Elendor
A dragon returns to Erebor
At midnight on a chill winter night, a dragon at long last returns to the Lonely Mountain and demands an audience with the King Under the Mountain.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Front Gate, Erebor
Game Date: Day 8 of January 3048
IC Time: Midnight
Weather: Cold
Description:
Front Gate of Erebor(#9794Rao)
Here on a wide ledge at the head of the rushing falls of the young Celduin stream are the closed gates of Erebor. Carved into the stone of the mountainside on either side of the portal are the likenesses of two great dwarves who appear to be watching all upon this high shelf, as well as the newly rebuilt Dale, and what was the Desolation of Smaug beyond. The eyes of one seem to actually be windows. The movement of watchers within make the eyes appear to be roving to and fro in constant vigilance. Leading down from here are two narrow stairways which both cut back and forth until they reach the valley floor below. There they form roads, and one soon crosses the river by a high arching stone bridge to join the other as it makes its way to the Barding's town in the valley, and then away to the Long Lake.
Contents:
Lorthrain
Obvious exits:
Eastern Stairs, Enter Gate, and Western Stairs
[Dain] It is midnight. The frigid January air mixes with the pale, sparse light of the crescent moon to form that distinct sense of desolate isolation unique to such nights, even when warmth and good company are close at hand. And close they are, though the guards who stand watch here at the front gate of Erebor do not currently share in them. The mood amidst the soldiers is generally one of boredom, though one or two look with bright eyes to the south, where messengers have recently come bearing news of the fire near Lake-town. But with news from Iach Celduin concerning the strange fires in the sky still a day away, these guards show little worry about the trials of yet another bitter midnight duty.
"Go on, c'mon," one of the guards, Ollir, grunts at his companion, shoving a cup and pair of die towards another guard, Brenin. The words echo unusually loudly across the wide ledge before the gate. Brenin mutters a reply and rolls the die without pause. Other petty games take place between the dozen or so other guards, with only the occasional eye glancing up to check the all clear.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Though they might well regret what they miss, for as the night wears on a patch of stars in the south are quenched. Not long, for they blaze anew a moment later -- their neighbours to the north suddenly blotting out in turn, as a shape shifts their way. As though a shadow cast against the tapestry of Varda, something seeps northward in thesky towards the Lonely Mountain.
[Dain] "You know I hear some elf started that fire," Brenin mutters lazily as the die fall badly and he shoves them back towards Ollir. "That right?" Ollir returns, just as bored. "And I heard it were your uncle, what of it, eh?" The die are tossed again, shoved across. "I'm just sayin'," from Brenin, "can't trust them elves, can you? If they're so keen on protecting their precious road, why're they saying there's an army camped out there even now? Eh?"
"Oh shut it," says another guard from across the ledge, a petty officer called Hiln. "Elves wouldn't set fire to trees, y'fool." That hushes Brenin for a moment, before he begins to complain of the lack of clouds to warm the night. Hiln mutters to himself and turns away to look south. For a brief second, a puzzled look settles over his face and he blinks several times, then shakes his head.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
The shape among the stars drifts on, growing larger as it does and eats up yet more of the heavenly light. Two long swathes of shadow stretch out around a thin line of black, as though mighty wings spread over twinkling gems.
The air stirs a faint breeze picking up to seep over the Gate.
[Dain] Hiln continues to stare in the direction of whatever seems to have given him a moment of puzzlement, but initially it seems to trouble him no more. But a second passes and one or two of the other guards looks up towards the south as well, squinting. Instinct bids Hiln to narrow his eyes at his comrades and grunt, "What?" One of them hugs his cloak closer about his person and mutters a reply. "Well it's cold, innit? Bloody breeze." Hiln purses his lips and relaxes. Nearby, Brenin curses as Ollir gives a brief cackle of victory.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A victory which is given due applause: without warning, suddenly the sky is set ablaze!
A spike of fire gushes out from a spout unseen in the sky, illuminating the heaven for a brief moment and casting what clouds linger by in browns and golds. The swatches of shadow flash ruby for a moment, lit by the fire's glow and the shape among the stars is revealed to be a monstrous winged creature speeding towards the Lonely Mountain. The fire fades, night cloaks the beast once more, but the shadow of its approach wings on with fearsome purpose.
Could it be? Has a Dragon come to Erebor after so many years?
