Belanos and Lihan Taifun
The emptiness in his belly nudges the Balrog to action. He flies inland, putting some distance between him and that ocean which unsettles his mind. There are a few settlements scattered here, and he is tempted to just grab a fat cow or pig, but in his own mind he has not yet stooped to simple thieving. Either destroy the whole town, or hunt his own food -- that is the noble way to do it. So he flies on, inland toward the Blue Mountains.
Súraumo had been flying for most of the morning. Wary of prying eyes, he kept just below the spine of the Blue Mountains so he would not readily silhouette against the sky from the land below. He had been journeying south for some time now, stopping to hunt and rest as the need arose, but the further south he flew the more he noted distant settlements dotting the landscape below him. Now in the near distance he could see the sunlight glinting off the waters of the Great Sea. This he knew meant that his time of daylight flight was at an end for it was along the coast of this mighty waterway that men and elves more commonly made their homes.
Súraumo knew that from now on it would be prudent for him to journey at night, for he knew he would be but a fleeting shadow to any who may look to the starry skies. With this thought in mind, he lightly adjusted the tilt of his wings, flapping only occasionally as he glided lower and lower in search of somewhere to rest until nightfall. Spying an open glade such as he sought, he flared his wings to swiftly lose airspeed, the delicate membranes taut against the resistance of the air. In a flurry of dust and grass seeds at last he landed, taking care to protect his maimed forepaw from the impact.
Something large, shadowed against the mountains, catches the Balrog's attention, something flying purposefully, much too large to be an eagle. Curious, the Balrog makes a note of where the other flier settles.
Pressing onward, flapping somewhat faster than comfortable, the Balrog reaches the mountains, and circles slowly until he locates what he had seen -- a large dragon. A dragon! His mind considers the implications, while he moves slowly down to get a closer view. Remembering his experiences with dragons ages ago, in the Dark Master's armies, he keeps to the dragon's front, within it's view, to avoid startling it. A reflexive twitch of a dragon tail can be quite unpleasant to anyone nearby.
Súraumo looks around warily after landing, the muscles of his long neck rippling as it snaked from side to side, his one good eye sharp and bright as he checked for danger before at last moving forward to the edge of a nearby stream. Lowering his muzzle he gulped great draughts of the sparkling water, his eye never ceasing to dart warily around him and his ears twitched back and forth as he listened for warning of an impending threat. He had not lived to the great age he was by being careless in strange lands. Caution was second nature to him. A rustling in the undergrowth nearby caused him to raise his snout, still streaming water as he turned to investigate. A quick snuffle of the air informed him of the badger scurrying deeper into the forest.
Súraumo crinkled his nose in disgust. Badgers were more effort than their meagre meat was worth and no threat to him at all. He would hunt later, he decided, when the sun was low and the creatures of the forests were seeking their shelter for the night. For now though, he would rest. Lowering himself to the ground in another puff of dust he heaved a sigh of relief. It was good to rest. As he lowered his head upon his forepaws he tried not to think of the days when he could fly from dawn til dusk without thought.
The Balrog quickly notes that, although the dragon is huge, it bears numerous scars. The skin indents between gaunt ribs, indicating this one has not been eating well. The geas once more tickles the back of the Balrog's mind, stirring the beginnings of a plan.
"Hail, oh most noble of beasts," the Balrog booms, hovering a cautious distance from the dragon's scrawny snout.
Súraumo's eyes snap open, and his head flicks up with a start. He had not even realised he had begun to doze as he rested at the edge of the glade. Impatient with this weakness and irked beyond measure that any creature had managed to approach him, his eye glinted with malice as he sought the speaker. With a start the dragon recognised a balrog hovering just out of snapping distance. A balrog! Súraumo had not seen one of those foul creatures since he'd fled the battlefields of the War of Wrath in crippled and shamed defeat. Now he tilted his head so he could eye the creature warily. He snorted a great cloud of cinders and smoke as he rumbled, "Noble, am I? You presume, Most Foul One who dares disturb my rest."
The Balrog flexes a wing irritably, as he tries to get his mind into the right frame for coddling a dragon. "Nay, magnificent one. I was merely admiring your excellent self. How could I avoid stopping to greet an old comrade? Surely you must be a fellow veteran of the great wars?"
Súraumo's scales rise in reflex at the Balrog's words. Magnificent he knew he was not. He crinkled his muzzle and showed his teeth as he rasped his reply, "Aye, I was at the Great Wars, but I call none comrade from that time. Especially do I not call comrade a Balrog who speaks with sweet words. What is it you seek, Foul Beast, for I know for you to speak so, you seek something of me." He snakes his head forward and glares malevolently at the Balrog before continuing, "And make sure you speak truth, mind or it will not go well for ye."
