Moria. To most, the sunless halls were a danger, to be traveled only in times of great need. To Norik, son of Migli, the numerous caverns and tunnels were home.
Norik was a miner of Mithril, a wondrous silver metal that was believed by some to be a gift from Mahal himself. The stocky dwarf patted a wall, a thin silver sliver of the priceless metal running through its heart.
Ah, he though in satisfaction, Mahal be praised. Gimfil would be pleased as well. The mining supervisor had sent several dwarves further into the depths of Moria, searching for Mithril.
And Norik had found it.
The Dwarf hefted his pickaxe, swinging at the rock with a grunt. A satisfying 'thunk!' resounded through the small cavern as the pickaxe dug into the stone. A rumble shook the dwarf, as well as several small pebbles on the ground.
"Odd," Norik muttered as he removed the axe from the stone. He peered at the small hole, seeing nothing but the faint glint of silver. He shrugged, raising the axe again.
Thunk!
Again, the deep rumble shook the axe in the dwarf's hands. Was Aulë unpleased with his children's wealth? Nothing but the winking metal responded. Gimfil would be disappointed if Norik failed to bring back even a small chunk of the Mithril- which even the size of his little finger could be worth more than a King's armor.
The dwarf continued to dig, the thunder having subsided. Suddenly, the hole the dwarf had been digging expanded rapidly, chunks of stone falling in. A bright fiery light bathed over the dwarf, warmth kept hidden for untold years rolling over him like a soft, heavy blanket.
Norik stared in wonder at the discovered tunnel. A river of molten rock and Mithril raced through the earth, curving around an island of unyielding rock. The stone was that of a kind unfamiliar to Norik. He tried to identify it, peering into the bright channel, sweat rolling down into his rusty-red beard.
The rock was a dark brown, closer to black than anything. Several deep cracks ran through the entirety of the stone, though they avoided- horns?
"What in the name of Mahal?" the dwarf muttered.
As he wondered, two flame-orange pits appeared on the stone, almost as though they were eyes opening. The rock- or creature- rose from the molten river, its body glowing red. Wings devoid of skin unfurled, thick shadows rolling from the beast's body to fill the gaps.
It opened its fanged maw, its roar as great and terrible as grinding rocks and roaring flames. Fire crawled from its legs and spread quickly across its body as the monstrosity flexed its sinuous arms.
It turned to the hole bore through the stone, and to the dwarf staring in dread.
The Demon of Might reached to its waist, pulling from the flames that smoldered at its side a long line of fire. Norik watched in horror, helpless, as the Balrog drew the whip back. His screams were lost in the thunder of molten rock as the demon snatched him with the whip, dragging him into its lair.
Its tomb no more.