[Dain] "Hah HAH!" Ollir is still gloating as the sky is rent in gold and red. The victorious guard's eyes widen in sudden alarm and the cup and die fall to the ground as he reaches for something to balance him as he is taken off guard. Shouts rise up from the other guards as well as boots scuff and weapons clank with all the dumbness of a rabbit caught in the torchlight. "Bloody elves, you think now!" Ollir growls derisively at Brenin, who is clutching frantically at a shout broadsword and shield.
Hiln, the levelest head of the lot, is staring open-mouthed at the shape of the winged creature, once illuminated and now so painfully obvious to track as it blots out the stars. One of the guards cries, "What is it? What is it!" That seems to trigger Hiln into action. He rounds on the questioner and points roughly at the gate. "Who cares what the hell it is, sound the alarm, you fool!"
Suddenly baritone dwarven voices are shouting all across the ledge as two or three scramble to reach the gate and give the alarm.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And as they go a deep laugher echoes down from far above, the shadow's approach brought close enough now to see the full shape of it. A Dragon, no doubt of it, with wings that stretch and soar upon the night air as it passes overhead. Lost to view behind the still greater shadow of the mountain it would seem to spout forth another gout of flame the Lonely Mountain's silhouette writ across the sky as a fiery glow lights behind it.
But then the shadow reappears on the other side, swooping low and terrible about the Front Gate of Erebor and sending a mighty wind down upon the Dwarves with a flap of its wings.
[Dain] All activity upon the ledge seems to slow as the great girth of the dragon soars suddenly overhead, so clear now, so unmistakeable, so unfathomable. Eyes wide with fear and shock widen further still as the dwarves recognise the full might of their foe. And then one voice breaks the interminable silence and that slowness evaporates into frantic chaos: "DRAGON!"
"Ar-Archers! Bring up the bows, lads!" Hiln's command echoes across the ledge as the mountain is silhouetted with another golden glow. "Bows only! Don't stand near the edge of the ledge! Dulin, quick lad, wake the Lord High Warder, see that the king is waken! Hurry!"
As the dragon sweeps back down towards the ledge, only Hiln and a few others stand in the open, for the rest are charging towards the guardhouse within the gate where are stored several bows and arrows, if indeed anything can save them now.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Perhaps a snatch of the cries are heard by the great Wyrm above them, for as the Dragon circles above a fresh rumble of amusement thunders down the mountainside. "Stay your little darts!" it bids the Dwarven guards. "They will avail you naught and besides! I come to parley."
A fresh spout of flame ushers forth, this time the fires licking against the mountainside itself, and the Dragon swoops about for another pass. "Who rules your little hovel? Fetch him forth!"
[Dain] Imagine the horrified thoughts that must be trampling about in Hiln's mind as the deep voice of the dragon rolls down upon him and his fellows so derisively, betraying a far greater confidence than the defender of Erebor must feel. The other guards look to Hiln with wide eyes. "W-We do not parley with wyrms!" Hiln stutters out, his voice catching at first, but growing steadier as he strives to call forth the courage that has served him so well in the past.
"So that you may roast him and be done with from the start, wyrm? Do not be daft, we are not fools!" The others begin to return bearing bows and arrows and Hiln motions for them to ready themselves, but gives no command to fire yet.
[Thari(#31038)]
A dwarf exits Erebor through the front gate, to stand behind the defenders. Nalur-- for this is his name-- is dressed very fine, even for a dwarf, wears no armor, and wears conspicuous gold and jewels about his person. His eyes are drawn to the wyrm and widen as he stills, staring agog.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Once more a mocking laugh hurls down from the Dragon as it passes, and the stars wink out from the flap of its wings. "You are fools indeed, little people, if you think I could not riddle your halls with fire and cook him on his very throne if I so wished."
A fresh gout of flame emphasizes the point, and yellow eyes stare down hard upon Hiln. "I wish to meet the master of Smaug's lair of old."
[Dain] A clatter of boots and disorganised voices follow behind Nalur as others still awake at this hour rush to the gate to have their fair share of gawping. Tradesmen, smiths and soldiers all fill the small gap of the gate, not thrown open but with a small door habitual ajar to allow the passage of the guardsmen. Now it is packed tight as dwarves begin to jostle against Nalur, horrified curiosity overcoming fear. Hiln swallows and opens his mouth as if to reply, but he is stopped by another voice behind him, louder than the muttered conversations of the other onlookers.
