, Dwarf. Love is as dangerous as any cursed treasure."
GULDI
Rage boils up inside Guldi. He had seen enough — the stolen treasure, the ancient ring, the twisted figure before him — and the weight of his obsession breaks him. "Red-Nails!" he snarls, gripping his axe tightly, his voice trembling with anger. "You stole this ring from Moria! How much treasure have you plundered from our ancestors?! You will pay for this!"
With a mighty roar, Guldi charges at the Red-Nails, his axe gleaming. But Red-Nails, quick as a shadow, effortlessly dodges his swing. In a blur of motion, she grabs him with her red talons and with terrifying ease, rips through him. Guldi gasps, blood pouring from the deep wounds, and he falls lifeless to the ground, his obsessions dying with him.
Ibin and Dori stare in shock, unable to move. Red-Nails slowly turns to them, her once-satisfied expression now contorted into a savage fury. "Finally, love is not enough," she hisses, her voice dripping with malice. "You will perish too." She advances toward them, her long, blood-red nails gleaming.
Ibin’s heart pounds in his chest, his mind racing for a plan. As Red-Nails closes in, he fumbles in his pockets, his fingers grazing something sharp and familiar — his fire rocks. He pulls them out swiftly. With a frantic motion, he strikes them together, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air. The dry, white sheets hanging around the cave catch instantly, roaring to life in a blaze of flame.
Red-Nails stops, her eyes widening in terror. The fire spreads quickly, leaping from sheet to sheet, engulfing the entire platform. She lets out a shrill, furious scream, her pale skin recoiling from the flames. "No! No!" she shrieks, stumbling backward, fear overcoming her unnatural strength.
"Now, Dori!" Ibin shouts, grabbing his nephew’s arm. "We must go!" The two dwarves sprint toward the cave’s exit, the heat of the fire licking at their backs as they flee. Red-Nails, snarling and cursing in rage, retreats into the deeper recesses of the cave, consumed by her fear of the flames. The fire roars behind them, a wall of burning white sheets that lights their path.
Ibin and Dori scramble through the narrow cave entrance, emerging into the cold night air. The storm is still raging, snow and wind biting at their skin, but the fire’s light glows faintly behind them, casting long, dancing shadows onto the snowy mountainside.
Panting and exhausted, Ibin looks back one last time at the cave. "She won’t follow us now," he mutters, his voice thick with relief. Dori nods, still shaken from the encounter, his eyes wide. "That was too close, Uncle. Far too close." Ibin places a hand on Dori’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. "Aye, lad. But we’re alive. That’s all that matters."
They stand there for a moment, catching their breath in the freezing cold. The howling wind carries away the last remnants of Guldi’s life, and for a moment, the weight of their loss sits heavily on them both. But there is no time for mourning now.
"Let’s go back home," Ibin says quietly, his voice steady despite the storm. "There’s nothing more for us here." The two dwarves turn away from the burning cave, trudging through the thick snow, heading back towards Tharbad and the Blue Mountains. The firelight behind them fades into the distance as they press on, toward the uncertain future and the long road ahead.
END OF STORY
A Solo Roleplaying Play Report - the One Ring RPG
By Arthur Dallas
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Characters
- Ibin (male) dwarf is a treasure-hunter and he has a valiant heart. His betrothed Alfrigga is of the line of Durin but she will agree to marry Ibin only if he finds the family jewel Ring lost in Moria.
- Guldi (male) dwarf has obsessions that consume him. He wants to find as much treasure as possible from Moria. He poses as a guide to Moria and he has been hired by Ibian for the one third of the shares of the treasures found in Moria.
- Dori (male) dwarf is Ibin's nephew. He is keen to help his uncle in his quest for Moria and is always up for adventures. He is very enthusiastic.
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THE CAVE MOUTH
Ibin the dwarf of the Blue Mountains advances with determination through the Redhorn Pass. His boots crunch in the snow, each step steady despite the howling wind that sweeps down from the peaks, cutting through the thick furs wrapped around his sturdy frame. His breath forms mist in the freezing air, but he presses forward, his heart burning with purpose.
He grips his axe tightly, the weight of his mission heavier than the mountain storm. Alfrigga’s voice echoes in his mind: "Bring back the lost Ring of our family from Moria, and only then shall I marry you." He knew it had been said in jest—half a dare, half a challenge—but to Ibin, it was a promise. He would not return without the ring.
