[Kransha]

The attack on Erebor was completed, at least for the most part. Smaug had yet to fully clear out the inside of the mountain, but the damage he had wrought on its once-mighty walls would surely suffice to clear out most pockets of Dwarven resistance. Now, the already half-destroyed town of Dale would feel the full and unmitigated wroth of Smaug the Magnificent. His gargantuan wingspan stretched to its fullest, the dragon’s shadow loomed wickedly, as a hovering storm cloud waiting to burst, over the streets. Low he veered, wings unmoving and swaying gently up and down with the movement of his form. His jaws snapped together several times eagerly, puffs of coal-black smoke pouring out at random intervals. Deep in the well of his throat loomed a monstrous crimson light, fringed by dull gold, the color of searing fire that threatened to pour out of the beast’s open mouth and erupt in a single, volcanic flourish onto the town below. He aimed himself at various blocks, each dotted with unready homesteads. His eyes, honed like beams of sunlight, fell upon one such section of the town and the dragon plowed heedlessly through the air towards it, not breathing, the light in his throat growing steadily brighter.

At last he let loose, and without relent. A single, mighty pillar of luminous flame burst through his jagged teeth, spilling forth onto the houses that were just beneath and before him. In an instant the pale colors of the houses’ walls were turned to pitch-black and sickly brown, charred away by the flames. Straw and thatch that made up various roofs was burnt from existence, leaving bare, opened shells were residences had been moments before. He passed over the patch of wreckage, his blinking eyes taking a weary but satisfied glance down at the blackened earth and scorched structures. His satisfaction increased significantly as he heard the bewildered and terrified screams of bystanders and citizens scattering through the streets, searching in vain for refuge or sanctuary from the incurring dragon. Smaug smiled grimly, still belching monumental plumes of smoke. This was only a small sample of his power. Still grinning eerily, the dragon swerved on his wing, executing a hairpin turn, and doubled back on the blocks he’d already halfway leveled.

Letting his lower jaw loll open again, another tremendous burst of fire, a bright red column pierced the earth. The crumbling walls of the houses on that block seemed to melt beneath the heated strain of the flames. Even the black-scorched ground beneath the ruins turned to sandy dust, whipped away easily in the gust that followed Smaug’s attack. As the dragon bore himself regally over the seen of destruction, all that lay beneath him was a barren ring of nothingness, surrounding on all sides by untouched civilization which seemed out of place silhouetted against the carnage. His tail curled playfully, dragging through the heated air, as if to suggest the pleasure he derived from the brutal havoc he wrought. He spun, overlooking the town and carefully examining each street, path, and building. Screams and shouts rent the disquieted air for the second time, much to Smaug’s enjoyment. The dragon swooped over Dale, searching for a spot to continue…

He decided to pick randomly, as the dragon had no need for care or precision. Wreaking havoc was art as far as Smaug the Golden was concerned, and the picture he painted beneath him was most beautiful to his eyes, but it did not require too much care, for that would take all the pleasure out of the endeavor. Spying a larger, several-story building with clustered structures swarming around it in an uneven circle, Smaug whipped himself up and down, wings no longer battling the windy air after clearing the thick smoke, and headed towards that area. In barely a moment, he was near enough to breathe his torrential fire down on central house, creating a focal point for his flaming typhoon that quickly enveloped all the buildings surrounding.

Quickly he swiveled again in mid-air, doubling over backwards, and breathed again, his stomach and throat depressing as the fire-laced air poured out of him. The wreckage and ruin of the devastated area was cleansed again by the flames, and the living things in the vicinity easily expunged. Slowly, eying his work in a less-than-satisfied manner, Smaug flew up and swooped down, summoning his flames to deal with as many buildings as he could until the town was pockmarked by gaping scorch marks, black as night. Steadily, Smaug the Golden searched for more interesting prey. The people in the streets were grouping together and fleeing, though none were safe, many had taken refuge in some sheltering zone, to Smaug’s chagrin, but many still roamed the streets in a panic. Smaug decided that, now that the town was devastated and crippled, he could have some real fun…