"What!" cries the deep voice. An elder dwarf pushes his way roughly through the crowd, brushing just past Nalur. "What say you!" shouts the dwarf, his white beard askew and only a chainmail hauberk pulled hastily over a plain shirt and trousers. But he grips an axe of blood red and his face is as set as stone. "What say you, Wyrm, that you should come so rudely knocking at my door without invitation?"
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur is pushed forward, closer to the edge, further from the safety of the Mountain's halls. His wide blue eyes turn to the white-bearded dwarf who rushes forth and then Nalur turns. He grabs the arm of a dwarf with a deep blue beard. "Hurry!" he says in a lower voice. "Go, awaken my father, tell him what is happening! Tell him that I have asked you to do this!" He urges the dwarf back toward the gates with his be-ringed hand.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A cold gaze watches the bejewelled Nalur for a moment, but it is toward the elder Dwarf that the Dragon's eye swivels last ere he speaks in reply. "Your door? Then you are the master of these halls, or lay claim to them? Answer me this: how did it come to pass that you gained these halls? Your axes are too dull, and your strength too puny to have conquered the likes of Smaug, fool that he was."
[Dain] "Think you so?" says Dain son of Nain. "And yet here we are, and the town of Dale before you, and the Desolation of Smaug is no more. If you have not discovered his end for yourself, then I shall hardly waste my breath to tell it. Fly now, and be done with!" The elder dwarf stands rooted to the spot, a few paces from the gate.
[Thari(#31038)]
The black-bearded dwarf is gone and Nalur happens to stand closer to Dain now. In fact, he moves a step or two to be slightly in front of Dain. Perhaps if they are to be charcoal, Nalur son of Balur would be crisped a millisecond first.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"Aye," sneers the hissing breath of the Dragon in return, and once more do the cruel yellow eyes fix upon the bold figure od Nalur. "You are here, as should not be. You sit in halls better suited to others, and wear gems stolen from a hoard you are unfit to possess. Such a brazen little people!"
Fire erupts from the Wyrm's mouth at this, scotching the mountainside anew but not aimed at the sons of either Nain or Balur. As the glow fades the rock glows for the faintest of moments, and smoke chokes away yet more of the stars as the Dragon swoops by once again.
"These halls are to be emptied, little King," informs the winged menace. "You can empty them yourself, or be driven out by a heat to melt the very gear you wear."
[Dain] "Back, lad!" Dain growls beneath his breath at Nalur, reaching up to take the bejewelled dwarf by the shoulder. "I'll have no dwarf take what is not his to sacrifice."
The King lifts his eyes once more to the dragon, a grave scowl drawing deep shadows over his already deeply-lined face. And when he shouts next to the creature, it is not with indignation, but rather as a teacher might instruct a pupil. "Smaug you call a fool, yet not even he was fool enough to ask us to empty our halls at his whim. This mountain is not yours, Wyrm, nor have you a claim to its treasures. Hear you know, that if you are so foolish to assail it, your end will be the same as he whose bones lie even now in the Long Lake."
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur flinches just a little as the fire roars overhead, lighting up the mountainside. He moves with a bow of his head at Dain's order. "I want for an axe," he murmurs to the dwarf on the other side.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Ire now can be found in the livid gaze of the Dragon, but scorn comes quick to replace it and the ancient creature swats at the air with the leather of its wings. Fire once more streams from its jaws, the wind of its efforts trashing the flames this way and that upon the Lonely Mountain. Down by the Gate the air is moved in kind, and with a mocking laugh the beast replies once more:
"Still you claim might beyond your due, little King," it sneers from high above. "Feel the breath of wrath that stirs to teach you better manners. With wind and fire I would cast our your rabble and scatter their charred bones to mingle with that of the Golden fool!"
But then the wings beat no more, save to launch the great Wyrm into a high arc that circles the mountaintop. "You may have it otherwise, if you possess wisdom to match your haught. I grant you three noons to make ready your people to leave."
[Dain] The elder Dwarf King's beard whips about him in the torrent of wind that assails the ledge now and throws fire upon the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. For a moment the rush of wind and sudden flame seem to rock Dain back on his heels and several of his aides rush forward, but then he is shouting, fair bellowing to make himself heard as the dragon departs.
