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Old 01-11-2003, 09:01 AM   #11
Kuruharan
Regal Dwarven Shade
 
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Join Date: Jan 2002
Location: A Remote Dwarven Hold
Posts: 3,685
Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.Kuruharan is battling Black Riders on Weathertop.
Sting

"Look! Up in the sky," cried Vogonwë.

"It’s a bird," shouted Merisuwyniel.

"Hmm," mused Vogonwë, "I think that it might be some vile creature of the Enemy. Those wings look awfully scaly from this distance."

"You know," interjected Earnur, "I think he’s right. Look at that wing structure. I’d say that it is actually a…"

"BALROG!" screeched Halfullion.

"What?! Don’t be ridiculous," objected Earnur. "Balrogs don’t have wings!"

"And even if they do, they can’t fly," put in Orogarn Two.

"What do you two know about these sky-high matters?" scoffed Halfullion. "You’re just two insignificant wanderers, while I am the great Lord Gormlessar!"

"I’ll tell you what I know about the matter," explained Orogarn Two. "Since I come from high Numenorian ancestry I had the benefit of an excellent education. I can assure you that while there is some ambiguity on the matter of whether balrogs actually have wings, the vast weight of scholarly opinion is that even if they do, they cannot fly. As a matter of fact, I once read an excellent article on this very matter by the renowned Cardolanian scholar Dr. Barro…"

"Blah, blah, blah," interrupted Halfullion. "I’ll tell you how I know that balrogs have wings! I fought a duel with one once. Or at least, I would have fought a duel with him if the cowardly bugger had shown up. Be that as it may, I still have more personal experience with balrogs than you and I say that balrogs have wings."

"That’s absurd," snapped Earnur. "How in the world can you argue that your non-observance of a balrog makes you the definitive authority on what balrogs look like?!"

"Because my sword agrees with me!" retorted Halfullion, brandishing his weapon for effect.

"You’re not the only one to have a mystic sword from the dawn of Time!" roared Earnur Etceteron, pulling his sword Wylkynsion from its sheath.

Thus challenged, Halfullion’s sword swelled to a truly intimidating size.

"Don't be a fool!" Wylkynsion squealed. "His sword is bigger than me!"

"Size doesn’t matter! It’s how you use it!" shouted Earnur, lost in the excitement of the moment.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen, please," said Merisuwyniel, who, for some reason, had been forgotten in this heroic bout of manliness. "This entire discussion is irrelevant. As you could see, if you would only cast your eyes ten feet above you, this creature is clearly a dragon."

"HA!" said Earnur triumphantly. "Just as I said!"

"Actually," interposed Vogonwë, "I think that I am the one who brought up the possibility."

"What are you implying?" growled Etceteron.

"Well, I bet a balrog could beat this dragon in battle any day of the week," shouted Halfullion, trying to regain control of the situation.

By this point the dragon had placidly landed. If anyone had been thinking clearly at the moment they would have noticed that there was something different about this dragon. Not only was it not descending in blazing wrath, but it was also laden with large bundles. An even odder thing was that a well-dressed and hooded dwarf climbed down from the dragon and walked sedately toward where everyone was shouting at each other.

"Excuse me," the dwarf said.

"Eekk, where did you come from?" shrilled Pimpi in alarm.

"Erebor," answered the dwarf.

"That is not exactly what I meant," said Pimpi.

"Stand aside, civilians," bawled Halfullion. "I must dispose of yon vile worm!"

"What! Kill my pet?" said the dwarf in an alarmed tone of voice. "I’d really rather that you would not."

"Y-your pet?" stammered Orogarn Two.

"This has been a bizarre day," Merisuwyniel announced to the sky.

"Yes, my pet," said the dwarf. He pulled his hood from his head and for the first time everyone got a good look at him. He had neatly brushed light brown hair and beard, and twinkling blue-gray eyes. His clothes were very sharp. He wore a cloak of the deepest crimson with silver fringe. Under that he wore a full length coat of dark blue with gold embroidery along the edge. His tunic was as red as a cherry, with more gold embroidery. He wore a gold belt with an axe thrust into it, and his boots were impeccably polished. On a gold chain around his neck he wore a large golden dragon pendent.

