Noglond was barely nothing but a waystation between Gondamon and Thorin’s Hall, a distant outpost in the middle of nowhere where the few travelers nevertheless could find a safe place to sleep and provision themselves against the wilds and the cold climate. In the days of Edhelion it had been a dwelling for the Elves, but had fallen into ruins long after the fall of the refuge.
The company of The Bloody Dawn rode into the settlement from the east. The outpost was not much more than a heap of stone buildings and walls carved into the rockface. Nevertheless, the few dwarves who did reside there were able to squeeze a pretty penny from the travelers who came through there, as it was the only stopping place between Thorin’s Hall and Gondamon.
Hellrien noted that there were a lot more dwarves there than she had expected to see. She spurred Half-Pint closer to the gate. She had lost weight and she was dirty. The marks of the long ride showed both on the riders and their horses. Hellrien’s eyes looked agitated beneath the brim of her hat.
”What's a lip rouge, Ash?” Arindiis asked, tilting her head.
”Something I've yet to gift you, my dear”, Ashaia replied mysteriously.
”I suppose we are to be thankful that dwarves prefer their women to have beards”, Ealstan mused in his dry manner.
”Thank you, Ash”, said Arindiis. ”Is roughe a bird? I still have the band you gave me. The red one. I keep it at home.”
Hellrien rode onwards, deep in thought. The dwarves looked wary and sullen towards their visitors, but didn’t try to approach them. Hellrien noticed that they grasped a tighter hold of their weapons, and all the discussions died out as the company rode through the gate.
”I’m glad”, said Ashaia. ”Ava often asks if you still had it with you. I'll be sure to tell her that you haven't let her down. And rouge, dear, will make your lips much more... prominent? Yes, they'll look more definitive with it on.”
”Teach me how to use it”, Arindiis purred with interest. ”Maybe I will look as beautiful as you? Do give Ava my regards.”
”Hush with that”, Ashaia chuckled. ”You're naturally wild and unruly and there is nothing more beautiful than a strong woman like that. Of course, I'm sure dwarves are very charismatic beings. What with all four of their teeth.”
”I wouldn't speak ill of the dwarves here, but only compliment them”, said Cutwil, glancing at Ashaia sharply.
”I'll be sure to compliment the silkiness of their facial hair.”
”She is not unruly”, said Askelin. ”Arindiis is very well mannered an-”
”Pall said that there was a dwarf here who ows him a favour”, Hellrien interrupted. ”He'll talk to us if I mention Pall. It must be that white-bearded fellow over there.”
”Mind you, complimenting the silkiness of their facial hair is doubtless considered an endearing remark among them... I can't tell, I've never been able to grow a beard”, said Askelin.
”I'm sure your chin whiskers are attractive to some, Askelin”, Ashaia mused. ”Who is our negotiator in this instance, then? Rien, are you doing the honors?”
Hellrien kicked the sides of her horse gently and approached an elderly dwarf standing proudly at the courtyard. The dwarf didn’t even glance at Hellrien, but she could see from the corner of her eye that every guard and dwarf-at-arms nearby fixed their eyes on her keenly and grasped their weapons a little tighter.
”Hello, sir, are you the one called Rothgar?”
The white-bearded dwarf kept ignoring Hellrien and pretending that she didn’t exist. His eyes were fixed on something far more interesting in the distance, like the mountain range of the Blue Mountains on the horizon.
”Maybe you remember my friend Pall, the healer from Gondamon? He said you can return some of the favors owed by talking to me.”
The dwarf then grunted and deigned to give Hellrien an irritated, disdainful look. ”He said that, huh? Then talk, woman. What do you want?”
”We are hunting for a dwarf. We want to locate and kill a Dourhand dwarf, and we have reason to believe he's hiding somewhere in the Vale of Thrain with other Dourhands, under a brigand captain named Glúmir. Would you know anything about that?”
”Well”, Rothgar grumbled, ”I'm not about to stand in the way of anyone who's willing to kill some Dourhands. I am certain the Dourhands are back. Dwelling somewhere in the caverns under the ancient Dourhand fortress, Odorost. Lately the place has been teeming with goblins though. It's very near, right behind that bridge you must have seen when you rode here.”
Hellrien nodded to the old dwarf and turned her horse to address her companions. ”Anything else you want to ask from Rothgar before we go check the place out? Or perhaps we should wait until tomorrow morning? Goblins see in the dark, but their eyes can't stand sunlight so they are a lot less active during daytime.”
The other mercenaries seemed preoccupied with some private prattle and paid no mind to her. Cutwil was making friends with one of the dwarves at the outpost, apparently immersed in a deep conversation. Hellrien looked at their bantering for a full minute, then raised an eyebrow and asked: ”Well…?”
The Dawners quieted down and fixed their attention on Hellrien. Askelin was the first to talk.
”Well errr… I was just thinking... Perhaps it is best to wait until sunlight's more on our side. Is it true that goblins and orc-kind are weaker as the sun is brightest?”
”Yes, they mostly sleep during daytime and can't see well in broad daylight.”
”Aye, then logic would dictate that we strike while they are at such a disadvantage.”
”The sun will set soon, so I doubt we will have time to strike before it today. So perhaps it's best to camp out here and go check the place out tomorrow morning.”
”Preferably at dawn”, Ashaia chimed in. ”It's common knowledge that I might crumble into dust at the first ray of sunlight.” Her delivery was completely deadpan, making it somewhat difficult to decide whether or not she was joking at her own expense.
”Wait, we're camping here?” Cutwil asked.
”Sure, why not?” said Hellrien.
”If it's good enough for Durin's Folk, it's good enough for us”, said Ealstan.
”I hope you aren't prone to sleeping in, Ash...” said Askelin, stroking his chin thoughtfully. ”Arindiis and I are often keen on getting up nice and early, isn't that right, my dear?”
Arindiis only stared at the distance, not reacting to Askelin’s blatant untruth.
”With such an appearance to uphold, I'll be up and fresh as a daisy come the middle of the night”, said Ashaia, clapping her hands together abruptly. ”Speaking of camps then, I suggest we get to it. There's tents that need pitching.”
