The Hall of Fire 28.pdf - Fan Modules - Free

Hall of Fire The Unofficial Lord of the Rings Roleplaying Game Webzine Issue 28 March 2006 Page 37
The Dragon’s great form was across the courtyard, before
the donjon and the gates. Terror began to creep into both of
their hearts and then the fell-beast breathed a gout of flame over
the bridge and their Dwarven companion.
Seeing Lûnduf die, Edrahil became absolutely enraged and
his incantation took effect. He would catch this dragon’s
attention and keep it. It would hopefully allow enough time for
Camentir and Dirnhael to deliver a blow that would save them
all.
“MORGOTH’S WYRM! YOU HAVE TAKEN ONE OF
OUR COMPANIONS AND FOR THIS YOU SHALL FACE
OUR WRATH!” But then the Sindar began to envision a man,
not unlike Fengel, and the man was in a great struggle with a
dragon. The dragon was lame.
“HA! HA!” laughed Edrahil, “YOU HAVE SECURED
YOUR OWN DOOM IN A NOT TOO DISTANT DAY!
COME LET US ENGAGE!”
Enraged and emboldened with Edrahil at his side, Durgil let
fly an arrow in a bit of haste. The shot, aimed for the beast’s
head, missed and sailed off, crossing the path of the dragon’s line
of sight into the distance. Cursing his luck, he quickly grabbed
another and prepared to fire again.
Seeing the immense flame shoot forth from the terrible wyrm
Daelhun’s shielded arm immediately shot up to protect his face,
the meager buckler not large enough to have even protected his
arm, yet it was a reflex to the terrible power that the wyrm
displayed. Though fear gripped him, Daelhun spurred on his
horse yet again, riding to the spot where the Dwarf had fallen
into the moat. He reached for Nain and heaved him up onto his
horse with all his might.
Coming after Daelhun, Fengel’s eyes went wide as he reined
in his steed. He could not believe that his friend had just
perished before his eyes. He was not quick enough to save
him. Then he remembered that Lûnduf had pushed Nain into
the moat and he was still in grave danger. Trusting that his
comrades would distract the dragon, Fengel rode now with all
speed he could muster from his horse to the aid of Daelhun in
retrieving Nain.
Stunned by the actions of his companion and then the icy
chill of the freezing water, Nain had barely stood again when he
spotted the burned remains that had once been his friend. One
might have seen a tear sliding down his cheek was it not for the
chill water that was leaving its own trails. Lûnduf had saved his
life and died for it. The Dragon would pay. He began clambering
toward the shore when he felt himself being hoisted bodily off
the ground and onto the back of a horse. One of the humans
that had ridden to save their captain he could only assume, they
all looked alike from the back. He hoped this man wouldn’t
suffer the same fate as Lûnduf for his bravery. Nain held on, still
furious with the Dragon and with himself for being too terrified
of the creature to do anything else.
With Nain on his horse and Fengel now at his side,
Daelhun pressed his steed once more and they raced away from
the bridge, the moat, and the Dragon
Dirnhael was carefully manuevering around the massive
and deadly beast when he heard Edrahil - the Elf had never
seemed so... emotional. Then his words hit him: one of his
friends was dead. He was too late. Was it Nain, who had already
lost his brother to another vile beast in these lands? What a
tragedy to befall one family! Or was it... Dirnhael could barely
think it... Lûnduf, his companion since the day he left Tharbad
so long ago?
As it all sunk in to Dirnhael’s mind, he knew that Lûnduf
was dead. He knew that Edrahil respected Nain, too - but
Edrahil’s sorrow and rage clearly came from the loss of a dearer
friend. Dirnhael quailed. The death of his close Dwarven friend
would be a wound to his heart that would never heal... another
one...
Andúring grew icy in his hands; now almost painful to the
touch, and Dirnhael knew that he would honor Lûnduf best not
by collapsing in grief, but rather by avenging him and saving his
kin, “I swear it,” he said under his breath.
Rage began to swell within him as he motioned to Camentir
to stand ready at the dragon’s tail. As for himself, he would
move farther along. The blood in Dirnhael’s veins ran as cold as
the ancient blade in his hand. For the first time in his life,
Dirnhael - Dúnadan - wanted to kill. The dragon’s tail no longer
concerned him - he wanted its heart!
Scatha was not a young Dragon, but neither was he old.
Still, his body reflected the many scars and wounds that he had
suffered at the end of the First Age and the cataclysm that
occurred with the destruction of Angband. The Dragon had
slept many countless years in hiding, slowly healing, when the
wraith-king came to request his aid. More time and healing
would have been necessary to fully recover, but the Dragon
knew he was strong enough to deal with these puny people.
He listened to the voice yell out to him and immediately
knew Edrahil for what he was, a Sindar, an Elf, one of those that
for so long had been a bane to his kind. The Dragon gave a
gurgled laugh and spoke, “YOU WISH TO ENGAGE ME!
DEAR ELF, I AM BEYOND YOUR ABILITIES TO
OVERCOME! YOU AND THESE FEEBLE MEN ARE UPON
DEATH’S DOOR AND FOOLISHLY YOU SPAR ME WITH
WORDS! I AM SCATHA! I AM MIGHT!”
The Dragons voice boomed in the night air, yet undaunted
by his words, Edrahil responded, “FORGET THEE NOT
SCATHA THE MIGHTY - IT WAS A MAN, AKIN TO
THOSE WITH WHOM I ALLY THAT STRUCK THE
KILLING BLOW TO GLAURUNG, FATHER OF
DRAGONS! SLIGHT THEM NOT IN THEIR COURAGE
AND WILL, TO YOUR FOLLY!”
With the mentioning of Glaurung’s name, Scatha became
incensed and he slammed his mass forward into the gate tower
and wall of Eldanar’s outer barrier and the structure began to
tumble apart crashing down into snow and icy water.
“RAAAHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!” roared the
Dragon as a flame emanated from his mouth, licking up over his
long snout like a terrible tongue.