Calmuad entered the Great Hall in Larach Duhnan with something of a spring in his step, not out of any particular good feeling, purely to avoid the refuse and crap strewn across the capital’s streets.
The Great Hall itself was a grand affair, but only if you considered straw, rotting wood and dung grand.
Still, the stench and the smoke was familiar and comforting to Calmuad, and in these dark times of peril and war solace could be found in even a ****hole such as this.
Calmuad made his way through the Great Hall towards the throne at the end, though the smoke from the spits not only obscured his vision but began to make his eyes water. The going was slow, as the various drunk warriors and dogs lying about, some of which had probably died years ago of natural causes (judging by the smell) were often dangerous when stood on.
Eventually he reached the throne, upon which slumped mighty Enion 74th, High King of Dunland.
Enion was a majestic figure, in Dunnish eyes anyway, as he embodied all they thought noble and great, which meant he was fat, hairy, never washed and was covered in gaudy bronze rings and torcs.
The mighty King slurped from his flagon, belched and nodded at the prostrate emissary before him.
“Wha…who…wha you want?” He said.
“Mighty Lord, August Chief of Chiefs, I bring word of the war” Calmuad spoke, standing up and wiping his hands on his robe, not daring to look at what he had put his hands in.
“War! War! Fuggin’ great, c’mon lads, lets go lootin’”, the King said, struggling to rise from his throne, his tankard raised in the air.
“Yes Great One, the war, as discussed we have reached an agreement with the Free Peoples of Middle Earth in their Righteous Struggle against the foul hordes of Sauron and the perfidious barbarians of Rhun”
“Dats just fuggin great, lets get going” slurred the King, again struggling to rise from his throne. “Bout time we showed them fuggin horseboys in Rohan and dem snooty elves a lesson, lets kill ‘em all, and them stunty dwarves as well, fuggin hate them, singin’ bout gold all the time, kill 'em all, c’mon lads!”
“Uh, not quite Glorious Leader,” Calmuad said, “If you remember the meeting we had, the one with all the pretty pictures, its actually the men of Rohan and their allies that we are joining.”
“Wha?” said the King, “dem bunch of nancies? Don’ remember dat”.
“The big meeting we had last week Majesty, with all the maps and treaties?”
Enion shook his head, no.
“With all the diplomats, and that nice man from Rohan you tried to stab?”
Enion shook his head, no.
“The elves gave you those nice robes and a manicure set?”
Enion shook his head, no.
“The troupe of dwarven mimes? The ones you had your dogs chase out of the hall?”
Enion shook his head, no.
“You had your green kilt on Majesty”
“Fuggin right, dats the one, got ya” Enion said, his sluggish mind finally remembering.
“Thats it your Majesty, well done! Anyway, I’m here to inform you that we are sending envoys out to formally inform other nations of our decision, we don’t expect the ones sent to Angmar and Mordor to come back in one piece obviously”
“Right, right, yeah, so lets get goin then, muster the lads and lets get to burning. Fuggin Rohan won’t know what hit 'em…”
Calmuad sighed, it was going to be a long, long day.
