Although the journey to the Misty Mountains easily took a month at the speed a group of furiously eating Hobbits could manage, and that was when they began at the relatively easy starting point of the Shire, Chief Gorluk had already managed to bring what he had kept of his underfed tribe to knock on the gates of Moria. Truly the Uruk-hai were made with strength and stamina in mind, and truly the snaga-Orcs were made to be whipped into shape when they couldn't quite keep up.
While Gorluk had been enraged to find out that the Orcs of Moria had implemented an entrance fee of sorts, he nevertheless paid up to not only avoid being needled by little goblin-arrows, but also to just avoid interacting with the goblins in general. He had to do some of that, of course, to negotiate for some food and a place to sleep. By that point he was beginning to regret not taking his own little imp-bastards with him - perhaps they could have communicated with these halfwits a bit more effectively - but he did have to consider his own mental health too. This ordeal would be over soon enough, but the likes of Grishtakh and Gutbrúg were harder to get rid of and lingered in the mind longer.
"So you came from the west?" asked a voice that almost made Gorluk swear aloud. It sounded very much like Grishtakh, and if he had somehow made it here, then that horrible Elf would probably be here also. However, when he whipped around, already reaching back to cover his arse, he saw a goblin that looked... a lot like Grishtakh, actually. That same brown hair, same green cat-eyes. But there were subtle differences. The small bumps in the front of this one's shirt was one such difference. Gorluk felt some relief as he realised that it couldn't possibly be Grishtakh.
"Anybody home, mate?" asked the goblin-woman, waving her hand in the general direction of Gorluk's eyes. She couldn't reach his face.
"What do you want?" grunted Gorluk.
"I hear you and your motley warband come from the west. You don't look like that's where you're from. You wouldn't happen to have any people from the Mountains with you, would you?"
Gorluk narrowed his eyes in the hope that it would make the smaller Orc less chatty. She didn't seem to get it. "...Luzumgof is from the High Pass," he admitted, admitting also his defeat. He was just too tired to fight now.
"Ah, a bit higher up in the north than I was thinking," said the goblin, scratching her ear with a hideous squelching sound. Gorluk was surprised she could hear anything with so much wax in there. "Well, then I'll ask more directly. Anyone from Moria? Anyone named Grishtakh?"
A cold, cold chill ran its fingers up Gorluk's backbone. "Why... how..?"
"I ask everyone who comes here," explained the woman who knew Grishtakh. "So you know him?"
"He... got delayed." Right now all Gorluk wanted was something to chew on, a dry corner to sleep in, and after witnessing that disgusting sight just now, something to clean his ears with. He would give no more details as to how the little shitheel was delayed, goblin-arrows be damned. "He and the other Moria-Orcs should be here later." For a moment Gorluk wondered if they had decided to do something stupid, such as go to Gundabad instead; then he remembered that he didn't care, and just wanted to be rid of this woman as well. "If you go outside, you might see them. After a few weeks."
Her eyes swelled with tears. "My brother's coming home! My one and only brother!" Missing the horror of realisation spreading over Gorluk's face for her own joy, she took a few steps into his personal space and motioned for him to bend down. As he did so purely out of shock, she was able to reach his shoulder and pat it. "Cheers, mate. I've waited for this day."
She then dashed off into some horrid little tunnel without another word, leaving Gorluk to straighten his back with mixed feelings of waning terror and a sort of reluctant gratitude that this encounter hadn't lasted any longer than this. In fact, his relief was so great that he even considered spoiling himself a little. A man or a woman to keep him warm would be nice, but perhaps not in this place...
Gorluk smiled to himself. Tonight he would sharpen his toenails again. He still had nightmares of Krazum's endless nagging about it, but tonight he would be able to do it without a single disturbance.
As for Grishtakh's sister, she didn't head outside but further down. On her way to the dungeons, she burst into a small room with several books and writing materials; all of them useless to most of the inhabitants of Moria, but not so to the owner of the room. He was bent over one of said books, holding a flat piece of yellow glass over it. The hood that protected his eyes from the glare of the torch-light hid half of his expressions, but his posture suggested that he was very concentrated on whatever he was looking at.
"Witty! Witty!" the woman cried, scaring the hell out of him. "Darkness is coming!"
Recovering very quickly, the taller Orc picked up his piece of glass from the floor with a sigh. "Hwît, if you don't mind. What may I help you with this time, Skaigath?"
Skaigath went right into his personal space too, slamming her elbows on his desk with a wince but no lessons learned. Although Hwît was not entirely unaccustomed to this, he couldn't help pulling back a little in the face of this onslaught. Whatever, it did him some good to straighten his back every now and then.
"Like I said, Darkness is coming," Skaigath repeated.
"Darkne..." Hwît began, and then his mouth stayed open. "...Burzum?" He swallowed. "Is Burzum coming home?"
"He is, and so's Grishtakh and the others! Soon!"
"Well now." Hwît stood up, putting down his reading-glass. Skaigath could see the pink gleam of his eyes from under his hood, the only splash of colour on his chalk white face. "I have... waited for quite some time."
"Well, a little while longer now. Then Grishtakh will be home and I can finally show him what I found!"
"Ah." Hwît nodded with some interest. His fingers shook a little on the pages of his book; as he couldn't do anything to speed Burzum's return, he already wanted to return to his reading to distract himself. "Will you go tell him as well?"
Skaigath snapped her fingers and jumped up. "You're right, I should. I'll be back later!"
"Take your time," Hwît kindly instructed her already turned back, and once again bent over his book.
Almost bowling over some fellow Orcs on her way to the nearest food storage room, Skaigath took some care to at least dodge the curses of the ones she couldn't quite dodge physically. She picked up some stale bread and funny sausage and continued to descend into the dungeons. Once there, she declared her arrival by playing loudly with the keys, and opened the door to one of the cells with a cheerful greeting.
The Dwarf that sat there chained to a wall looked rather unimpressed, having listened to this song and circus for four years now. He put up his hand just in time to discourage Skaigath from getting too close, wincing as she threw the bowl that held his food on the bench with a clatter. "Now what, you tunnelling rat?" he groaned, but the tone of his voice suggested that the insult came mostly out of habit now, without any true venom.
"My brother comes!" blurted out Skaigath, patting the outstretched arm. "And his friends!"
"Oh," grumbled the Dwarf. "Oh! Even more filthy Orcs to defile the sacred halls of my fathers."
"Sacred holes?"
The Dwarf yanked back his arm, eyes wide and angry. "Are you making fun of my accent!" he bellowed. He found himself extremely shocked that the deranged goblin hadn't thought to use this one before.
"Well, yes," replied Skaigath very earnestly.
The Dwarf seemed to deflate, having to witness such sincere witlessness that even he could not stay angry at it after enduring it for so long. "...you don't have to be so honest. It wouldn't be hard at all to attack you since you gave me such a long chain."
Skaigath blinked. "Oh. All right. Well, my brother comes, the one I keep you for. He'll be so happy! I hope you'll like him. He's a bit slower than I am, but otherwise he's just like me. He's always wanted to meet a Dwarf! I hope he hasn't seen others yet."
"Is he really as dim as you say?" asked the Dwarf with despair. He couldn't even imagine an Orc more exasperating than Skaigath. It truly seemed like something even both Dark Lords together couldn't dream up in their unholy halls. Or holes.
He felt almost unclean when he realised that the only company he kept was beginning to poison his mind in this manner.
"Dimmer!" answered Skaigath with pride, hands on her hips. Seeing the look in his eyes, she smiled wider. "I know, I'm happy too!"
The Dwarf covered his face and wept for the first time in four years. This was Utumno.
