Prelude: The Gathering of Five Armies

[Trogdor]

"Have no fears about me," Pipkin says. "I'll stay far away from the edge of the roof, and close to the ale." He smiles a smile of true contentment. Friends, fireworks, dwarven ale, and a fine autumn night. Did it get better than this?

[Shurijo]

Borir turns to Pipkin and says, "Well, it could be better if we had just defeated a horde of orcs. That would make the fireworks shine a bit more and the beer tastes a bit better."

The dwarf then takes his tankard and downs about a third of the drink. Looking out across the water, he waits to see the fireworks display.

[Vardaen]

The new friends take a seat, with mugs of ale, and no doubt soon a pipe or two of weed being smoked. It isn't long before the first squib is shot off down on the docks. That causes a great cheer to go up from the gathered crowds that pack the wharf. You have a decent view of the lower fireworks. The event starts with squibs, cracker, backarappers, sparklers, and torches that line the docks. Then out in a series of boats that rest at anchor on the lake you watch as Dwarf candles and Elf fountains and Goblin barkers pop off here and there in a nice display.

Just barely in the light of the moon and the sparklers and Elf fountains you can see a tall figure moving up and down the docks, leaning on a staff, with a pointy hat. He touches his staff to small boxes on the docks and up from them shoot rockets into the air. They are brightly colored and sail high up exploding with noise and colors. A few seem to take on the vague shape of birds or trees. They continue on for a time, the tall form moving in the darkness setting off more of them. A great shower of silver spears arches up into the air over the lake.

The crowd cheers and claps, there are hoots and hollers of pleasure, and all the while the people of Dale and the Wilderland have a delightful evening. The whole thing is finished off with one grand rocket that sails red into the air, where it explodes into a massive shape of a red dragon. The people scream and shout as its fiery wings explode outwards with a second burst. It turns and loops over the lake then charges the town. Right before it reaches the warehouses and buildings along the wharf it explodes into a shower of golden sparks that fall to the ground vanishing into nothing just before landing on the gasping crowd.

That is the finale!

[Trogdor]

Pipkin shouts and whistles as the fireworks go off, one-by-one. By the time the finale hits, his hands are sore from clapping and his voice is a little hoarse from cheering. But he finds the energy for a furious round of clapping and some prodigious whistling to show his appreciation of the last draconic burst.

[TetNak]

Aerth is silent, but wide eyed, during the fireworks display. Afterward the red dragon, he looks to Borir to his left and says, "That was quite the finale, I am sure some thought Smaug can come back for a moment or two." The man rubs his beardless chin briefly before clapping himself a few times.

[Shurijo]

At the mention of Smaug, Borir looks disgusted. Turning away from Aerth, the dwarf spits on the roof top. He then sticks his finger up towards Aerth saying, "Smaug, Blahag. I'd love to have sunk my axe into that dragon's hide."

[Muskrat]

Varuthil applauds briefly. "Well, that was quite something." Enjoyment and pleasure inflect her voice, something not all that common. Pipkin's display of enthusiasm has roused her good spirits as much as the fireworks show. "Whoever put together that show is certainly a master of their craft." She pauses then goes on, "That illusion of Smaug ... I wonder if such illusions might be used in battle, to deceive and frighten the Enemy. I can see a fireworks display of the great Eagles sending a goblin army into a panic ...." Her voice trails off as her thoughts turn back to the usual dark topics she broods on.

[TetNak]

"Goblins are far from guileful, perhaps that is a good idea," Aerth says to the elf, "But, ultimately, having time to setup such a show might prove the downfall of that plan. Although, a place like Lake-Town, perhaps something could be done. Yet, I wonder who set off that firework, I would not expect Lake-Town to possess such a mighty trick."

[Vardaen]

OOC

Eagles! That would have been a good firework!

Farir claps himself, and at one point punches Borir in the shoulder, "Come now! This was a great show, you know they say that Gandalf himself had come back for the Gathering, I say that was him down there! He's getting better and better at this if you ask me." You remain on the roof for a while longer, Farir insist that you remain until the cask of ale is gone, which doesn't take you much more than an hour or so to finish off. A little drunk now, some of you find the roof a bit more dangerous than before. Farir "Someone know a song?"