"See that you do, Wyrm! I shall not be a wandering king - if you lay seige to this mountain, then you shall have no rest until every bone is so charred!" At that the King gestures to Hiln, standing motionless at the fore of the ledge. With a grunt, Hiln cries out to the archers standing ready, who loose a volley of arrows after the dragon, for all the good it will do.
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur raises his hands above his eyes against the glare of fire. Others do the same, and yet more turn their heads away. The sound of the King's shouts die away as the dragon soars higher, when suddenly, "Baruk Khazad!" cries Nalur with a red face, and others follow his shout with more deep bellows. "BARUK KHAZAD! KHAZAD AI-MENU!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And yet the courage of the Dwarves indeed it does little, for the Dragon laughs all the more, and the stars are quenched behind its great shape as the beast takes wing higher into the air, not a dart reaching so lofty a mark.
"Three noons, little King!" it cries out from the heavens. "I shall return then, and hear your doom."
With that, and a further stirring of the air as the mighty wings beat once more, the ancient menace soars away to the north soon even the heavens are unbothered by its shadow, and the Dwarves of Erebor are alone once more.
[Dain] The dragon is gone, but Dain lingers still, his white beard still waving at his feet, his red axe still held fast in his iron grip. And yet, for the briefest moment, a grey uneasiness passes across his features, fortunately all but lost in the poor light on the ledge. Nalur alone might glimpse it in its passing. For then Dain is straightening, and when he reaches for Nalur's elbow, his grip is firm. "Hurry quickly, lad, and find a messenger to be sent to Dale. King Brand must know what has transpired here immediately. He is to know also that every citizen of Dale is to find refuge within these halls, and to bring food and water with them should they choose to come."
The terse command given, Dain is already striding back to the mountain. "Falor!" he calls to some aide. "Ready the ravens for flight, they have urgent messages to carry to both Lake-town and the Woodland Realm this very night."
And then Dain is plowing through the crowd again, rattling off commands as he goes. It is now approaching one in the morning, yet the Lonely Mountain is even now waking up to the terrible news. That on a frigid January night, as the eves of Mirkwood bristle and the enemy encroaches upon the southern Dalelands, there is now something more, for a dragon has come once more to Erebor.
Front Gate of Erebor(#9794Rao)
Here on a wide ledge at the head of the rushing falls of the young Celduin stream are the closed gates of Erebor. Carved into the stone of the mountainside on either side of the portal are the likenesses of two great dwarves who appear to be watching all upon this high shelf, as well as the newly rebuilt Dale, and what was the Desolation of Smaug beyond. The eyes of one seem to actually be windows. The movement of watchers within make the eyes appear to be roving to and fro in constant vigilance. Leading down from here are two narrow stairways which both cut back and forth until they reach the valley floor below. There they form roads, and one soon crosses the river by a high arching stone bridge to join the other as it makes its way to the Barding's town in the valley, and then away to the Long Lake.
Contents:
Lorthrain
Obvious exits:
Eastern Stairs, Enter Gate, and Western Stairs
[Dain] It is midnight. The frigid January air mixes with the pale, sparse light of the crescent moon to form that distinct sense of desolate isolation unique to such nights, even when warmth and good company are close at hand. And close they are, though the guards who stand watch here at the front gate of Erebor do not currently share in them. The mood amidst the soldiers is generally one of boredom, though one or two look with bright eyes to the south, where messengers have recently come bearing news of the fire near Lake-town. But with news from Iach Celduin concerning the strange fires in the sky still a day away, these guards show little worry about the trials of yet another bitter midnight duty.
"Go on, c'mon," one of the guards, Ollir, grunts at his companion, shoving a cup and pair of die towards another guard, Brenin. The words echo unusually loudly across the wide ledge before the gate. Brenin mutters a reply and rolls the die without pause. Other petty games take place between the dozen or so other guards, with only the occasional eye glancing up to check the all clear.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Though they might well regret what they miss, for as the night wears on a patch of stars in the south are quenched. Not long, for they blaze anew a moment later -- their neighbours to the north suddenly blotting out in turn, as a shape shifts their way. As though a shadow cast against the tapestry of Varda, something seeps northward in thesky towards the Lonely Mountain.