"Kuruharan is my name. I’m a famous world-wandering adventurer who makes a humble living selling the trophies of my many adventures."

"In other words, you’re a traveling salesman," said Orogarn Two.

"Well…I…but…uh," sputtered the dwarf. "Allow me to introduce you to my associate," he said rather hurriedly.

"Chrysophylax Dives is my name," said the dragon. "I am a noble dragon of ancient and imperial lineage who now works with this magnificent…"

"Hark!" cried Vogonwë.

"Harken to what?" asked Chrysophylax, after a moment of awkward silence.

"Harwk, Hack, Hurk, Gag, Hora, Hualp, Spitooie!" said Vogonwë. A tremendous hairball went ‘splat’ on the ground.

"Eeeeewwwww!" groaned Merisuwyniel, Halfullion, Orogarn Two, Earnur, and Chrysophylax.

"Not again!" moaned Pimpi.

"Good grief!" exclaimed Kuruharan, eyeing the large hairball with some distaste. "My dear fellow, it’s lucky for you that I came along. I happen to be the only dwarf that I know of who is in possession of the rare and wondrous cure for your unfortunate affliction." The dwarf pulled a strange looking bottle out from somewhere in his robes.

"What is it?" asked Vogonwë, in a strange mixture of hope and trepidation.

"What is it? Um…revealing the ingredients would ruin the effect, so let’s just call it hair off the cat that bit you," said Kuruharan hastily. "I can give it to you for the low, low price of one-hundred pieces of gold."

"One-hundred! Forget it!" cried Vogonwë. "Hurgk, Buragmuh,…maybe I should reconsider." He promptly handed over the money.

"As a matter of fact, I’m sure I have something for each and every one of you," said the dwarf, going and unloading his bundles. "I have memorial urns and lockets here, for those annoying times when orcs kill off all your relatives. With these you will be able to keep the charred remains of your dearly departed with you at all times."

"Really?!" said Pimpi excitedly.

"And for you milady," Kuruharan said to Merisuwyniel. "Since you are obviously a member of the elite class of Elven shieldmaidens…," Kuruharan trailed off as he was rummaging through a large sack. What he pulled out was nothing less than a small forge.

"How is this thing going to help me?" asked a skeptical Merisuwyniel.

"Why this thing has more uses than the incarnate mind can possibly conceive!" enthused Kuruharan. "Just think of it! What could you do if the domineering, patriarchal swine try for one minute to infringe on your rights as a proud Elven shieldmaiden? With this port-a-forge you can publicly melt down your chainmail bra, that’s what you can do! Or if some poor, little girl’s cute, little pony needs shoeing, you can just whip out the port-a-forge and, hey presto, another good deed to make you feel all warm and squishy. And you gentlemen," continued Kuruharan to the three heroes, who were starting to feel somewhat neglected in this long-running sales-pitch. It was a feeling that Halfullion in particular was not used to. "For those of you who are interested in empire building, I have a certain plot of land that is just begging to have somebody come and found a kingdom on it. It has the perfect defensive attribute. Nobody wants to go there. And you’ll never be short of water. But if that is not to your taste, I have hundreds of potent talismans, charms, weapons, and cooking utensils that are perfect for any adventure. Take this little object for instance." Kuruharan pulled a metal spatula out of his pile. "This mystical object was given to me by a Wood-elf warrior. I had just pulled him free from a massive spider-web, after killing the giant spider that intended to have him for dinner. ‘This thing has always brought me luck,’ he said as he gave me the spatula. Yes sir, those were his dying words! ‘This thing has always brought me luck!’ Now who could resist owning an heirloom of such proven value? But don’t just take my word for it. Come, look at my goods and tell me what I can interest you in."

[ January 11, 2003: Message edited by: Kuruharan ]
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