Mithrilstone

[Curubethion]

Dusk faded over the landscape. Makoin and Gimli walked along the road north, under the foothills of the Misty Mountains. The air was cold, and they were nearly shivering. A bird called somewhere, as their feet crushed the dirt underneath them. Dusk still faded.

"We should get a fire going," Gimli told his companion. "We'll stop here for the night."

"All right, then. How long until we're back at the Iron Hills?" asked Makoin.

"Oh, a week's journey, maybe two. Something smells of adventure, though. Nah...I've had enough adventure for now."

"Look! What's-that?"

It was a lump next to the road, nestled in by a rocky outcrop. The dwarves ran closer. As they approached, they saw it was a body. A dwarf body. They both stopped, and crept closer, taking their axes out. When they got within ten feet, the body rolled over. Makoin gasped.

"Nakoin!" he shouted.

Nakoin opened his mouth, but fell back. A trickle of blood flowed out of it. Makoin fell to his knees as Gimli ran up. He carefully closed the dead dwarf's mouth and eyes, whispering the words of the ancient Dwarven burial rituals.

"Nakoin!" cried Makoin.

Gimli watched and waited. They would stay the night...stay and watch the body. In the morning, they could bury the dwarf. Gimli took another look at him, and saw something clutched in his battered hand. It shone with a pale silver light. Gimli opened his eyes wide, and took it carefully away.

He knew what it was.

The Mithrilstone.