[Dain] "You know I hear some elf started that fire," Brenin mutters lazily as the die fall badly and he shoves them back towards Ollir. "That right?" Ollir returns, just as bored. "And I heard it were your uncle, what of it, eh?" The die are tossed again, shoved across. "I'm just sayin'," from Brenin, "can't trust them elves, can you? If they're so keen on protecting their precious road, why're they saying there's an army camped out there even now? Eh?"
"Oh shut it," says another guard from across the ledge, a petty officer called Hiln. "Elves wouldn't set fire to trees, y'fool." That hushes Brenin for a moment, before he begins to complain of the lack of clouds to warm the night. Hiln mutters to himself and turns away to look south. For a brief second, a puzzled look settles over his face and he blinks several times, then shakes his head.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
The shape among the stars drifts on, growing larger as it does and eats up yet more of the heavenly light. Two long swathes of shadow stretch out around a thin line of black, as though mighty wings spread over twinkling gems.
The air stirs a faint breeze picking up to seep over the Gate.
[Dain] Hiln continues to stare in the direction of whatever seems to have given him a moment of puzzlement, but initially it seems to trouble him no more. But a second passes and one or two of the other guards looks up towards the south as well, squinting. Instinct bids Hiln to narrow his eyes at his comrades and grunt, "What?" One of them hugs his cloak closer about his person and mutters a reply. "Well it's cold, innit? Bloody breeze." Hiln purses his lips and relaxes. Nearby, Brenin curses as Ollir gives a brief cackle of victory.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A victory which is given due applause: without warning, suddenly the sky is set ablaze!
A spike of fire gushes out from a spout unseen in the sky, illuminating the heaven for a brief moment and casting what clouds linger by in browns and golds. The swatches of shadow flash ruby for a moment, lit by the fire's glow and the shape among the stars is revealed to be a monstrous winged creature speeding towards the Lonely Mountain. The fire fades, night cloaks the beast once more, but the shadow of its approach wings on with fearsome purpose.
Could it be? Has a Dragon come to Erebor after so many years?
[Dain] "Hah HAH!" Ollir is still gloating as the sky is rent in gold and red. The victorious guard's eyes widen in sudden alarm and the cup and die fall to the ground as he reaches for something to balance him as he is taken off guard. Shouts rise up from the other guards as well as boots scuff and weapons clank with all the dumbness of a rabbit caught in the torchlight. "Bloody elves, you think now!" Ollir growls derisively at Brenin, who is clutching frantically at a shout broadsword and shield.
Hiln, the levelest head of the lot, is staring open-mouthed at the shape of the winged creature, once illuminated and now so painfully obvious to track as it blots out the stars. One of the guards cries, "What is it? What is it!" That seems to trigger Hiln into action. He rounds on the questioner and points roughly at the gate. "Who cares what the hell it is, sound the alarm, you fool!"
Suddenly baritone dwarven voices are shouting all across the ledge as two or three scramble to reach the gate and give the alarm.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And as they go a deep laugher echoes down from far above, the shadow's approach brought close enough now to see the full shape of it. A Dragon, no doubt of it, with wings that stretch and soar upon the night air as it passes overhead. Lost to view behind the still greater shadow of the mountain it would seem to spout forth another gout of flame the Lonely Mountain's silhouette writ across the sky as a fiery glow lights behind it.
But then the shadow reappears on the other side, swooping low and terrible about the Front Gate of Erebor and sending a mighty wind down upon the Dwarves with a flap of its wings.
[Dain] All activity upon the ledge seems to slow as the great girth of the dragon soars suddenly overhead, so clear now, so unmistakeable, so unfathomable. Eyes wide with fear and shock widen further still as the dwarves recognise the full might of their foe. And then one voice breaks the interminable silence and that slowness evaporates into frantic chaos: "DRAGON!"
"Ar-Archers! Bring up the bows, lads!" Hiln's command echoes across the ledge as the mountain is silhouetted with another golden glow. "Bows only! Don't stand near the edge of the ledge! Dulin, quick lad, wake the Lord High Warder, see that the king is waken! Hurry!"
As the dragon sweeps back down towards the ledge, only Hiln and a few others stand in the open, for the rest are charging towards the guardhouse within the gate where are stored several bows and arrows, if indeed anything can save them now.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Perhaps a snatch of the cries are heard by the great Wyrm above them, for as the Dragon circles above a fresh rumble of amusement thunders down the mountainside. "Stay your little darts!" it bids the Dwarven guards. "They will avail you naught and besides! I come to parley."