The Balrog's eyes narrow to a scorn-filled glare at this insolent lizard. Fortunate for this one that he does indeed seek something from it. He tries to relax his habitual scowl. The result is more like a grimace. "Most perceptive of you, oh, dragon. A venture has occurred to me, which would be profitable to the both of us. A city of fat elves, with plenty of livestock …"
Súraumo fixes the balrog with a baleful glare as he considered his words. In truth his mouth watered at the thought of the easy pickings of domestic stock. Hunting had not been easy on his long journey south, and his stomach had not known a full meal for some time. Experience, however, had taught him to avoid cities, especially elven cities. Still, his curiosity was raised, for it was seldom a Balrog ever needed assistance in anything. "Elven cities are notoriously well-defended. Why should I risk doing such a foolish thing? Do you think me some gullible young hatchling that only knows the demands of its stomach?"
The Balrog does not need to feign his sneer. "I thought you to be powerful enough that you did not fear a few elves. Surely arrows mean no more to you than a few stinging flies. But if you are past your city-smashing days, then stay here and hunt rabbits! I have no doubt I can find a younger dragon who will join me, one who still has a taste for hunting elves."
Stung beyond endurance by the balrog's taunts, Súraumo leaps to his feet, "I fear nothing!" His reply is an angry roar that echos around the glade. Cinders and sparks fly from his mouth with his words and his teeth snap together angrily as he speaks, "What I would like to know is why a Balrog considers sharing plunder at all! What is it you need from me that you would do such a thing?"
The Balrog does not flinch, neither from the dragon's roar, nor from the sparks. "Now we are getting down to business," he says with grim satisfaction. "This city, where I have 'business', is on an island. A dragon's speed in flying would be useful to me." That is a substantial understatement, but technically it is truth. Some dragons are surprisingly touchy about hearing the truth. "We fly to this island. I look for the king and 'take care of my business.' You make whatever sport you like -- smash towers, grab screaming elves, burn what you will. It will be easy pickings."
Súraumo's single eye glares belligerently at the Balrog as he ponders the creature's words. So now we are at the truth of it, he thinks to himself, for he is well aware of how difficult it would be for a Balrog to get to an island, for water is one of the few things Balrogs fear. It was risky, that much was certain, both in trusting the word of a Balrog and the suggested course of action and yet.. and yet there was still something in Súraumo of the impetuous youngling he used to be. For too long he'd live a life of caution and safety. How many more seasons were left to him, he wondered, before the winter snows coated his bones? He had been living the life of an old dragon when the heart of a young one beat within. Thoughtfully now he eyed the Balrog again, and his voice rumbled menacingly as he spoke, "I will do this thing that you ask of me. But know this, balrog. If there is one hint of treachery from you, then you shall find yourself dumped into the Great Sea without hesitation." He snorted a spurt of flame to make sure his intent was understood before asking, "Now where are we to find this city of fat elves?"
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Súraumo had been flying for most of the morning. Wary of prying eyes, he kept just below the spine of the Blue Mountains so he would not readily silhouette against the sky from the land below. He had been journeying south for some time now, stopping to hunt and rest as the need arose, but the further south he flew the more he noted distant settlements dotting the landscape below him. Now in the near distance he could see the sunlight glinting off the waters of the Great Sea. This he knew meant that his time of daylight flight was at an end for it was along the coast of this mighty waterway that men and elves more commonly made their homes.
Súraumo knew that from now on it would be prudent for him to journey at night, for he knew he would be but a fleeting shadow to any who may look to the starry skies. With this thought in mind, he lightly adjusted the tilt of his wings, flapping only occasionally as he glided lower and lower in search of somewhere to rest until nightfall. Spying an open glade such as he sought, he flared his wings to swiftly lose airspeed, the delicate membranes taut against the resistance of the air. In a flurry of dust and grass seeds at last he landed, taking care to protect his maimed forepaw from the impact.
Something large, shadowed against the mountains, catches the Balrog's attention, something flying purposefully, much too large to be an eagle. Curious, the Balrog makes a note of where the other flier settles.
Pressing onward, flapping somewhat faster than comfortable, the Balrog reaches the mountains, and circles slowly until he locates what he had seen -- a large dragon. A dragon! His mind considers the implications, while he moves slowly down to get a closer view. Remembering his experiences with dragons ages ago, in the Dark Master's armies, he keeps to the dragon's front, within it's view, to avoid startling it. A reflexive twitch of a dragon tail can be quite unpleasant to anyone nearby.
Súraumo looks around warily after landing, the muscles of his long neck rippling as it snaked from side to side, his one good eye sharp and bright as he checked for danger before at last moving forward to the edge of a nearby stream. Lowering his muzzle he gulped great draughts of the sparkling water, his eye never ceasing to dart warily around him and his ears twitched back and forth as he listened for warning of an impending threat. He had not lived to the great age he was by being careless in strange lands. Caution was second nature to him. A rustling in the undergrowth nearby caused him to raise his snout, still streaming water as he turned to investigate. A quick snuffle of the air informed him of the badger scurrying deeper into the forest.
