all of it is mine;

I kill where I wish when I wish and none dare resist! I laid low the warriors of old and their like is not in the world today -- then I was but young and tender, now I am old and strong! My armor is shields, my teeth swords, my tail a thunderbolt!

[sassmasterradagast-deactivated2]

[ingirunofemynangren-deactivated]

Mubûb

Heartbeat. Increasing heartbeat.

If she had to take another step, she was going to collapse face-first in the pile of straw that laid at her feet. It was only somewhat lucky that she managed to land on her side, a sharp pain shooting through her shoulder that she never even noticed due to her own tiredness. After three days, the pounding war drum in her chest was welcomed if only as a reminder that she was still alive, still moving, still away from home-

Another sleepless night was certain to await her the moment she closed her eyes, but Ingirun was exhausted enough that she couldn’t even bring herself to think about that. The only thing that crossed her passing thoughts was how oddly warm the hay beneath her felt, especially considering the coldness of the shack inaptly referred to as ‘the barn’ was. The animals which shared the shack with her were lowing, though by the time the sound would have registered within her mind, she was already fast asleep, curled into ball upon the pile of warm golden wheat.

Warm. Warmer still. Ingirun’s heart bellowed its war cry louder ‘til it threatened to escape through her lips, the once oddly warm yet welcoming makeshift mattress now a dancing caustic flame, growing in both size and daring, engulfing the barn until nothing was left except darkness.

And then from the searing black remains came a shimmering, glinting… Thing. Soot and ash swirled around Ingirun as she peered through the infinite night, trying to get a glimpse of, well, anything, something to let her know what caused the fire, but the only thing that met her eyes was the sight of Emyn Angren, once white hills splashed in horrid hues of death and destruction, hateful ebony spread about as though it were nothing more than a coat of paint.

“'amad! Ikhumî! Khîm!”

Ingirun cried out in vain, knowing that from the distance she stood, no one- If there was anyone still alive- Could hear her.

“'amad-!”

Finally, as if it decided to make it’s move, the giant blackness moved closer, and as it drew nearer, Ingirun finally knew just what it was.

A dragon.

[tocovetgold]

This giant blackness was drawn towards the screams, the despair, as death only reigned once silence fell across the hills. From the smoke and uplifted ash, light was scarce save for the embers below--the remains of the once proud village. In this limited light one could say Smaug materialized from the black, blood red only making a subtle appearance given the darkness that cloaked his scales.

The dragon's size could not be fully seen due to this, though the fires sprinkled beyond occasionally danced near his tail (....leagues away, it seemed). Subtle hints of his wings were given by the flickering heat that eroded the shed that served as a shelter to Ingirun. Most of all, however, his snarl nearly gleamed in the fire, teeth shimmering as blades in the forge often did.

It wasn't until the monstrous head, plated in crimson steel, tilted to regard the human below that its eyes collected the dwindling light and promptly glowed mercilessly. They were more impressive than any beacon post along the cold and desolate mountains; they were far more resilient, the wind did not lick at their intensity. Eyes of fire, indeed...or perhaps something far more wicked resided within his twisting form, never fully visible and ever moving as a snake in the shadows. Smaug was not just a terrible force, a dragon of fierceness, no. He was the flames that captured lives and engulfed all in its path, he was crippling destruction, he was the embodiment of death. The tales did him well, yes, but to witness such proved that his enormity and his essence went beyond the capacity of words.

"You can call and cry as you please, they won't hear you." His voice, a subdued earthquake. No matter his mannerism, no matter his calmness, Smaug's voice kept with it a sensation of dread that could quiver bones.

"Do you see it? Your home?" He asked, gliding forward with a twist and turn of his neck. "Do you see it in the ashes--oh, there were so many, I suppose it's difficult to tell. Rubble is rubble in the end."

He coiled and rounded about as tendrils of smoke often danced across the air; ethereal, never keeping to one form nor standing still enough to possibly create one. An overwhelming sense of a piercing blade accompanied his gaze.