A fresh spout of flame ushers forth, this time the fires licking against the mountainside itself, and the Dragon swoops about for another pass. "Who rules your little hovel? Fetch him forth!"
[Dain] Imagine the horrified thoughts that must be trampling about in Hiln's mind as the deep voice of the dragon rolls down upon him and his fellows so derisively, betraying a far greater confidence than the defender of Erebor must feel. The other guards look to Hiln with wide eyes. "W-We do not parley with wyrms!" Hiln stutters out, his voice catching at first, but growing steadier as he strives to call forth the courage that has served him so well in the past.
"So that you may roast him and be done with from the start, wyrm? Do not be daft, we are not fools!" The others begin to return bearing bows and arrows and Hiln motions for them to ready themselves, but gives no command to fire yet.
[Thari(#31038)]
A dwarf exits Erebor through the front gate, to stand behind the defenders. Nalur-- for this is his name-- is dressed very fine, even for a dwarf, wears no armor, and wears conspicuous gold and jewels about his person. His eyes are drawn to the wyrm and widen as he stills, staring agog.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Once more a mocking laugh hurls down from the Dragon as it passes, and the stars wink out from the flap of its wings. "You are fools indeed, little people, if you think I could not riddle your halls with fire and cook him on his very throne if I so wished."
A fresh gout of flame emphasizes the point, and yellow eyes stare down hard upon Hiln. "I wish to meet the master of Smaug's lair of old."
[Dain] A clatter of boots and disorganised voices follow behind Nalur as others still awake at this hour rush to the gate to have their fair share of gawping. Tradesmen, smiths and soldiers all fill the small gap of the gate, not thrown open but with a small door habitual ajar to allow the passage of the guardsmen. Now it is packed tight as dwarves begin to jostle against Nalur, horrified curiosity overcoming fear. Hiln swallows and opens his mouth as if to reply, but he is stopped by another voice behind him, louder than the muttered conversations of the other onlookers.
"What!" cries the deep voice. An elder dwarf pushes his way roughly through the crowd, brushing just past Nalur. "What say you!" shouts the dwarf, his white beard askew and only a chainmail hauberk pulled hastily over a plain shirt and trousers. But he grips an axe of blood red and his face is as set as stone. "What say you, Wyrm, that you should come so rudely knocking at my door without invitation?"
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur is pushed forward, closer to the edge, further from the safety of the Mountain's halls. His wide blue eyes turn to the white-bearded dwarf who rushes forth and then Nalur turns. He grabs the arm of a dwarf with a deep blue beard. "Hurry!" he says in a lower voice. "Go, awaken my father, tell him what is happening! Tell him that I have asked you to do this!" He urges the dwarf back toward the gates with his be-ringed hand.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
A cold gaze watches the bejewelled Nalur for a moment, but it is toward the elder Dwarf that the Dragon's eye swivels last ere he speaks in reply. "Your door? Then you are the master of these halls, or lay claim to them? Answer me this: how did it come to pass that you gained these halls? Your axes are too dull, and your strength too puny to have conquered the likes of Smaug, fool that he was."
[Dain] "Think you so?" says Dain son of Nain. "And yet here we are, and the town of Dale before you, and the Desolation of Smaug is no more. If you have not discovered his end for yourself, then I shall hardly waste my breath to tell it. Fly now, and be done with!" The elder dwarf stands rooted to the spot, a few paces from the gate.
[Thari(#31038)]
The black-bearded dwarf is gone and Nalur happens to stand closer to Dain now. In fact, he moves a step or two to be slightly in front of Dain. Perhaps if they are to be charcoal, Nalur son of Balur would be crisped a millisecond first.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
"Aye," sneers the hissing breath of the Dragon in return, and once more do the cruel yellow eyes fix upon the bold figure od Nalur. "You are here, as should not be. You sit in halls better suited to others, and wear gems stolen from a hoard you are unfit to possess. Such a brazen little people!"
Fire erupts from the Wyrm's mouth at this, scotching the mountainside anew but not aimed at the sons of either Nain or Balur. As the glow fades the rock glows for the faintest of moments, and smoke chokes away yet more of the stars as the Dragon swoops by once again.
