Another slaughter

A watery sun was swimming through the grey clouds above him, matching Erebor’s mood. He never had any great love for the Skraelinger who lived in towns and cities. They seemed so strange and petty. Small, little people greedy for gold and things. The people of the Black Horse preferred to run free under the sun as the gods intended. *Gods!*, he snorted, *What gods?* The heretical thought surprised him, coming unbidden to his mind. But, the shaman never seemed to be able to do anything to help his people, even though he was a slave to the gods. Where were the gods when the metal scorpion came? Where were the gods when they needed them?

He crested a hill and saw the plain below him. The forests and hills of the Fallen Lands flattened out and not far beyond was the dull tan color of the vast desert of Anauroch. A single road was cut into the land, a small black line marking the edge where the desert began. He caught a strange smell on the wind. The wreck of a wagon lay to the side of the road, a dozen bodies lay scattered, many in pieces. Vultures were picking over the corpses, along with three small, slim figures. Erebor recognized them as Sunder Horn tribesmen. A closer look revealed that the corpses wore the same colors, those not covered in blood and gore.

Erebor cleared his throat, giving away his position. The three Sunder Horns growled at seeing him, but did not approach. Erebor raised his hand as a peace gesture, though kept his huge hammer ready. “What happened here?” he called. The three hissed at him. “None of your concern!” they shouted back. Erebor sighed. “A giant scorpion? Spitting metal and fire? We fought one. Killed a couple of us as well.” The three muttered amongst themselves. “Did you kill it?” they asked. “No!” Erebor shouted back. “The coward ran off. I wanted to finish it off. Do you know which way it went?” After some more excited muttering the three all pointed off in different directions. Erebor sighed, turned his back to them , daring them to strike him. They did not, they returned to searching the bodies, chasing off the vultures, seeing what they could salvage from the wreckage and corpses. Erebor noticed that the remains of the wagon had held large scraps of the skymetal that so many had been digging up in the old ruins. The smiths of the townspeople had found a way to beat the skymetal into weapons and armor much harder than normal steel. He turned back towards the north, towards the huge purple flame where people were dragging the ore.

*Strange* he thought, he should have been able to see the flame striking up into the sky by now …