"They all think their wooden homes with their stones and sticks will keep them safe, the fools..." the ground crunched beneath his claws as he tensed them thoughtfully. "Perhaps that's why dwarves feel so inclined to dig holes like the pests that they are. Above ground they are but lambs, and I the wolf."

[dothisdothat-merlin]

The boy’s body, now seemingly lifeless, shuddered again at the accusations of his stature. True, he was no hero. He neither looked the part nor felt the part, yet somewhere beyond the naked eye was a warlock that is said to be the savior and protection of a generation of magical offspring and to lead the era into a new direction of peace. Merlin was the bridge between man and myth and that was something he still had left to fulfill. This one selfless act of kindness would save the life of someone who would change the world. 

His body thrust itself against the hard exterior of Smaug’s rigid back. Something told him that the dragon of such a dark demeanor had actually been broken by the Dragonlord’s words enough that he succumbed to a plea for help and protection. That was all Merlin ever needed at a time like that. His weary hands struggled to grab onto the scales that flexed along the curve of the dragon’s back, but the sorcerer managed. 

He had only ridden the back of a dragon a few times from what he could remember, but none was as breathtaking as this, even in his current condition. The wings besides him pushed past air and lifted them up in only a matter of seconds sending them through clouds, around mountain tops, and across ground Merlin had only seen up close. Never before had the world seemed so small to him. That must have been the equivalent of what he looked like to this majestic creature. If he hadn’t agreed to spare his life and accept his proposal, there was a mighty definite chance that Merlin would have been dead and alone in that spot. 

"I am forever in your debt." Merlin whimpered as the wind threatened to throw him from his seat. Even without a proper grip, Merlin remained settled atop the great beast’s scales that pulsed with heat and color underneath of him. Whatever and whoever he was, it was not just a dragon. None ever known were described the way Merlin was seeing him. At first, he believed he was riding on a mythological being, a god of sorts, but that idea was quickly thrown to the wayside. He hadn’t heard stories, but he had heard songs of a mountain off in realms far greater and more treacherous whose trees and buildings burned in a disastrous attack on the lives of the citizens below. Was this the disaster in which the song spoke of.

The air pressure plagued Merlin’s ability to think clearly, and suddenly, the lightheaded feeling of his body fall through the clouds sent his head spinning. His grip tightened around spikes and scales and soon he was holding on for dear life, his heart pounding in his chest and his breaths speeding up drastically. Gently, he whispered prayers in the ancient tongue of the old religion to keep him in one piece until he reached a safe haven.  

[tocovetgold]

Smaug wasn't a gentle creature--were he even capable of such gestures, it'd probably be the most taxing actions for his momentous body to carry out. Due to this, it was a miracle that Merlin managed to remain on the dragon's back. He was grouchy, displeased, and reluctant to acknowledge that he was indeed heeding to this boy's orders--disgraceful to even ponder it, he assumed. Dismissing it as nothing was the second best strategy to maintain his pride. Suffice to say, even now, he felt the tugging of small hands--when he shouldn't, when his hide was stronger than steel--that told him to be more careful of his passenger. Gliding more so than flying, the absence of his beating wings presented a lower altitude and a smoother ride; a better remedy for his dying charge.

It was easy to track this boy's origins seeing as he smelled of no other, his trail flared like a pathway of beacons and lead him straight to a humble castle nestled within trees and rolling hills. The stench of his kin surrounded this place, paying tribute to Emerys's words--perhaps he truly was what he said he was, given the scent of other dragons Smaug could distinguish from the stone fortress below. Turning nearly sideways, the dragon circled the kingdom before plummeting downwards swiftly and (almost) soundlessly--an owl of the night. Why settle for the clearing outside of the city when his charge's orders clearly stated that he needed the help of his people? Who would be out in that clearing, if he were to place Emrys there?

No, best to settle with the easiest choice; Smaug landed in the courtyard, of which he barely fit--his large tail smashing against the stable roof and therefore disrupting his silent landing with the neighing of distress that came from there. The ground, of course, was not invincible towards his weight, and crumbled upon impact with his hind legs. His wings, of course, could only fold to his sides as if he were preparing for slumber within a nest of stone.

