Adventures in Moria

The bridge had fallen long ago.

Only half of it remained, jutting out over a gulf that swallowed the light of Litharil's lantern before it reached the bottom. Across the abyss, the opposite span hung broken in the darkness, as though some giant hand had torn the stone apart.

She stood at the edge for a long while.
Not searching for a way across.
Only looking.

Cold air drifted steadily upward from the depths below. It carried no scent of earth or water.
Only age.

The fire was small.

It barely held the dark back 
Beyond its flickering light, Moria didn’t so much stretch away, as press inwards as if it was listening.

Litharil sat with her back against a pillar, shield beside her and her sword resting across her knees. 

For five days she had wandered the ruins of Khazad-dûm.
It still felt no more familiar than when she first stepped back inside.

Litharil moved slowly, her sword was drawn and held low.
Her shield was raised, as if to guard against the the endless dark.

Around her stretched the halls of Khazad-dûm. in the faint illumination, they appeared like the bones of some dead titan — broken pillars, shattered bridges, and debris caked in the dust of ages.

She had entered the this forgotten Hall hours ago, following the rumour of an old relics lost during Balin’s doomed expedition. But Moria did not surrender its secrets easily.

The first warning came as silence.

Today I entered the Mines of Moria for the first time. To be honest, it is as bad as my brother Tor says. The mines are quite dark, and they stink most of the time.
I actually have no idea how I will get through that place, while my mind wanders off to the Vales and the Wells.

But while I miss my family, I have told myself that I will see them again soon. Soon that is...
Meanwhile I close my eyes, and oh dear, I even miss those moments that family members actually mocked me for being young and naieve. 

Excerpt from the chronicles kept by each member of the Guard during their travels:

" Tonight again I find myself wakened from the terror of a dream. I cannot shake the image of their bodies dragged into the pool. What are my wounds to their loss? The darkness of these halls grips my heart, reaping it steadily of hope to reach the other side.