Just about everyone knows a song or two, and around here there are some favorites, generally related to the victory in the Battle of Five Armies. Farir doesn't let you go without a good song or two or three or four, and its late (well after midnight) by the time you are waving good-bye and wandering drunkenly (some of you) down the streets back to your room at the Inn or other places.

OOC

We'll move on to morning activities after a nice wrap up post from folks.

Everyone has Song 1 or Song 2 in the group!

Start thinking about your Fellowship focus as well. We've had some RP now and once the adventure aspect of things kicks off you'll want this known.

[Shurijo]

Borir helps himself to a few more tankards of the Brown Ale. When Farir mentions singing, Borir can't hold back. While he's voice isn't one of a fair elven or man, the dwarf does remember the lyrics and bolts out a rousing song.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To seek our pale enchanted gold.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells,
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord
There many a gleaming golden hoard
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught,
To hide in gems on hilt of sword.

On silver necklaces they strung
The flowering stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, on twisted wire
They meshed the light of moon and sun.

Far over the Misty Mountains cold,
To dungeons deep and caverns old,
We must away, ere break of day,
To claim our long-forgotten gold.

Goblets they carved there for themselves,
And harps of gold, where no man delves
There lay they long, and many a song
Was sung unheard by men or elves.

The pines were roaring on the heights,
The wind was moaning in the night,
The fire was red, it flaming spread,
The trees like torches blazed with light.

The bells were ringing in the dale,
And men looked up with faces pale.
The dragon's ire, more fierce than fire,
Laid low their towers and houses frail.

The mountain smoked beneath the moon.
The dwarves, they heard the tramp of doom.
They fled the hall to dying fall
Beneath his feet, beneath the moon.

Far over the Misty Mountains grim,
To dungeons deep and caverns dim,
We must away, ere break of day,
To win our harps and gold from him!

The wind was on the withered heath,
But in the forest stirred no leaf:
There shadows lay be night or day,
And dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
And like a tide it roared and rolled.
The branches groaned, the forest moaned,
And leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
All movement in the forest ceased.
But shrill and harsh across the marsh,
Its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
The reeds were rattling--on it went.
O'er shaken pool under heavens cool,
Where racing clouds were torn and rent.

It passed the Lonely Mountain bare,
And swept above the dragon's lair:
There black and dark lay boulders stark,
And flying smoke was in the air.

It left the world and took its flight
Over the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sale upon the gale,
And stars were fanned to leaping light.

Under the Mountain dark and tall,
The King has come unto his hall!
His foe is dead, the Worm of Dread,
And ever so his foes shall fall!

The sword is sharp, the spear is long,
The arrow swift, the Gate is strong.
The heart is bold that looks on gold;
The dwarves no more shall suffer wrong.

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,
While hammers fell like ringing bells
In places deep, where dark things sleep,
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

On silver necklaces they strung
The light of stars, on crowns they hung
The dragon-fire, from twisted wire
The melody of harps they wrung.

The mountain throne once more is freed!
O! Wandering folk, the summons heed!
Come haste! Come haste! Across the waste!
The king of freind and kin has need.

Now call we over the mountains cold,
'Come back unto the caverns old!'
Here at the gates the king awaits,
His hands are rich with gems and gold.

The king has come unto his hall
Under the Mountain dark and tall.
The Worm of Dread is slain and dead,
And ever so our foes shall fall!

Farewell we call to hearth and hall!
Though wind may blow and rain may fall,
We must away, ere break of day
Far over the wood and mountain tall.

To Rivendell, where Elves yet dwell
In glades beneath the misty fell.
Through moor and waste we ride in haste,
And whither then we cannot tell.

With foes ahead, behind us dread,
Beneath the sky shall be our bed,
Until at last our toil be passed,
Our journey done, our errand sped.

We must away! We must away!
We ride before the break of day!