Slowly, the dragon lowered himself--grazing the ground with every breath he heaved--to allow his passenger to slide from his placement upon his back without risking a terrible fall.

"Your home, is it not?" There were calls of distress in the distance, perhaps this fortress was awakening; Smaug tended to not worry over cries of despair, he was accustomed to such a greeting.

"...you haven't gone and died, have you, dragonlord?" He was still challenging of his title, still cynical of what it entailed, but even so his curiosity to see this boy at his fullest--so that his title could perhaps be properly proven--overcame his disbelief. Soldiers cloaked in red, bearing yellow dragon crests, began pouring from the little holes of the stone fortress below. Smaug regarded them like the ants that they were, spilling from their hill only to be faced with the bottom of a boot. The screams of alarm amplified to terror and attempted direction '--it's a dragon! Camelot's under attack! ' which was honestly laughable. The great fire drake conjured his best growl, trembling floors and shaking glass, creaking wood groaned with the rumbling lava that pulsed through his belly to unleash a wave of heat and sound all in one, menacingly gold against blood (a mocking of their crest; who wore the mark of dragons yet shook in the presence of one?) only to watch them scramble for their sanity below. Amusing. Though, this certainly wasn't their first encounter with such a beast...

[dothisdothat-merlin]

     It was in that moment that the young sorcerer believed there was no way that he’d be able to return to his entourage and return to Camelot, until— until he felt a gust of wind unlike any he had ever felt blow through his hair and across his face. He had called out, and a dragon had answered him. Of course! He hadn’t thought of that before, yet here was a golden opportunity to use his skills and his birthright to save himself. 

     The voice he heard was booming and fierce. Even though he could not move himself to look upon the figure to which he spoke, he could only imagine how vicious and how large it was compared to the dragons he had seen in the past. 

     ”You are correct— I am no dragon but I am certainly a friend to you. My name is Merli— Emrys. My name is Emrys. I was born into the last of the Dragonlord bloodline so I would not be surprised if you at first mistook me for one of your own kind.” With as much effort as he could muster, the boy pulled himself against a log and held himself upright so he could gaze upon his savior. 

     Those eyes— they were monstrous both in size and in animosity. This was no friendly creature. “I understand your misfortune at finding me here instead of your brothers, but you have to help me… please…” The sorcerer’s body shook as another cold current grazed the surface of his skin. There wasn’t much time before he could no longer keep himself awake. “All I ask is that you… you bring me to someone who might be able to help me…” 

[tocovetgold]

His wings flared as his claws marred the ground beneath him, tension rippling down the armor of scales that plated themselves along the limbs. Were he to take off now and leave the boy to die, he'd find no trouble. Brimming with rage--it was this trick that reduced him to such an emotion--the dragon's crimson chest bathed itself in heated gold that seared its way from his belly towards his throat, as if he contained magma in his veins rather than blood. The glow itself radiated heat, a hot summer's day having no strength in comparison; Smaug was insulted. But he quelled the flames nonetheless.

This was a complete outrage, being tricked by some ant--some pathetic lifeform that thought it mighty enough to issue orders to him? The trembling of the ground was by no thunder of the sky's creation, it was the work of Smaug's throat alone as he let out another snarl. The creature arched its neck in that he was now leveled with the fallen boy (as much as he could be, at least). If this dragonlord had an inkling of Smaug's power, he wouldn't have bothered asking for such assistance. This was the equivalent of a peasant asking their king to carry them home on their back (a ridiculous idea, Smaug was destruction, fire, death; not a horse).

"Emrys? If you are what you say you are, what hinders you? You speak of dragons--of carrying our blood--yet you quiver from the cold." His voice shook the rubble of trees that surrounded them and left the air feeling dense. The dragon couldn't deny, however, the sense of duty the little one's words instilled. Again, the urge that took him to the skies pushed at his mind, and what trouble could befall him if he were to indeed heed to their request? What could possibly challenge Smaug, the great and terrible? Certainly not the dying pest before him. Relenting with great bitterness, the creature scowled as it all but grabbed the boy, a mere speck within his claws, and placed him within the crevice of his neck, the grooves of his shoulder blades arching upwards to allow his placement there to remain. Many spikes and lengthy scales resided upon his back and neck--easy enough for the pest to hold onto (Smaug wasn't going to concern himself, if this mighty dragonlord was incapable of handling flight, he was unworthy of his own title).