Súraumo crinkled his nose in disgust. Badgers were more effort than their meagre meat was worth and no threat to him at all. He would hunt later, he decided, when the sun was low and the creatures of the forests were seeking their shelter for the night. For now though, he would rest. Lowering himself to the ground in another puff of dust he heaved a sigh of relief. It was good to rest. As he lowered his head upon his forepaws he tried not to think of the days when he could fly from dawn til dusk without thought.
The Balrog quickly notes that, although the dragon is huge, it bears numerous scars. The skin indents between gaunt ribs, indicating this one has not been eating well. The geas once more tickles the back of the Balrog's mind, stirring the beginnings of a plan.
"Hail, oh most noble of beasts," the Balrog booms, hovering a cautious distance from the dragon's scrawny snout.
Súraumo's eyes snap open, and his head flicks up with a start. He had not even realised he had begun to doze as he rested at the edge of the glade. Impatient with this weakness and irked beyond measure that any creature had managed to approach him, his eye glinted with malice as he sought the speaker. With a start the dragon recognised a balrog hovering just out of snapping distance. A balrog! Súraumo had not seen one of those foul creatures since he'd fled the battlefields of the War of Wrath in crippled and shamed defeat. Now he tilted his head so he could eye the creature warily. He snorted a great cloud of cinders and smoke as he rumbled, "Noble, am I? You presume, Most Foul One who dares disturb my rest."
The Balrog flexes a wing irritably, as he tries to get his mind into the right frame for coddling a dragon. "Nay, magnificent one. I was merely admiring your excellent self. How could I avoid stopping to greet an old comrade? Surely you must be a fellow veteran of the great wars?"
The Balrog's eyes narrow to a scorn-filled glare at this insolent lizard. Fortunate for this one that he does indeed seek something from it. He tries to relax his habitual scowl. The result is more like a grimace. "Most perceptive of you, oh, dragon. A venture has occurred to me, which would be profitable to the both of us. A city of fat elves, with plenty of livestock …"Súraumo fixes the balrog with a baleful glare as he considered his words. In truth his mouth watered at the thought of the easy pickings of domestic stock. Hunting had not been easy on his long journey south, and his stomach had not known a full meal for some time. Experience, however, had taught him to avoid cities, especially elven cities. Still, his curiosity was raised, for it was seldom a Balrog ever needed assistance in anything. "Elven cities are notoriously well-defended. Why should I risk doing such a foolish thing? Do you think me some gullible young hatchling that only knows the demands of its stomach?"
The Balrog does not need to feign his sneer. "I thought you to be powerful enough that you did not fear a few elves. Surely arrows mean no more to you than a few stinging flies. But if you are past your city-smashing days, then stay here and hunt rabbits! I have no doubt I can find a younger dragon who will join me, one who still has a taste for hunting elves."
Stung beyond endurance by the balrog's taunts, Súraumo leaps to his feet, "I fear nothing!" His reply is an angry roar that echos around the glade. Cinders and sparks fly from his mouth with his words and his teeth snap together angrily as he speaks, "What I would like to know is why a Balrog considers sharing plunder at all! What is it you need from me that you would do such a thing?"The Balrog does not flinch, neither from the dragon's roar, nor from the sparks. "Now we are getting down to business," he says with grim satisfaction. "This city, where I have 'business', is on an island. A dragon's speed in flying would be useful to me." That is a substantial understatement, but technically it is truth. Some dragons are surprisingly touchy about hearing the truth. "We fly to this island. I look for the king and 'take care of my business.' You make whatever sport you like -- smash towers, grab screaming elves, burn what you will. It will be easy pickings."
Súraumo's single eye glares belligerently at the Balrog as he ponders the creature's words. So now we are at the truth of it, he thinks to himself, for he is well aware of how difficult it would be for a Balrog to get to an island, for water is one of the few things Balrogs fear. It was risky, that much was certain, both in trusting the word of a Balrog and the suggested course of action and yet.. and yet there was still something in Súraumo of the impetuous youngling he used to be. For too long he'd live a life of caution and safety. How many more seasons were left to him, he wondered, before the winter snows coated his bones? He had been living the life of an old dragon when the heart of a young one beat within. Thoughtfully now he eyed the Balrog again, and his voice rumbled menacingly as he spoke, "I will do this thing that you ask of me. But know this, balrog. If there is one hint of treachery from you, then you shall find yourself dumped into the Great Sea without hesitation." He snorted a spurt of flame to make sure his intent was understood before asking, "Now where are we to find this city of fat elves?"
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