An Experiment Gone Wrong

Chapter 1: A New Member?

Down, down, down they spiraled through a twisting vortex of blinding light, the world around them warping in dizzying spirals. Mara desperately reached out, trying to grasp her best friend Lillith's arm, her voice a frantic shout as she fought against the pull. "Hold on, Lillith! I won't let you get separated—!"

But her words were cut short by Lillith's piercing scream, echoing through the chaos before her figure disappeared into the swirling light. The sensation of falling from an unimaginable height overwhelmed Mara, her stomach lurching in terror as her vision blurred. Then, the world snapped into a sharp focus as she crashed into something—something large and solid. A massive branch, perhaps, the last thing she felt before everything went dark.

Time passed in an indistinct blur—minutes, hours, days, or maybe more—before Mara slowly came to. A groan escaped her lips as the harsh sunlight above stung her eyes, forcing them to adjust. 'It must be mid-afternoon...' she thought, squinting against the brightness, her surroundings coming into focus. She found herself surrounded by the ruin of what had once been a house, its broken remains scattered across the forest floor. And in front of her, a group of fifteen strange figures stood—different in height and build, each one casting an unsettling gaze in her direction.

Before she could speak, a tall, yet surprisingly short man stepped forward from the group. His demeanor, the rich cloak draped over his shoulders, and the way he carried himself suggested power—royalty, perhaps a jarl. But why would a jarl be here, surrounded by a mismatched group who clearly weren't guards?

"You will not speak unless spoken to," the man commanded in a voice that boomed, stern and unyielding. He gestured to a few of his companions, who immediately brought forward crates of items. Items that, to Mara's growing discomfort, looked suspiciously like her own.

"Those belong to me," she said, her tone firm and devoid of any pretense of politeness. She was no longer willing to tolerate any games. "And I would appreciate it if you'd return them to me."

Her words were sharp, laced with defiance. "I've never had bandits act this rude before. I'd almost prefer you had simply run me through and looted my body if you wanted my belongings so badly."

Her hands tested the strength of the ropes binding her wrists as she glared at the leader—his face was a storm of frustration. The sight only fueled her smugness, and she allowed herself a smirk, which made the bandit chief's temper flare even hotter.

"How dare you—!" one of the bandits shouted, drawing a sword from his belt and pressing it menacingly to Mara's neck.

Before any more threats could be made, a man dressed in a grey cloak—evidently much taller than the rest of the group—stepped forward. His age showed in his gait, yet there was an undeniable power in his presence.

"Kili, lower your sword," he said with authority, his voice calm but firm. "She is clearly not from this world."

Mara stared, confused and wary, as the grey-clad man approached. He lowered himself to eye level, studying her with piercing eyes. "Tell us, where are you from?"

Mara felt a sharp pang of uncertainty. Where was she from? Her mind scrambled for an answer, but it was as if the very idea of a home, a place she once knew, was slipping through her fingers. "I don't know..." she murmured, her face twisting in frustration. "I don't know where I am. These woods, they... they don't sound like they should. The trees... they're not as sad."

The old man in grey—who seemed to radiate wisdom and power—reached around the broken pillar she was tied to and untied the ropes, despite the angry protests from his companions. Once she was free, he smiled at a smaller man with a peculiar hat, gesturing for him to bring her armor.

"Bofur, give her back her armor. Nori, her weapons. She shall accompany us on our quest, or until she remembers more of herself," Gandalf declared, his voice filled with an unexpected certainty.

Mara's mouth hung open in surprise. The faces of the group mirrored her shock, all except for the leader. He looked both enraged and disgusted, as if the very idea of having her join them was an affront.

"Gandalf, I cannot allow this stranger to accompany us," the leader—whom Mara now realized must be Thorin—growled. He scoffed as he picked up her armor, his face twisting in distaste. "Especially not one who—when we found her—was clothed only in rags, with nothing but her fingers to show for herself." He shot a venomous look in her direction. "And now I find out she's an elf," he hissed.

Gandalf, undeterred, nodded slowly. "I understand, Thorin. But have I ever steered you wrong? I am certain that, with time, she will prove valuable to our cause." He turned to Mara, a twinkle in his eyes as he offered her a small, encouraging smile. "Now, I suggest we move on. We can find refuge in the hidden valley."

Thorin's face remained grim. "My crew is exhausted," he said with finality. "We must make camp. Bombur! Get us food—everyone's starving!"

Mara could only watch as Gandalf stormed off in frustration, muttering something about seeking the only sensible companion. Feeling both lost and overwhelmed, she slumped down on the broken beam, her mind whirling with questions she couldn't answer.

"Where am I from?" she wondered aloud, gripping her head in frustration. "Why can't I remember anything?"

A soft voice broke through her spiraling thoughts. "There's no use in worrying yourself, lass," an elderly man said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Why don't you join us for a nice cup of tea and some food?"

Mara glanced at him, skeptical and wary. "With the way your leader spoke of my kind, I'm not sure I'm welcome here. In fact..." She turned her gaze toward the endless sky. "I don't know anything. The air here smells wrong, and I have no idea who you people even are."

The elderly dwarf was momentarily taken aback by her harsh words, but he remained calm. He bowed slightly, a gesture of respect, before straightening up. "Balin, at your service," he said, his voice warm but measured. He stood no taller than three feet, but his stature was filled with quiet dignity. "And what might we call you, lass?"

Mara paused, considering for a moment. "I have many names and titles, Master Balin," she replied, her voice softer now, "but you may call me Mara."

As night fell, the campfire crackled with warmth and light. Mara found herself surrounded by a lively group of dwarves, their questions about her past and her adventures filling the air. She had heard stories about dwarven ruins, but now, speaking to them, she felt as if she were in the midst of something much larger than herself.

"There are many ancient dwarven ruins back in my homeland," she told them, her voice tinged with nostalgia. "I've explored almost every one of them—countless guardians, dwarven spiders, and centurions have I fell." She looked around at their rapt faces. "But tell me—how do you make them?"

Ori, the most timid of the group, scratched his head. "I... I'm not sure what you're talking about."

Balin, ever the storyteller, gave a knowing smile. "We are miners, lass, skilled in precious metals and treasure."

"Aye, and mighty warriors, too," Dwalin chimed in, his voice deep and resolute. "We stand strong to the end."

Before they could continue, Kili and Fili burst through the trees, breathless, shouting about trolls and Bilbo's attempt to save their ponies.

Thorin's face darkened. He barked orders, preparing for battle. Then, his piercing gaze turned to Mara. "You," he commanded. "If you claim to be a warrior, prove it. Otherwise, stay here and stop being a hindrance."

Mara's blood surged with anger as her hand instinctively reached for her sword—an intricate blade of pure glass, its blue glow pulsing with cold light. She locked eyes with Thorin, her expression hardening. "Let's go then," she said coldly, and without another word, she followed the others, ready to prove herself in the heat of battle.