Thank you to classmate Qian Aslan for the 10,000 reward, thank you~~~
Gray Harbor.
After the farewell ceremony for the deceased, the master and wizard of Gray Harbor invited Thorin, his cousin Dwalin, and the black-haired dragonborn to the Hall of Fallen Flowers (Government Affairs).
Here, Dragon Byrne met the elf Galdor. He didn't take off his armor and his aura didn't diminish, like a statue, standing quietly in the bright moonlight.
"Gentlemen. The reason why I called you here is because what happens next is related to everyone."
The wizard Gandalf the Gray was apparently the convener and moderator of this meeting.
He looked at the elves and dwarves and spoke in Common.
"We all know that many of our people died today as a result of this conspiracy and horrific war."
"I would like to express my special thanks to our Thorin and Mr. Dwalin. It was because of their bravery and fearless fighting that the northern elves were able to survive due to the selfless assistance of the dwarves! Lord Cirdan has already kept this in mind. It's settled. The agreement will be kept."
As he spoke, he looked at the master of Gray Harbor.
And Cirdan seems to have already communicated with Gandalf.
He nodded, indicating that the wizard was right.
This made Thorin and Dwalin, who had been thinking about whether the contract would be ruined, heaved a sigh of relief.
The two of them whispered something to each other, and then nodded to Gandalf and Cirdan in a tacit understanding.
Seeing them playing riddles here, Dragumbol looked bored.
He didn't understand why the wizard and the master of Gray Harbor called him here.
I can't speak Elvish well now, but the wizard and the dwarves are talking in common language the whole time. In other words, most of the time, Dragon Byrne is just a wooden doll, staring at the elves in a daze. He and the dwarves had to compare the rewards for sending troops there.
What, how do you think he knew they were talking about money?
Please, is there anything else that can make men quarrel more than this yellow and white gadget?
Dragon Byrne watched with interest at first as the wizard, dwarf, and elf chattered about money. Soon, he turned away out of boredom.
He began to wonder why the wizard had called him here.
When the dragonborn's eyes fell on the elf knight who seemed to have just come down from the battlefield, he was thoughtful.
As if aware of the Dragonborn's gaze, Galdo nodded politely to him.
oh?
Dragon Byrne was a little surprised and sat up a little straighter.
Finally, I don’t know how long it took.
The elves and dwarves finally agreed on the price - anyway, Dragon Byrne saw the most satisfied smiles on the faces of the two dwarves tonight.
As for the elves.
The expression of the master of Gray Harbor on the main seat is still so calm, and the smile at the corner of his mouth has not even changed slightly. The bleeding level is probably acceptable.
The Dragonborn thought very rudely.
The pimp... ah no, it's the wizard Gandalf. At this moment, he finally remembered that there was a dragonborn next to him who was so bored that he began to count the lines on the smooth marble floor of the elves. He took off the smoking gun in his mouth, coughed twice, and skipped the topic of the meeting to the next one.
"If both parties have no objections, then I think we can move on to the next topic."
This time, the gray robe wizard switched to Sindarin. He said: "Orcs will not launch a huge war for no reason. They don't have the courage!"
"During this war, I even saw the Black Orcs of Mordor. Most of them were wiped out by the dwarf cavalry and guards, but a large part of them still survived and slipped away from the battlefield. Together with their commander, Azog the Pale Orc.”
"Not to mention ancient things like the Balrog and the Demon Wolf King. Azog can't command demons of this level. He doesn't have this ability!"
The white-haired old wizard's originally stooped figure suddenly grew taller, and his eyes became bright and majestic.
He said.
"Even his master, the former Dark Lord! Yes, you all know who I am talking about! Sauron, the Lord of Barad-dur, the Dark Lord, the despicable master of betrayal, everything in Middle-earth. The enemy of the good race, the person whose name is not mentioned, etc. In short, you can use many shameless and obscene terms to call him, it’s okay! But there is one thing we must admit!”
"Zauron has powerful power, a very evil and terrifying power! But even so, evil people like the Balrog and the Wolf King cannot be commanded by him!"
