Lathron met Elladan coming back up the rise from the Vale of Thrain. "It is as I thought," he said upon seeing the hunter, "there is a mine that has been dug into the cliff below Edhelion - the Silver Deep. It looks deserted, but I'd bet that is where we will, or will not, find Skorgrím's body."
"There is an evil looking red flower growing from the rock above the abyss," Lathron replied. "If Dorongúr is to be believed, it seems to be growing in places where Skorgrím's corpse has been. If he is not there, it is likely the flowers will lead us to him."
Elladan spat. "This sounds like dark magic. Do you want me to come with you to the Silver Deep Mine?"
Lathron almost said yes, but his sense of adventure was beginning to kindle again. "No, I'll be fine. Besides, I prefer to hunt alone."
"So be it," Elladan sighed, regarding his friend fondly. "If Skorgrím's corpse is indeed absent, seek out Elrohir. He is somewhere within the Vale, I can feel it. He will have knowledge of the Dwarves, and how best to approach them. Until then, stay out of sight. I know you do that very well."
"Farewell." Lathron hoisted his quiver and set off down the hill.
He was barely out of sight of the camp when the path forked, one way turning left towards the Vale, the other carrying straight on, hugging the slope. He took the second, and soon came across a set of stairs. Below him, a deep square alcove had been cut into the rock, with many tiers stairs and platforms ringing it on three sides. He wound his way down it to a small, flagstoned courtyard filled with rubble and rusty mining equipment. It was as Elladan had said - the mine had been abandoned long ago. Lathron wondered what could have induced the Dwarves to leave their precious metals behind. Nothing good, he guessed.
The door to the mine was large and square, made of iron. It took quite an effort to turn the rusty handle, and the door made a painful grinding sound as it opened, but thanks to the Dwarves' ingenious engineering, it felt as light as if it were made of wood. A warm, clammy uprush of air blew past Lathron's face as he peered in. The tunnel was wide but twisting - he could see no more than twenty metres down it. He took a deep breath and plunged inside.
He let go of the door, and it swung shut behind him with an echoing clang. He winced and held his breath.
In the distance, something skittered quietly.
Luckily, there was still some light in the tunnel, given off by clusters of strange crystals held in brackets. The glow they gave off was pale and blue, casting more shadows than it illuminated. He crept along with an arrow nocked, scanning the darkness. Everywhere were signs of a hasty abandonment - dropped pickaxes, piles of rubble, and silver. Everywhere, the gleam of silver. If he hadn't been so on edge, Lathron would have stopped to admire it. Veins of it ran through the rock like flowing streams. Piles of nuggets were strewn all over the floor. That struck him as odd for a moment, then he realised why. If the Dwarves had abandoned the mine, who had arranged the piles?
Again, he heard a skittering ahead, and froze. The noise grew louder, until round the corner scuttled a bizarre creature. It was roughly knee high, moving on four spindly legs akin to a rat or other rodent, but it was clearly neither. By far its most prominent feature was a huge talon-like beak or horn protruding from its upper jaw. Its skin was pale, and covered with warts and bristles, and its teeth sharp and uneven. Then he noticed its face - huge nostrils and ear holes, but no eyes. The creature bobbed its head about, sniffing, before heading to a pile of silver on the floor. It nuzzled it tenderly, then rubbed its flank against the chunks of metal.
Another one followed it, but instead, it froze in the middle of the tunnel. It gave off several rapid clicks, which echoed off the tunnel walls, than bobbed its head strangely. It made for one of the veins of silver in the wall and began tapping it with its beak. A chunk of the metal broke free and the creature pushed it over to its own pile. It crooned at the metal, then licked it, before finally taking some up in its mouth and swallowing it whole.
Lathron was thoroughly bewildered - what were these things? He took a step closer, and instantly, the two creatures' heads snapped up. They clicked again, then sniffed. In unison their heads swivelled to face him. They let out twin squeals, and charged.
The first fell with an arrow in its back, but by then, the second was on him. Its beak narrowly missed his leg, tearing a gash in his leggings, and the creature careened into a pile of silver, sending it flying. It skittered round and charged again. Lathron drew his sword and stabbed downwards, skewering the creature against the tunnel floor. It scrabbled, scouring deep gashes in the rock with its beak, let out a pig-like squeal, then collapsed, dead.
