Ori’s Journal

We can’t get out! We can’t get out!
I hear the never-ending shout
Of orcs and trolls and goblins bay
For our hearts’ blood. We die today!

For five long years we dwarves have braved
Moria. Our hard labour saved
All that we could. Awhile it seems
That Balin’s highest, fondest dreams
Would be accomplished. Under stone
A dwarf-king reigns again! Unknown
To us foes send the word around
And rally their force underground
To retake all they stole before.

King Balin to the windy shore
Of Mirrormere went to commune.
Orc-arrows slew him. What a boon
To die so quickly! Then did we
A sortie make and hurriedly
Cut our way through to Balin’s side
And carry him away. He died
Within our arms. We buried him
In Mazarbul’s stone chamber. Grim
Was our state: the orcs advance
In overwhelming numbers. Chance
We took: to Doors of Durin sped
Before our enemies we fled.
Too late! Too late! The doors were blocked
By a warden of evil! Flocked
Black orcs from Mordor. We retreat
Pursued by tramp of many feet
Of hostile forces. We did fight
Our way to where survivors might
Make our last stand – by Balin’s tomb.
We are surrounded. Certain doom
Awaits us. In Moria still
No dwarf-king yet can reign until
Durin’s Bane is destroyed.
I write
This final entry. Constant fight
And repulse for the past few days.
We’ve slain many, but no ways
Remain for our escape. We die –
But make the death-price heavy! Nigh
Troll-captains come, their war-cries hail
The next assault. Our strength must fail
At last. I, Ori, indite this
Upon this journal page. Amiss
Have all the Longbeard efforts been!
Yet with the eyes of death I’ve seen –
Moria will rise strong again
One day. Let other, younger men
See that day! And now I am done.
The final fight is now begun.

Ori leaves pen and raises sword
Against the foul, advancing horde
Of orcs that smash open the door
And through the breach rush in to pour
Upon the dwarf survivors. They
Fought back to back, and kill and slay
So many orcs, their corpses rise
To form a wall. Their battle-cries
Baruk Khazâd! sound to the end
While every warrior might fend
Himself from death, an orc to slay.
For every dwarf their foes must pay
Two dozen orcs to slay each one –
For bold is every Durin’s son!
And Ori, too, he falls at last
Atop a troll-captain. So passed
King Balin’s attempt to reclaim
Moria from the Durin’s Bane!
The dead dwarves lie each as they fell.
All Longbeards bold, and all died well.

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