Behind him, Guldi trudges along, his steps more hesitant, his eyes flicking nervously between the snow-draped rocks and the treacherous ledges. His beard, long and unkempt, is coated with frost, and his once-proud posture is hunched as if the weight of years of obsession is pressing down on him. His claim of being a guide, an expert in Moria, feels increasingly questionable to Ibin. But for now, he trusts Guldi’s knowledge of the mountains.
Dori, Ibin’s nephew, bounds ahead with youthful energy. The storm doesn’t dampen his spirits; he laughs as he battles against the wind, his adventurous heart thrilled by the dangers around them.
“Uncle Ibin! We’re nearly there!” Dori shouts over the roar of the storm, his face lit with excitement, his cheeks flushed. “Once we reach Moria, the real treasure hunt begins!”
Ibin’s eyes narrow as he scans the jagged cliffs ahead. The storm grows fiercer with every passing moment, the snow whipping around them in thick sheets. They won’t make it far in this weather. Suddenly, something catches his eye—a dark shadow in the mountainside, almost hidden in the snowstorm.
“There!” Ibin calls, pointing towards the dark shape. “A cave mouth. We’ll take shelter from the storm there.”
Dori squints through the snow and grins. “It looks like a crevasse, Uncle! We’ll be able to protect ourselves from the wind, make a fire, and eat.”
Guldi lingers behind, eyes darting nervously. “Aye, it’s a good place to stop... but we should be cautious. We just passed the Scar of Celebrían,” he mutters, voice low. “Not far from the old Citadel of Barazinbar now. The stories say... well, they tell of white ghosts that dwell on this pass. An old woman, veiled in white...”
Ibin waves off the tales with a grunt, his eyes fixed on the cave. “I don’t believe in ghost stories, Guldi. They’re told to frighten children. We’ll make a fire and rest.”
Guldi’s eyes darken, and he shakes his head slightly. “Believe what you will, Ibin... but this pass is full of old, dark things. Evil things.” He doesn’t argue further, though, and they move towards the cave.
As they approach, the wind howls louder, as if warning them away. Snow piles high, and the crevasse yawns wide, the entrance black and cold like the mouth of some ancient beast. Ibin steps inside first, his axe at the ready, scanning the shadows. It’s dry within, though the air is sharp and thin, a smell of dust and old stone filling the space. The cave stretches deeper than expected, with the flickering hint of passages beyond.
“Here we’ll rest,” Ibin says firmly, dropping his pack and unslinging his axe. “Dori, gather some wood. Let’s make a fire.”
Dori nods eagerly, scampering to the cave’s mouth to find what little dry wood he can beneath the snow. Guldi lingers behind, staring into the depths of the cave with unease.
“I don’t like this place,” Guldi mutters under his breath, his fingers twitching nervously at the hilt of his sword. “Too close to the old haunts... too close to the things that should stay buried.”
Ibin crouches, pulling out a flint and striking sparks. “Fear will do us no good here, Guldi. We’ve got a long journey ahead, and this storm could last for hours. Best we make ourselves comfortable.”
As the fire flickers to life, the cave walls glow with a soft orange hue, casting long shadows that dance like restless spirits. The warmth of the flames brings some comfort, but there’s an odd feeling in the air, something unspoken lingering between the three dwarves.
Dori returns with a bundle of wood, tossing it onto the fire with a grin. “There! Now we’ve got heat, and once the storm passes, we’ll push on. Nothing can stop us, Uncle!”
But Guldi doesn’t share Dori’s enthusiasm. His eyes remain fixed on the cave’s depths, where the firelight fades into darkness. “There are things in these mountains that hunger for the blood of dwarves,” he mutters darkly. “We may not be alone here.”
Ibin rises, staring into the shadows with steely determination. “If there are things that lurk in the dark, let them come. I have faced worse than shadows and snowstorms.” He grips his axe firmly, ready for whatever lies ahead. But even as he speaks, the storm outside howls louder, and a faint sound echoes through the cave—the wind, perhaps... or something else, deeper within the mountain.
The three dwarves settle in for the night, but none of them sleep easy. Outside, the storm rages on, and the wind carries with it whispers of ancient, forgotten things. In the depths of the Redhorn Pass, the mountain waits.
