[h1]Môrogoed[/h1]
[h2]Wal Ddraig[/h2]

A pair of kobold scouts crept quietly through the forest near the banks of the river. The rest of their raiding party were 2 beats of a dragon's wings behind them. They had been sent ahead to make sure the way was clear of any danger and if it wasn't, that the raiding party knew about it before they got themselves killed walking into a trap. So far the night had been uneventful. The forest was silent, the water was calm, and there wasn't a single hint of danger in sight. The kobold scouts were beginning to wonder if their job was necessary at all. Then a pair of familiar scents met their noses.

The 1st scout to catch the scent suddenly stopped his partner and began sniffing at the air. "Do you smell that" the 1st scout asked.
The 2nd scout took a moment to sniff the air before replying. "Elf flesh and...the master's breath? Here?" he said "But he hasn't left the mountains in millennia".
"I think I know why that is" the 1st replied before moving towards the source of the scent, the 2nd scout following close behind.

When the scouts arrived at the scents source, the 1st scout's suspicion had been confirmed. There they found several elves standing around a great pyre. They carried with them a flame that was nothing like the fires produced by the hands of mere mortals. The scouts looked at each other. They knew what this place was. They knew what had taken place here. They knew what that pyre was. And most importantly, they knew what lighting that pyre meant. "We must return to the rafts" the 1st scout said as the the pyre was set ablaze "We must let the others know. The elves wish to discuss tribute".