In Moria, In Khazad-Dhum
Stories
The lamps flickered in the lifeless air, casting a pale halo that
wavered on the rough-hewn walls, holding back the darkness. Beside a
rusted pickaxe lay a single moldering boot. A gleaming river of ore
spilled from an upended cart. Heads bowed over their work, the masons
did not stop to look.
In silence, they laid the courses of stone, each layer leveled square
and true, until the last block was slid in its place, sealing the
darkness inside. Then they carved on the wall in Daeron’s runes--
In this place did Durin’s folk delve too deeply into the mountain.
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