<b>The trip into Mirrogh reminded Allassiel in many ways of Moria. Each level of the dwarven city was filled with dwarves moving to and fro, some wearing mining gear, others seemingly merchants. Ramps led to stairs, disappearing into the depths of the mountain. She shook her head. The dwarves never learned. Their greed would be their undoing, as it was for Durin IV and Thorin. At least there'd be no balrogs, which numbered at most 7, and had all been accounted for with the death of Durin's Bane. <br/>
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Despite her reservations about dwarves, she marveled at their abilities to build and create. Machines carried away rubble, a large waterwheel kept the rest of the machinery moving smoothly. Phosphorescent crystals bathed the caverns with light. <br/>
</b><br/><i><b>Much like Moria, </b></i><b>she thought.</b><br/><br/><b>Pegawen pointed out a long, spiral staircase. “It reminds me of the broken staircase in Moria. The ...”</b><br/><br/>“<b>Endless stair,” Allasea finished for her. “Indeed, dwarves are dwarves, no matter where we go.” She gave Allassiel a look and the two nodded to each other.</b><br/><br/>“<b>It smells like Moria too,” Pegawen continued. “Goats.” She crinkled her nose.</b><br/><br/><b>Flagdon let out a laugh. “What else would we use in here? Goats can climb the rockiest of terrain, are sturdy, and not afraid of the dark as many horses are.”</b><br/><br/>“<b>Be that as it may, Master Dwarf, does it have to smell like them here?”</b><br/><br/><b>Their banter died away as the first sight of the dwarven palace came into view. A series of arches rose, stacked one on top of the other in perfect rows, each glowing with the light of crystal chandeliers. As they drew near, the structure towered over them, a testament to the longevity of dwarven life and their creations. Pegawen, having never seen Moria in its prime, stared in awe. <br/>
</b><br/>“<b>If it wasn't for the statues flanking the entranceway, I'd have sworn I was staring at the Palace of Nain.” Allassiel stated, studying the massive statues, standing thrice again as tall as the tallest elves.</b><br/><br/>“<b>Nain.” Haldir spoke up, having been content to remain silent. “We warned him not to attempt to fight the balrog after it killed his father, but he refused to listen. He was a good warrior, but poor at accepting council. His son, at least, had to good sense to heed our warnings.”</b><br/><br/><b>The group fell silent, each lost in their own memories of the past as they passed beneath the arches into the throne room. <br/>
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At the end of the long corridor, set upon a throne of gold and precious gems, sat an old dwarf, his flowing beard thick and braiding into one heavy rope down the middle of his chest. As they approached, he stood and stared down at the group. “What is this?” he demanded of Arrygg, his booming voice echoing through the chamber.</b><br/><br/>“<b>My cousin, Flagdon, and his companions. They've come to request aid from us.”</b><br/><br/>“<b>Aid, from us?” Brommus stared at each in turn. “And what aid, think you, we can provide right now with the undead and unknown creatures from other lands attempting to sneak past our best defenses?”</b><br/><br/><b>Timberlane spoke up. “We understand your problems are most grievous and offer what assistance we may. But the greatest aid we can give is to complete our mission for it is the very reason these creatures plague you. Morgan will not stop until he's found what he seeks, and he believes it will be found here.”</b><br/><br/>“<b>My grandfather spoke of Morgan when I was but a small dwarf. It's true then, that he's returned.” More statement than question, Brommus sat again. “And you seek the key stone. What aid could a small group of elves and humans give that the dwarves cannot handle on our own? We're well able to see to our own, Master Timberlane.”</b><br/><br/>“<b>You greatly underestimate the number and cunning of these strange creatures, Master Dwarf. My companions have firsthand knowledge of them that would be of great use to you. Would you not hear them and know how to best combat this new scourge?”</b><br/><br/><b>King Brommus tugged at his beard, his lips pursed. A dwarf, half-hidden behind his throne, stepped out and leaned to whisper to him. He looked up and shook his head but the dwarf continued. <br/>
</b><br/>“<b>Fine, my dear. We'll hear what they have to say, though I think it will make little change to our circumstances.” Brommus turned back to the group. “You'll have your chance to speak, as Queen Opal wishes to hear your words.”</b><br/><br/><b>A ripple went through the elves from the west. Wife. Wife? So rarely had any seen a female of the dwarven race that all eyes turned to gaze at her. Her beard, though shorter than the king's, was no less luxuriant and braided with strands of ribbon in bright blue and purple hues. Her eyes, a dark blue, stared back at them with equal curiosity, and she smiled at the sheer amazement she saw on their faces.</b><br/><br/>“<b>Surely you have seen women before? Did you believe dwarves to be created from the very stone we hew?” She laughed and motioned for a palace guard. “You'll be taken to a chamber where you may refresh yourselves as needed. I'll have you sent for shortly and we'll eat while you tell us all you know. I am most eager to hear your accounting.”</b>