A great many races call Middle-Earth their home. Elves of all manners dwell in hidden refuges the world over, bringing music and splendour wheresoever they reside. Dwarves delve deep beneath the ground in their endless search for metals and gems, carving entire cities into the guts of the mountains themselves, connected by spiralling, snaking tunnel systems. The many domains of men sprawl across the surface of Arda, from great and powerful nations crowned by fortress-cities that have stood for thousands of years to remote tribes living off of the land in the harshest reaches of the world. Ents roam the woodlands and Great Eagles soar in the endless sky.

Yet there is discord, and those that would sow it. At the Dawn, the Dark Lord Melkor declared war upon all things. Seeking domination, he stole away the inhabitants of Arda and wrought them into many new and terrible shapes, that they would become his servants and fight in his name. From the blackest pits were spawned numberless legions of marauding orcs, clouds of giant bats and vampires that blotted out the stars, slavering black-furred werewolves and their lesser warg kin in vast packs that turned entire landscapes black with their bodies, lumbering trolls with limbs as thick and sturdy as oak stumps, and plenty more besides. But greatest and most terrible of all the Dark Lord’s creations were the iron-scaled, fire-breathing wyrms, the dragons.

You are one of these dragons.

Your name is Thrakaburzum, a young dragon hailing from the icy wastes of the far north, and the only one of your brood of four to have the sublime fortune of being born with wings. Your mother, a venerable old fire-wyrm of great power, decided that it was high time you and your siblings flew the nest. On the eve of the twentieth year since your hatching, you and your three siblings were turned out from the cave that had for so long been your home and sent to carve out domains of your own. Being winged, you immediately pulled ahead of your siblings and chose to head south toward the Grey Mountains.

There you claimed your first lair, and discovered a great many things in a very short time. Men and dwarves call these mountains home even in the aftermath of the Great War your kind waged upon them centuries ago, of which your mother is a veteran. Happening across a small group of men shortly after your arrival, you stalked them through scent back to a watchtower guarding the next valley over, in which they dwell. Also present is a band of orcs, two of which you discovered and slew after learning that more of their number are hiding somewhere in the valley. It is these orcs you now seek, to use them for your own purposes.
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