A village, then. This Emrys expected him to sweep by a nearby village and be received for care--after coming from the back of a dragon? Perhaps this land was less wrought with his kin and their destruction...but surely this would lead to some form of retaliation. Which, on reflecting such, Smaug could have laughed. Retaliation? A petty village? He'd drop the boy off, sure, best to be done with him entirely, but were he to be challenged by these 'saviors' he'd smoke the land on the spot. With that, the creature lunged into the sky, wings beating heavily until the clouds greeted him, and promptly began scouring the ground below.

[dothisdothat-merlin]

     ”Help me… help me please…..” 

   Merlin coughed, the chill of the forest finally getting to him after a couple hours of lying in the forest alone, unable to move from his spot on the grass and dirt. 

    He had come into contact with a band of thieves on his way back to the campsite he, Arthur, and a few of the knights had set up on their way to attend to a small neighboring city that had been attacked in the dead of night and witnessed the death of half of the city’s council members and advisors to the court at Camelot. 

    Merlin had gone along and set out in search of firewood. His search ended with what he believed were the men who murdered the councilmen hijacking whatever money he had on him and making sure he didn’t live to tell anyone about it. He remained motionless, terrified, and aching, hoping that one brave soul would hear his pleas and come rescue him. 

[tocovetgold]

This calling was unlike any other--the dragon was unaccustomed to being overcome by such an abrupt urge to enter the wild when it wasn't necessary (he'd much rather defend his keep). However, this was nearly irresistible, as if one of his own kin were in danger. With this, the mighty fire drake took to the skies as if on a hunt--and perhaps he was, for this calling came with such urgency that he could think of no other reason for its desperation.

A heavy growl escaped him when the calling faded, annoyance creasing his brow into a dreadful snarl. He knew the smell of men just as well, though he never encountered many in his travels as a youngling. Men were smart not to cross with his kind, as they found themselves but dust if they dared to try. Smaug never once regarded them as an issue since then, and he planned not to start now.

Landing in the clearing was desired--swifter, by all means. But he was not interested in leaving the forest undisturbed. His wings uprooted even the mightiest trees; he was a hurricane when in flight, no twig could determine whether he landed there or not. In his uncaring Smaug crushed a good portion of the greenery surrounding the downed warlock and knocked down the remaining circle with a grand turn and whip of his tail. To say that the dragon was confused upon seeing that this distressed call of his kin belonged to a mere boy would be making light of the entire situation. Baffled, he crept closer.

"----my senses remain, yet you are no dragon." Smaug hissed, bordering irritation at this fools errand. Was it--it smelled of nothing he ever knew of. "What is this trickery?"

[tocovetgold]

out of fire; I still exist--yes, it's been a few days since I published anything. Apologies, but this blog is not my priority. I have a main muse that I enjoy tending to much more than Smaug, though it is fairly fun to be a dragon occasionally (dragons are awesome).

I'll reply at my own speed which unfortunately means not at the speed of light. I also reserve the right to cease interacting entirely on this blog due to it only being a whimsical muse--I'm not committed, and I'd just like to warn you all of that. Thank you, and so sorry for the trouble.

I can post this knowing that there are plenty of good Smaug's who can fill my absence.

[tocovetgold]

abrideoffire replied to your post:out of fire; My entire dash is crack about being...

@v@ there is a possibility tumblr might have ate my response to your ask since it’s been doing that a lot to me today.

out of fire; Oh dear, Tumblr's more hungry than my muse is, then. Sorry about that! /rolls away into gold nervously.

[tocovetgold]

deepintheenemycouncil replied to your post:out of fire; My entire dash is crack about being...

SAVE YOUR SCALES FROM THE WRATH OF PURE EVIL!

out of fire; I AM PURE EVIL.

