The Blue Mountains, several months earlier

It was a dismal day in the mountains, even more so than usual. A storm had just passed and the rocky ground was dark with rain. Puddles had formed on the seldom-travelled path, making passage difficult for the cohort of men and riders that made their way up into the mountains. They were already disgruntled from the long journey and the bad weather, but they would have been downright frightened if they knew one additional fact:

The flaming eyes of a dragon were watching them.

And this dragon was not just a simple wyrm. No, this was Drogoth of the North, a fully matured fire drake of immense power. When he spread his massive, coal black wings, he made Smaug look small. Indeed, even his kinsman Aldernari, who had nearly burned Fornost to the ground, feared this lord among dragons. But Drogoth was neither arrogant like Smaug nor aggressive like Aldernari. His age had made him calculating and clever, which is why until now he had never strayed south of Angmar. Let the pathetic men, elves and orcs kill each other for all I care, he thought to himself. But the northlands from which he came had become inhospitable of late, forcing him to seek more fertile lands to the south. He had no intention of harming anyone... Unless it proved convenient.

And so it was that Sauron had heard of his passage into the Blue Mountains, and knowing that a beast of such immense power would prove invaluable, he dispatched his servants to enlist his aid.

But Drogoth had seen them coming from his perch atop a nearby mountain, and his measuring eyes had seen much. Clearly, they seek to parley with me, the dragon thought to himself, his tongue running over his razor sharp teeth in anticipation. Perhaps he would kill them all right away... Or perhaps it would be more prudent to see what offer they had for him.

He spread his wings and lifted off, the rush of wind from them like a hurricane. The company of dark clad men and orcs cowered as they saw the massive dragon ascend, his batlike wings blocking the sunlight and casting a shadow over them. He landed on a nearby rock, staring down at the frightened soldiers. All were either whimpering or crouched down in terror... All that is, except one.

"Drogoth..." He said as he goaded his horse forward. His voice came like an icy wind, and his iron crowned head leaned forward.

"Ahh, King of Angmar," The dragon replied, his voice like the growl of a great lion. "Drem yol lok."

The Witch-King bowed in response. "My master sends me to bid you good will, Lord Drogoth."

The massive dragon tilted his head sideways. "It seems like a rather long journey just to say hello, Angmarking."

"If you so wish, I will speak my message directly," The Witch-King replied, pulling an oaken box from his cloak. "My lord Sauron wishes an alliance with you. In exchange he is prepared to give you this." The Witch-King set his gauntleted hand to the box and opened it, revealing a bright ring atop a velvet pillow. Drogoth's eyes immediately widened, and he slowly raised a clawed hand towards it.

"That ring... It belonged to one of my kin," the dragon said in a subdued voice.

"Did it truly? It was recovered at my old fortress, perhaps your kinsman left it there," The Witch-King replied.

"No... He is dead," Drogoth said. For a brief moment his countenance was filled with sorrow, but he quickly covered it. He had heard of Aldernari's death at the hands of an elvish assassin. How his ring had ended up in Angmar was a mystery to him, however.

"A shame," the Witch-King responded as he closed the box. "There are too few of you these days."

"Yes... One by one they have been slain... By men, or greedy dwarves!" Drogoth slammed his clawed fist down onto the rock in anger, causing it to crumble.

"Do you wish to have revenge?" The Witch-King replied.

"Not revenge... Justice. My kin's blood will be avenged." Drogoth bared his sharp teeth, each of which were easily the size of a man.

"Will you join us then?"

"Yes... I accept your offer," Drogoth growled. "I know of a dwarven fortress near here... Nogrod I believe it's called. Yes, it shall make a fine prize!" He didn't know it, but that single sight of the dwarven ring had put him under its spell. For dragons are already susceptible to gold, and the Rings of Power made this desire nearly uncontrollable... Even for an older dragon such as Drogoth.

"Good, Sauron shall be pleased!" The Witch-King replied. He handed the box to one of his soldiers, who meekly set it on the ground before quickly backing away. "Go now, and bathe the mountains in fire!"

Drogoth rose into the sky with a roar that shook the very rocks, and with fury and newfound vigor he flew swiftly south. The dwarves would feel his wrath, and none would escape him.