Dragon Byrne thought for a long time before he understood what the wizard was talking about.
The word Sauron seemed to have magic power. Although he was sure this was only the first time he heard this word, he seemed to clearly see a huge black shadow at that moment.
An evil black shadow that seems to swallow everything.
"So, Mr. Wizard, why did you summon us?"
He frowned and said angrily.
The tall body just sat there quietly, still giving people a sense of oppression that could not be ignored. In addition, when he spoke, half of his face disappeared into the shadows, giving people the impression that a king was giving orders to his subjects. Strong sense of déjà vu.
Thorin looked at the Dragonborn in surprise. This was almost the first time they heard him speak since they met.
The dwarves looked at each other with strange expressions.
They began to whisper to each other again.
Soon, the dwarf prince and his cousin also spoke: "Yes, Gandalf, if you have something to say, you might as well say it directly. Although the dwarfs are very patient, they don't want to waste their energy playing riddles with the wizard. This is a very stupid thing." , more stupid than arm-wrestling with a troll."
The dwarves said this in Common Tongue.
They have indeed been alienated from the elves for so long that they have basically forgotten the language of the elves.
Thorin and the others can only understand some simple Elvish (Sindaric) now, but they can't understand the more complex Noldor and Falasi at all.
As for ancient languages such as Quenya, the dwarves may only be able to find traces of such writing and language in ancient documents.
But alas, dwarves have never been a race known for their erudition.
Therefore, Thorin is more accustomed to using Common Language and Dwarven Language when talking.
"The war is over, what else matters?"
The dwarf prince frowned and looked at the elf Galdor, who had remained silent from beginning to end. Thorin smelled the breath of war in him, the smell of iron and blood.
"What you say are baseless and mediocre conjectures, Gandalf."
Thorin Oakenshield's expression became a little impatient and a little disapproving.
He said.
"Perhaps the orcs are just out to do evil? The beast Azog itself has great power. He can mobilize many places including Khazad-dûm, Dol Gudu, Gundaba, and Mordor. The army in the orc lair is the commander of an evil force. He wants to reconquer the world for his gloomy, terrifying, and evil master. Is it any wonder? Evil never retreats, it just lurks! This is the proverb of our dwarves …”
The front was fine, but when it came to the back, the dwarf prince showed great indignation and excitement over the release of the pale orc that day.
He roared loudly.
Walking around angrily.
His short but strong body was filled with raging anger.
Gandalf and Cirdan were worried about this.
They are worried that in today's difficult era when light is dwindling and darkness is returning, a leader like Thorin Oakenshield who represents a force has such an erratic personality and is prone to anger. How can this reassure people?
Thinking like this, the wizard and the master of Gray Harbor couldn't help but cast their eyes on the dragonborn who was watching a movie.
Dragon Byrne was keenly aware of this. He shrank slightly uneasily, always feeling that he would be betrayed by these two cunning guys.
at the same time.
Eton Moor.
Somewhere thirty leagues from the Dusk Hills and fifty leagues from the North Downs of Fornost.
Arasorn and his tribe were chasing a group of lone orcs.
The heroic Halbarad took the lead, skewering a fleeing orc into a gourd with a spear in his hand, and then pulled out his sword and chopped off the head of another panicked orc.
By the time he rode back, the others had already finished off all the remaining orcs.
"A total of 22 orcs were killed, and none escaped."
A knight riding a tall horse reported the results of the battle to Arasorn. Arasorn nodded and put away his sword.
They were the Dúnedain, descendants of the Númenóreans in the west, remnants of the kingdoms of Arnor and Arthedain in the north.
The blood of their ancestors flows through them. The Dúnedain have long lifespans. They are tall and handsome, with excellent vision and noble etiquette. They are much more noble and elegant than ordinary humans.
Arathorn is the leader of these people. He succeeded the 15th chief of the Dúnedain people in 2930. He is 58 years old this year, but his appearance is still as young as a youth, with sharp eyes and dignity.
