The Final Warning
It was mere luck that brought the company of Zurri so far, unharmed and unscathed. Few parties make it through Middle-Earth without incident, and the travelling dwarves knew this full well. Sooner or later, their good fortune would turn sour. Such is the way of the wild. Still, they did their best to have high hopes.
Zurri's Folk made quick work of breakfast, doused the campfire, and then they began to gather their belongings and store them on their mountain goats. They then mounted them when the camp was all but disassembled, and they made their start, riding on through the few miles that remained in The Trollshaws. Eventually, The Last Bridge lay in sight, the arching stonework connecting this land to the next; The Lone-lands. However, a tall hooded figure stood at the foot of the bridge, garbed in forest green robes, a slender white bow in hand. He was blocking the way.
"Few pass through this land without my intervention," the mysterious figure spoke coldly as the cautious dwarrows brought their steeds to a halt. "But I have made way for this company of dwarves until the final moment, for our races have not always mingled well."
"Who are yer? Wha' be yer seekin' from the likes o'us? Tis a particular folly ter hal' a dwarven company o'the mos' ferveren' stock!" barked up the brutish Barkgrom, his explosively ginger beard bristling at the icy tone of their new opponent. He nodded to his companions, and all but Zurri and Balthnar nodded back in approval of his defensiveness.
The hooded figure then took a step forward, removing a hand from the bow to reach up and gracefully remove the green hood that shrouded their visage. Standing before them was an elf, who glimmered in the wake of sparkling sunlight. He was beautiful to behold, radiant and ethereal, silver hair cascading down from his head. This magical being was garbed in leathers fit for travel, yet all of him was clear and clean.
"My name is Landallas, and long have I patrolled these woods. It is my responsibility to ferry lost souls from The Last Bridge to a secluded valley, if they are in great need. But it is also my role to lead others away from the haven, if I deem them unworthy or villainous. Though it now lies near empty, few elves do still call it home," said the elf proudly, back straight and shoulders back. He was kind to reveal that much.
"My name is Zurri, friend. If what you say is true, then you have naught to fear from us, Landallas. We have no need for near-abandoned havens of the elf-kind, for we are bound to pass over this very bridge and into The Lone-lands," reasoned Zurri astride his bronze goat, speaking with a respectful demeanour.
The elf appeared troubled at this, and the party of dwarves did eye the stranger wearily. None trusted him, and even the goats made that known with their own shuffling. Zurri, however, was more open and relaxed with both his tone and his body language.
"I am aware you do not seek the counsel of elves, good dwarves. I come not to sweep you away to elven sanctuary, but to offer you a warning. Go no further, for the land ahead is fraught with peril," warned Landalass, though he now sounded more sincere and insistent, and far less cold.
"We do appreciate the concern, esteemed elf. But we go where we go. Our business is a matter of our kin," negotiated the ever-reasonable Balthnar. He gave a little half-bow from on high after his contribution too, allowing his words to serve as introduction to his character.
"Indeed. But you should know, travellers, that the Lone-lands have changed much in recent memory. Though the great enemy has been purged from the east, the wilds remain as dangerous as ever. Mindless and maddened creatures now have dominion over the wastes that lie ahead," warned Landallas in his calculating persona.
"Yer blind, hm? That's why we brought axes, yer wee pointy ears!" piped up the abrasive Glomgrim.
"Save for Zurri! He wields a sword fit for a weedy longshanks!" chimed in Boffnar, scratching his bald spot with a cheeky grin.
Zurri, at the head of the pack of dwarves, wheeled himself around in his saddle. Together, he and Balthnar hissed words of scolding to their misbehaving companions, and they all hushed themselves in an instant under their leadership. Then Zurri, turned back around, flustered, as Balthnar continued his whisperings, whipping the company into shape.
"You have my apologies for their rudeness, Landallas. You show only concern," said Zurri apologetically. "But Balthnar has the way of it. Our business is our business, and we will not be deterred. We are ready to face whatever dangers lie ahead."
Landallas studied them more harshly than before, his eyes piercing each of them with a look of judgment. He beheld them as if expecting them to act this way; stubborn, petulant, and defiant. The War of the Ring had not changed the dwarves for the better, it seemed. Moreover, the elf looked increasingly repelled by the smell of the mountain goats too. So it was that the elf stepped aside, but as the dwarves began riding on wearily, the elf raised his voice a final time to them.
"Heed my final warning. Should you traverse the Lone-lands, only death will you be rewarded with. It is the land where now all things go to be forgotten, or to perish..."
The dwarves moved on, talking not back to the elf now. Nevertheless, their hearts became weary, knowing that the final stretch of their journey would bring great sorrow.