[tocovetgold]

out of fire; My entire dash is crack about being creative and a (demonic?) notebook.

[tocovetgold]

Send this to all of the blogs that you love. There is no limit of how many people you send it to because the price of making someone smile is priceless. I’m sending this to you because I adore your blog and I want you to know that I will follow you forever. Your blog is perfection and absolutely flawless. Keep up the great work, keep smiling, keep being the beautiful and amazing person you are and have a fantastic day.♥

[tocovetgold]

out of fire; Sometimes I wonder about the reaction certain blogs get when I like their posts--because, to be honest, it's like Smaug's all up in their business and that's a bit intimidating.

[tocovetgold]

ingirunofemynangren replied to your post:out of fire; Replies are all drafted—I think...

[ asdf I hope my starter was okay ]

out of fire; Pffft it wasn't okay at all, I'm terribly sorry.

--It was perfect.

[tocovetgold]

out of fire; Replies are all drafted--I think that's enough dragon action for today.

[daughterofforgottenkings-blog]

Amera heard a low rumble, so deep it seemed to ripple through her skin and into her bones. She reached for her sword as a reflex, fingers curling around the familiar hilt, but she knew it would do no good. Long ago there had been drakes in the vale of Angmar, coiled and smoking amidst the harsh, dark mountain, and perhaps even now they slumbered now. Yes, she knew of dragons, and as the roar grew, she felt a sliver of cold, pure fear pierce through her heart. 

[tocovetgold]

His wrath was warranted given the treatment he just received; fools, all of them, to question his might! And now the dragon was intent on spreading his destruction until no tale could be told without singing of his power and the fate of all that dared to oppose him. He purged the life of the mountainside with swiftness that could only accompany a god--and he brought fire from the sky as if rainwater was the thing of myth rather than the normalcy. In the name of his pride, Smaug brought all in his path to waste and ash.

Finally finding enough pleasure from his smoked trail of ruins, the dragon circled above the fortunate (or perhaps not so fortunate) untouched land to take a rest from flying and destruction--in celebration, of course, of his mighty success. Due to his cloud of victories, he knew not of the company he now shared with the ranger.

[filiyellowbeard-blog]

"Tis not fear!"

             Yes…                      Yes it was.

But the dwarf would die before admitting to fear. “It’s cold down here! Even with your fat belly lolling around, it doesn’t do much t’keep this place warm!” He mocks chattering teeth, then rubs his arms. “A terrible thing, too cold of temperatures…”

               Looking down at the sword, Fíli’s gulped, then stared up wide eyes. “N-no… it’s, um… For pickin’ at m’teeth… And, uh, scratchin’ m’beard…” Lifting the sword to his chin, he pokes himself with it, then curses out loud.

[tocovetgold]

Rearing back in indignation, Smaug gazed upon the other with pure predatory intent; playtime was quickly coming to a close given this dwarf's bold tongue. All dwarves knew to fear him and yet this pest denied such instinct in favor of being a hazard to himself.

"You dare mock me?!" He roared, the tremors of his voice resulting in a series of rumbles of the mountain itself. Complaining for lack of heat was a challenge Smaug could completely destroy whilst still in deep slumber, veins of gold and vibrant yellow seeping up his throat as he contemplated the meaning of fire.

"--too cold, you say? I'll soon fix that!" The only delay now was his position, of which he altered in order to release a massive pillar of flame at the dwarf below.

[nlmda]

Hello thief..

So yeah, Smaug. Red (or is it more pink?) as it should be ;) I couldn’t miss this, could I. Getting crazy with textures and brushes. Because honestly, if not while painting a dragon, then when?

Anyway, yay it’s done.

[damnitfili]

Concept art of Erebor, Smaug’s lair, from The Hobbit:  the Desolation of Smaug Chronicles Art & Design

Smaug inhabits what was once the pride of the Dwarves, the great kingdom of Erebor.  While the Dragon has made it his own, the scale and majesty of the Dwarves is everywhere and not even a hundred years or more of habitation by Smaug has undone their great work.

-Dan Hennah, Production Designer