Arathorn got off his horse and walked to the fire lit by this group of orcs. He looked through it and found that it was a group of deserters after a rout.
Their food consisted of rats, earthworms, and maggot-infested bread, which was disgusting and nauseating.
"Is this the first batch of fleeing orcs we've encountered?"
Arathorn threw away the rubbish in his hand and looked further west and south. There, beyond the Dusk Lake and the white dusk hills, was the elven port, Misland.
Halbarad also came, Arathorn's second-in-command, a younger but brave warrior.
"It's already the third batch. The first two batches were wiped out by us just 4 hours ago." The young ranger said: "They were in a hurry and frightened. At the slightest sign of trouble, they dispersed like frightened mice. .”
Arathorn looked around with sharp eyes and recognized that everyone had almost arrived at Annuminas by the Dusk Lake.
It was the royal capital of the old kingdom of Arnor and one of the first homes of all the Dúnedain.
"The orcs fled from the west, as if they had experienced a great battle. All their weapons and armor were thrown away, leaving only shabby robes and smelly food."
Arathorn's sharp eyes seemed to see through a long distance, and he saw the holy white port, where the elven flag remained the hope of Middle-earth after wars and years.
And countless orcs flocked to this sacred city like a tide, preparing to extinguish the light of hope in Middle-earth.
During this period of time, the ranger, who had been pursuing the cause of the turmoil in the north in the vast wilderness, withdrew his eyes and said worriedly: "Let's rest for one night and continue on the road tomorrow."
Although Arathorn was very anxious and wanted to rush to the city that represented the last hope of all the good people in Middle-earth as soon as possible.
But during this time, Arathorn and his people had been running in the wilderness for too long.
There were three more battles tonight, and the soldiers were tired and thirsty, and in urgent need of rest and food, so Arasorn finally ordered everyone to rest for a few hours and rush to Mislond at dawn.
The human rangers were cleaning up the battlefield and resting.
midnight.
Arathorn had a dream.
In the dream, a majestic figure let out a deafening cry under the light of Yaryn, pointing his sword at a terrible fortress!
Behind him, the armies of elves, dwarves, and humans stood like a forest of spears, with flags flying.
They marched in neat steps and with great momentum, marching like the north!
Arathorn even saw the seven-star crown banner of a Dúnedain tree inside.
In the distance, the holy white city walls of Mislongd emitted a sacred light under the golden morning light.
As a result, Arazon woke up instantly.
The bloodline left by the ancient ancestors made Arathon understand that this was a warning for the future. The blood of Isildur has the ability to foresee.
"Halbarad!"
The confused Arathorn called loudly to his loyal tribesmen.
Halbarad, who even slept next to the sword, jumped up, with no trace of sleep in his shining eyes.
"Yes, my king."
"Isildur's crown has fallen into the dust. Please don't mention the word king again. Now I am just a traveler among you. You have no obligation to me, and I will not promote any claim to royal power. My friend , don’t forget this!”
Arasorn corrected him, and then said quickly: "But I still have to give you an order, my friend. Please gather as many of our tribesmen as possible, and then bring them to Mislond! Remember, if within two days, You can’t gather enough people and you can’t get to the elves’ port in time, so please bring them here and wait for me here!”
Halbarad was very surprised and did not understand what the king of all the Dúnedain had foreseen, but he still said: "Is it all of them? Lord Arathorn."
Arasorn began to tie the sword to his body, and he said as he arranged the equipment.
"You heard it right, everyone! Okay, everyone heard it, time waits for no one, there will be a glorious war waiting for us ahead! Hurry up, there is no time for us to waste here anymore, take action, let's We’ll leave right away!”
Under the gloomy night, the vigilant rangers had already gotten up and arranged their equipment and horses.
Halbarad, who received the order, did not dare to delay. He was the first to mount his horse and ran out like an arrow.
Soon, Arasorn led the group of northern rangers and disappeared into the night.
A group of fifteen people, they quickly crossed the Dusk Lake and rushed towards the Elf Port Misland.
