Nuru

The impossible has happened. The doors of Khar Moren, the great unbreakable Greenstone fortifications that have stood untouched by any known art, now lay shattered. What wizards and dragons have failed for a hundred centuries to even scratch now lay in a heap like discarded clay shards in the snow. Remnants of orc battlements poke out of the snow but no guard or scout or even frozen corpse can be seen. War was here but war has lost interest in this place and now only the howl of wind above the hollow breaks the eerie silence.

Within the halls frost clings to the walls and floor. The normally pristine dwarven halls are littered with clutter and bracken but no bodies. Remains of camps and broken barricades are strewn about and stains abound that may be orc or dwarf blood. Persistent investigation reveals the presence of cakes of tan that break up into powder when disturbed. Inside one loaf can be found a wadded up jeweled amulet.

Pressing on leads to a field of boulders. On a particularly massive boulder sits a small blonde haired hobbit with grey eyes and a cruel smile. He is wearing fine purple silks and leans on a cartoonishly large maul eating some kind of pungent meat pastry. He calls out to you. "You do not belong here mortals. My master has ordered that I murder any who approach. I would enjoy murdering you but it would mean that I must set down my dje'ala and I do not enjoy cold dje'ala. I would be most appreciative if you would but wait for me to finish my food before you march to your death. I would go so far as to say kind words over your corpses after I kill you. Would you extend me this kindness?"