ORCS
Dori stirs in his sleep, his breath shallow as a dream takes hold of him. In his mind's eye, the blizzard outside fades away, and the jagged peaks of the Redhorn Pass are bathed in an ethereal light. A soft melody fills the air—haunting, like the last notes of a song long forgotten.
A woman appears before him, an Elf of exquisite beauty. Her hair is silver like moonlight, cascading down her shoulders, and her eyes—deep, sad, and filled with pain—gaze at him as if seeing through the ages. She wears a shimmering cloak, pale as the snow, but her steps are slow, burdened. Orcs are upon her, crude and snarling, surrounding her in the pass. Dori watches, helpless, as the Elf woman fights them off with grace, her sword flashing in the dim light. But her wounds slow her, and sorrow is etched into every movement.
Suddenly, the scene shifts. The Elf woman is no longer in the pass. She stands at the edge of the sea, gazing toward the distant horizon, where the light of the east glows faintly. She steps aboard a ship, tall and elegant, the sails gleaming silver, and as it sets off towards the horizon, her gaze lingers on Dori, filled with unspeakable sorrow.
Dori’s heart aches as she disappears into the light, leaving him behind, and the sound of the waves fades into the cold wind of the Redhorn Pass.
He jolts awake, his chest heaving as if he had run a great distance. The cave is still, save for the crackling of the fire and the distant howl of the storm outside.
“You talk in your sleep,” Guldi’s rough voice breaks the silence. He’s sitting by the fire, his eyes glinting in the flickering light, staring at Dori. “Dreamed of the Elf woman, didn’t you?”
Dori blinks, still shaking off the remnants of the dream. “How... how could you know that?” he asks, bewildered.
Guldi’s expression is grim, his voice low. “Everyone dreams of her when we stop here. Celebrian, the wife of Elrond. She crossed this very pass, long ago, and the orcs waylaid her. They wounded her so deeply, she couldn’t endure Middle-earth anymore. She sailed to the Undying Lands in the east... to find rest.” Guldi's eyes shift to the fire. "Her pain lingers here, in this cursed pass."
Dori swallows hard, remembering the sadness in her eyes. “She was so beautiful… and so full of sorrow.”
“Quiet, both of you,” Ibin growls, his voice barely above a whisper. He’s crouched near the entrance of the cave, eyes sharp and alert. “There are people at the cave mouth… advancing this way.”
Dori’s heart leaps, and Guldi stiffens. Ibin quickly moves toward the fire, trying to smother the flames with his cloak. But he’s too late.
The sound of heavy boots crunching and the guttural voices of orcs fill the air.
“Well, well,” one of the orcs sneers, stepping in with a twisted grin. “Dwarves over here. Dirty little dwarves… we’ll take away their desire to come and bother us.”
The second orc, larger and more brutish, steps forward, a heavy chest clutched in his thick arms. He heaves it onto the ground with a thud, smirking at the three dwarves.
“Look what we’ve found!” the orc says, his voice full of malice. “What do you suppose is in the chest, eh? Perhaps something your kind will never see.” He spits on the ground, pulling a rusted blade from his belt. “We’ll see if you live long enough to care.”
Ibin stands tall, his axe at the ready, his face a mask of defiance. “We don’t want your chest, orc. Leave us, and there’ll be no bloodshed.”
The orcs laugh, their yellowed teeth glinting in the firelight. “Bloodshed? Oh, there will be bloodshed, dwarf. Yours!”
But before the orcs can advance, a cold wind sweeps through the cave, carrying with it a feeling of dread. The fire flickers violently, and then dims, as if the very warmth of the flames is being drained away.
Out of the shadows at the cave’s mouth, a figure appears. Pale as death itself, she moves with an eerie grace. Her skin is corpse-white, her long hair falling like brittle strands of frost down her back. She is dressed all in white, her robe flowing around her like mist. But the most striking feature is her hands—long, claw-like nails stained red as blood.
Dori gasps, recognizing the figure from the stories. “Red-Nails…” he whispers.
The orcs freeze in their tracks, eyes wide with fear as the spectral woman floats toward them. Her voice is a chilling whisper, like the rustle of dead leaves in the wind.
“What do you have to offer for your passage?” Red-Nails asks, her blood-red claws gleaming in the dim light.
The orcs stumble back, their bravado crumbling. “We… we brought treasure,” one of them stammers, gesturing toward the chest. “It’s yours, take it! Just… just let us go!”