"These halls are to be emptied, little King," informs the winged menace. "You can empty them yourself, or be driven out by a heat to melt the very gear you wear."
[Dain] "Back, lad!" Dain growls beneath his breath at Nalur, reaching up to take the bejewelled dwarf by the shoulder. "I'll have no dwarf take what is not his to sacrifice."
The King lifts his eyes once more to the dragon, a grave scowl drawing deep shadows over his already deeply-lined face. And when he shouts next to the creature, it is not with indignation, but rather as a teacher might instruct a pupil. "Smaug you call a fool, yet not even he was fool enough to ask us to empty our halls at his whim. This mountain is not yours, Wyrm, nor have you a claim to its treasures. Hear you know, that if you are so foolish to assail it, your end will be the same as he whose bones lie even now in the Long Lake."
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur flinches just a little as the fire roars overhead, lighting up the mountainside. He moves with a bow of his head at Dain's order. "I want for an axe," he murmurs to the dwarf on the other side.
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
Ire now can be found in the livid gaze of the Dragon, but scorn comes quick to replace it and the ancient creature swats at the air with the leather of its wings. Fire once more streams from its jaws, the wind of its efforts trashing the flames this way and that upon the Lonely Mountain. Down by the Gate the air is moved in kind, and with a mocking laugh the beast replies once more:
"Still you claim might beyond your due, little King," it sneers from high above. "Feel the breath of wrath that stirs to teach you better manners. With wind and fire I would cast our your rabble and scatter their charred bones to mingle with that of the Golden fool!"
But then the wings beat no more, save to launch the great Wyrm into a high arc that circles the mountaintop. "You may have it otherwise, if you possess wisdom to match your haught. I grant you three noons to make ready your people to leave."
[Dain] The elder Dwarf King's beard whips about him in the torrent of wind that assails the ledge now and throws fire upon the slopes of the Lonely Mountain. For a moment the rush of wind and sudden flame seem to rock Dain back on his heels and several of his aides rush forward, but then he is shouting, fair bellowing to make himself heard as the dragon departs.
"See that you do, Wyrm! I shall not be a wandering king - if you lay seige to this mountain, then you shall have no rest until every bone is so charred!" At that the King gestures to Hiln, standing motionless at the fore of the ledge. With a grunt, Hiln cries out to the archers standing ready, who loose a volley of arrows after the dragon, for all the good it will do.
[Thari(#31038)]
Nalur raises his hands above his eyes against the glare of fire. Others do the same, and yet more turn their heads away. The sound of the King's shouts die away as the dragon soars higher, when suddenly, "Baruk Khazad!" cries Nalur with a red face, and others follow his shout with more deep bellows. "BARUK KHAZAD! KHAZAD AI-MENU!"
[Lorthrain(#23381)]
And yet the courage of the Dwarves indeed it does little, for the Dragon laughs all the more, and the stars are quenched behind its great shape as the beast takes wing higher into the air, not a dart reaching so lofty a mark.
"Three noons, little King!" it cries out from the heavens. "I shall return then, and hear your doom."
With that, and a further stirring of the air as the mighty wings beat once more, the ancient menace soars away to the north soon even the heavens are unbothered by its shadow, and the Dwarves of Erebor are alone once more.
[Dain] The dragon is gone, but Dain lingers still, his white beard still waving at his feet, his red axe still held fast in his iron grip. And yet, for the briefest moment, a grey uneasiness passes across his features, fortunately all but lost in the poor light on the ledge. Nalur alone might glimpse it in its passing. For then Dain is straightening, and when he reaches for Nalur's elbow, his grip is firm. "Hurry quickly, lad, and find a messenger to be sent to Dale. King Brand must know what has transpired here immediately. He is to know also that every citizen of Dale is to find refuge within these halls, and to bring food and water with them should they choose to come."
The terse command given, Dain is already striding back to the mountain. "Falor!" he calls to some aide. "Ready the ravens for flight, they have urgent messages to carry to both Lake-town and the Woodland Realm this very night."
And then Dain is plowing through the crowd again, rattling off commands as he goes. It is now approaching one in the morning, yet the Lonely Mountain is even now waking up to the terrible news. That on a frigid January night, as the eves of Mirkwood bristle and the enemy encroaches upon the southern Dalelands, there is now something more, for a dragon has come once more to Erebor.
Players: Dain, dragon