Thick, silvery blood oozed from the wound as Lathron withdrew his sword. He wiped it on the creature's body and sheathed it again. He would take no chances with these things, whatever they were. Anything that ate metal and had a beak that could score grooves in solid rock was dangerous in his experience.
He crept round the corner and found himself in a vast cavern. A deep crevasse split it in two, and was spanned by a narrow wooden bridge. More of the creatures were dotted around the cavern, each guarding a pile of silver, or tapping the walls to dig for more. Silently, he drew his bow, guessing which ones would notice if he made for the bridge, and which would not. One by one, he picked them off, aiming for their vitals, and they fell to the floor with barely a whisper. None of the others noticed a thing. He crept towards the bridge without alerting them and paused in the middle to decide where to go next, trying not to look down at the dizzying drop into nothingness below him. It appeared that at some point, two tunnels had led off from the far side of the cavern, but one had collapsed. He looked closer. The collapsed tunnel showed signs of being forced open - cracks radiated out from it - no wonder it had collapsed. There was only one thing with that sort of strength - a Troll. He hoped the monster was long gone.
He repeated the process of clearing the creatures on this side too, before proceeding to the open tunnel. He breathed a sigh of relief as he turned the corner.
With a shriek, something leapt at him, knocking him to the ground. Hooked claws snagged at his clothes, filthy teeth gnashed at his throat, a huge beak jabbed at his face. With an effort, he threw the creature off him and drew his knife, burying it in the creature's belly. It squealed and leapt again. He kicked it against the wall, stabbing again and again. Finally it was dead, and he crouched, panting heavily. He sheathed the knife and drew his swords.
The tunnel wound deeper and deeper into the earth. Every so often, he would turn a corner and come across another of the creatures, but by now he was ready for them, and his swords made light work of them. Finally he emerged into another cavern. After one look, he ducked back inside the tunnel immediately.
There was a Troll on the far side of the cavern.
After a few seconds of hearing nothing, he risked another look. This time, he had to stifle a laugh. The troll was standing with a beam of early morning sunlight shining directly in its face. It was stone dead. Literally. He walked round it still chuckling, and noticed the cracks spider-webbing across its body - the Troll had been here for some time. Then he stopped. Through a narrow crevice, he saw red tiles, golden enamelling - the remains of an Elvish ruin. He had found the bottom of the abyss.
Filled with trepidation, he squeezed through into a small cave, filled with rubble. The remains of Edhelion's towers filled most of the space. Sunlight filtered down from above. Then, he saw the bones.
They protruded from beneath the rubble. Arms and legs, twisted at odd angles. Shattered ribcages. Two were small, clad in armour - Skorgrím's henchmen. The other was taller, surrounded by faded rags. Tears filled his eyes - it was Talagan.
He gazed on the face of his old master, and Talagan stared back with empty eye sockets, grinning. With an effort, Lathron tore his eyes away, forcing himself to look for Skorgrím's body.
In one place, the rubble had been cleared in a circle. Drag marks, where something heavy and metal had been removed, were visible. Skorgrím was gone. In his place was a stinking red flower.
Lathron felt a chill. It was just as Dorongúr had said. Then he realised something else was missing - the relics. Talagan's bony hands were outstretched, but Ivar's ring and hand were not in them. Dread seized Lathron then. Who had the relics now, and what were they planning to do with them? He picked one of the flowers, then turned and fled the cave, Talagan's skull still grinning in his mind's eye.
*Sniff*. Poor Lathron. Poor Talagan. Poor cave claws - they're quite cute really. Bloody annoying, but cute. The Troll, in case you were wondering, is in the Dwarf characters' introduction, and falls afoul of a certain wandering wizard... You only really get the full picture of what's going on in LotRO if you play as every race - a slightly scammy tactic, I guess, but very in-depth. They put in lots of easter eggs too, like a writers' club in a Shire tavern, whose members all have strangely similar names to a certain club of Oxford English professors and part-time fantasy writers... Please tell me someone understands that other than me...
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Lathrond Aleniel, Elf Hunter, Firefoot Server.
Disclaimer: almost all of the names of people, places and general things are owned by Tolkien Enterprises, New Line Cinema or Warner Brothers, and are fictitious, or if real are used fictitiously and solely for the purposes of entertainment within boring disclaimers. The others are owned by me. Any similarity to any real life person, alive or dead, is probably almost but not quite certain to be entirely uncoincidental. If you read this far, send me a comment saying 'Troll got trolled'. Just wondering.