Red-Nails tilts her head, her eyes cold and empty. “Treasure?” she murmurs, as though the word holds no meaning to her. She drifts closer, her presence suffocating, the air growing colder still. “I do not want treasure. I want your lives.”
The orcs scream in terror, dropping the chest and scrambling to flee. But Red-Nails moves faster than a shadow. Her bloodied claws lash out, and the orcs fall, lifeless, their bodies crumpling to the ground.
Ibin, Dori, and Guldi stand frozen, watching in horror as Red-Nails turns her gaze upon them. Her voice, icy and detached, fills the cave.
“And what do you have to offer for your passage?” she asks, her long nails dripping with the blood of the fallen orcs.
Ibin steps forward, his axe raised, his voice steady despite the fear gnawing at him. “We have nothing to offer but our strength and our honor. If you want a fight, you’ll have one.” Red-Nails watches him for a long moment, her expression unreadable.
RED-NAILS
Ibin takes a log of burning wood and he raises it in front of Red-Nails. Red-Nails makes a shrill cry. In a very fast movement, Red-Nails takes Dori in his arms as if he were a light bag and she goes back into the depths of her cave mouth.
In the depths of the cave, the shrill cry of Red-Nails still echoes in Ibin's ears as she vanishes with Dori in her grasp. His nephew’s panicked scream fades into the dark maw of the cave, leaving Ibin and Guldi standing in shock. The two orcs, cut down moments earlier, lie motionless in their own blood, their twisted forms a gruesome sight.
Guldi, always drawn to treasure, rushes toward the chest the orcs carried and eagerly throws open the lid. His eyes widen at the gleam of gold and silver inside—rings, jewels, and elven weapons glitter in the dim light.
"You’ll be able to bring a ring to your betrothed," Guldi says, a greedy grin spreading across his face. Ibin, still reeling from Dori's abduction, snaps, "Drop that treasure, Guldi. We have to go after Dori!"
Guldi’s expression darkens, his grip on a handful of gold tightening. "You’re mad! I’m not getting myself killed for him. He’s gone! Let’s take this and leave while we can."
In a swift motion, Ibin grabs Guldi by the collar, lifting him from the ground with surprising strength. His eyes burn with fury. "You’re going to help me save him. We’ll leave with the treasure if that’s what it takes, but not without Dori. Now move!"
Reluctantly, Guldi nods, his gaze flicking between the treasure and Ibin’s unrelenting eyes. The two dwarves plunge deeper into the cave, leaving the bloodied remains of the orcs and their treasure behind. The tunnel winds steeply downward, the air growing colder and the shadows thicker.
As they advance, Guldi mutters under his breath, "You want the treasure for yourself, don’t you? You’re leading me into a trap. You’ll leave me for dead and take it all." Ibin halts abruptly and turns to face him, his voice low and deadly serious. "What are you talking about, Guldi? This is about Dori, my blood. We save him, or we die trying."
Before Guldi can respond, they step out onto a vast, eerie platform. Pale sheets of fabric hang from the ceiling, fluttering slightly as if disturbed by unseen winds. The cave feels unnaturally still, and the faint scent of decay fills the air. Scattered across the platform are the bodies of travelers, their flesh rotted away long ago, leaving only bones and torn clothes.
In the center of the platform lies Dori, his face pale but alive. Red-Nails looms over him, her corpse-pale skin glistening in the dim light. Her blood-red nails curve like claws, and as she notices their approach, her face twists into a mocking smile.
"Ah! You’ve come to offer yourselves to me," she says, her voice echoing through the chamber like a deathly wail. Ibin stands his ground, his voice steady. "We’ve come to take back our friend. Let him go."
Red-Nails lets out a chilling laugh, her eyes gleaming with cruel amusement. "And what will you offer in return?"
Ibin hesitates, searching for words, then drops to one knee. "I’m on this journey for love," he says, his voice quieter now but filled with sincerity. "I want to marry a woman, Alfrigga of Durin's line. But she will not have me unless I bring her the family ring—the ring lost in Moria."
At the mention of the ring, Red-Nails' eyes widen with surprise. She steps closer, her pale face inches from Ibin’s. "The Ring of Durin III? The Ring of Thrór? Thráin II's ring?" Her voice takes on an edge of dark curiosity. "Those are dangerous rings, Dwarf. Are you sure you want to find it?" Ibin lowers his head, his voice filled with determination. "Yes. For love, I must find it."
