Chapter Three
Six months earlier…
Deep in the dark, dank recesses of Moria, a solitary light flared. Its light sent spiral of glinting colour up the massive wall of the mine, its half hidden mithril treasure glowing. Distorted shadows were flung up against the walls as the light moved away, heading north along the wall. The torch that bore the flame bobbed along giving the distinct impression that its bearer had one leg longer than the other. The torch bearing figure was hunched over and headed to a door set in the far wall. He waved his hand and muttered a string of words in the Black Speech of Mordor and the door crumbled into dust. The figure passed through the door, from which exploded light. He entered a cavernous room with a high vaulted ceiling, a trademark of dwarven architecture, and despite its glow shivered with cold. The door sprang back after he had passed through and his breath was visible in the air before him. Carved in the far wall, in the very rock of the mountain was a high ring of seats, seven in all, one each for the Dwarf Lords. They had sat empty since Moria had fallen until by chance the Goblins had stumbled across them. The King, Agrak, had claimed them for him and his twisted family, and from there he ruled over his now pitiful army. He had once commanded tens of thousands of Goblins, but since the fall of Sauron this numbered had dwindled. Even with the addition of the Orcs that had survived the Battle of the Black Gate his army now consisted of a mere four thousand or so. However, Agrak was arrogant. He thought that his army was the best in Middle Earth and boasted of its competency. It was, in fact, for that very reason that the hunched figure was now making its way across the hall. The figure reached the foot of Agrak's throne, reached up across his shoulder and pulled off the filthy robe that covered his back. In one fluid motion the cloak fell away and he stood up straight, revealing that he was actually more than six feet tall. In his right hand he held a long royal blue staff, its tip engulfed by flame but unharmed. He wore robes of varying blues with the bottom ripped torn and stained with mud. His eyes were a rich blue tinged with a look that Agrak recognised instantly. Pure evil.
The meeting between Pallando the Blue and Agrak lasted no more than ten minutes. After Pallando had departed, the Goblins did something extraordinary. They lit every torch and brazier in Moria, took up the abandoned dwarven tools and for the first time ever, began to mine.