Dori, Nori and Ori were dwarves, three brothers who once lived in Thorin’s Halls, a city in the north of the Blue Mountains. When this story begins it was a chilly April evening in the Blue Mountains, but in the Great Hall of Thorin it was warm and toasty, the fires roaring in the six hearths around the hall. The dwarves had just finished a delicious feast, for it was the eve of their long journey. A feast of roast quail and mushrooms, onions and mashed turnip was being washed down with a flagon of fine red shared between the brothers while they were discussing the last details of their plan. Everything was packed and ready, all that remained was to decide what road they would take. Dori and Ori were examining the map whilst Nori took out his flute. Nori never spoke much. He started playing a soft, joyful tune to accompany his brothers’ heated discussion of north or south, river or mountains. By the time that flute had left Nori’s lips, the other two brothers had decided that it would be the southern road they would be traveling, along the Blue Mountains. ”Alright, little brothers,” Dori said, ”we leave at first light.”