Red-Nails stares at him in silence, her gaze piercing. Then, something shifts in her expression—something almost human, a flicker of recognition. "For love…" she whispers, her voice softer now, almost sad. "Very well. I will let you go. But I shall not let you leave empty-handed."
With a slow, deliberate motion, Red-Nails reaches into the folds of her white robe and produces a ring. It glimmers with an ancient power, its band silver and set with a brilliant blue emerald—the Ring of Durin III. She extends her hand and offers it to Ibin.
Ibin, in disbelief, reaches out and takes the ring from her cold, bony fingers. He stares down at the treasure he has sought for so long, his breath catching in his throat. "You... you’re giving this to me?"
Red-Nails nods, her pale lips curling into a thin smile. "For love," she repeats, her voice barely a whisper.
Dori stirs on the ground, groaning as he wakes. He scrambles to his feet and rushes to Ibin’s side, casting fearful glances at Red-Nails. Guldi stands frozen, torn between fear and greed as he watches the exchange.
"Go," Red-Nails says, her voice sharp and commanding now. "Take the ring. But beware, Dwarf. Love is as dangerous as any cursed treasure."
GULDI
Rage boils up inside Guldi. He had seen enough — the stolen treasure, the ancient ring, the twisted figure before him — and the weight of his obsession breaks him. "Red-Nails!" he snarls, gripping his axe tightly, his voice trembling with anger. "You stole this ring from Moria! How much treasure have you plundered from our ancestors?! You will pay for this!"
With a mighty roar, Guldi charges at the Red-Nails, his axe gleaming. But Red-Nails, quick as a shadow, effortlessly dodges his swing. In a blur of motion, she grabs him with her red talons and with terrifying ease, rips through him. Guldi gasps, blood pouring from the deep wounds, and he falls lifeless to the ground, his obsessions dying with him.
Ibin and Dori stare in shock, unable to move. Red-Nails slowly turns to them, her once-satisfied expression now contorted into a savage fury. "Finally, love is not enough," she hisses, her voice dripping with malice. "You will perish too." She advances toward them, her long, blood-red nails gleaming.
Ibin’s heart pounds in his chest, his mind racing for a plan. As Red-Nails closes in, he fumbles in his pockets, his fingers grazing something sharp and familiar — his fire rocks. He pulls them out swiftly. With a frantic motion, he strikes them together, sending a shower of sparks flying into the air. The dry, white sheets hanging around the cave catch instantly, roaring to life in a blaze of flame.
Red-Nails stops, her eyes widening in terror. The fire spreads quickly, leaping from sheet to sheet, engulfing the entire platform. She lets out a shrill, furious scream, her pale skin recoiling from the flames. "No! No!" she shrieks, stumbling backward, fear overcoming her unnatural strength.
"Now, Dori!" Ibin shouts, grabbing his nephew’s arm. "We must go!" The two dwarves sprint toward the cave’s exit, the heat of the fire licking at their backs as they flee. Red-Nails, snarling and cursing in rage, retreats into the deeper recesses of the cave, consumed by her fear of the flames. The fire roars behind them, a wall of burning white sheets that lights their path.
Ibin and Dori scramble through the narrow cave entrance, emerging into the cold night air. The storm is still raging, snow and wind biting at their skin, but the fire’s light glows faintly behind them, casting long, dancing shadows onto the snowy mountainside.
Panting and exhausted, Ibin looks back one last time at the cave. "She won’t follow us now," he mutters, his voice thick with relief. Dori nods, still shaken from the encounter, his eyes wide. "That was too close, Uncle. Far too close." Ibin places a hand on Dori’s shoulder, gripping it firmly. "Aye, lad. But we’re alive. That’s all that matters."
They stand there for a moment, catching their breath in the freezing cold. The howling wind carries away the last remnants of Guldi’s life, and for a moment, the weight of their loss sits heavily on them both. But there is no time for mourning now.
"Let’s go back home," Ibin says quietly, his voice steady despite the storm. "There’s nothing more for us here." The two dwarves turn away from the burning cave, trudging through the thick snow, heading back towards Tharbad and the Blue Mountains. The firelight behind them fades into the distance as they press on, toward the uncertain future and the long road ahead.
END OF STORY