In LOTR with Harry Potter system

After finishing off the last of the stored food in Bag End, everyone was finally ready to depart.

Sixteen people emerged from the house one by one, facing the rising sun as they began their journey.

Bilbo, walking at the very end, held a bundle in one hand and the dagger Sylas had given him in the other. He glanced back at his home with a reluctant expression.

"Let's go," Sylas said, giving the Hobbit a gentle pat on the shoulder. He didn't say much else.

But before leaving, he still pulled out his wand and waved it at the front door's lock.

The others who saw this couldn't help but feel confused.

"Sylas, what are you doing?" Bilbo asked curiously.

"I'm putting a curse on your door lock," Sylas replied with a smile, "so no one can sneak in and take your home while you're gone."

The Dwarves collectively gasped and gave him nervous glances. The word "curse" alone was enough to make their skin crawl.

Bilbo was startled and immediately flailed his limbs. He stammered, "No need for that, Sylas! Quickly remove the curse!"

His face turned red with panic, worried that the curse might bring harm to someone.

Sylas waved a hand and explained calmly, "Don't worry, it's just a minor curse. If someone tries to force the lock, it'll just make them grow hair all over their body. That's all, it's only a warning."

This was a harmless little curse he had learned from Curses and Counter-Curses. It didn't cause injury, more of a prank spell than anything dangerous.

After hearing that, Bilbo finally sighed in relief. As long as it wasn't harmful, he could accept it.

Gandalf, having heard all this, looked over in surprise. "Sylas, are you familiar with the art of cursing?"

"Not exactly," Sylas replied with a wave of his hand. "I've just dabbled a little."

But Gandalf gave him a thoughtful look, clearly not fully believing him.

Before leaving, Sylas also remembered to bring along the last pot of Mandrake from the glass greenhouse.

He planned to preserve its seed. Once it bloomed and produced fruit, the seeds it bore would be magical. As long as they were planted in a place filled with ambient magical energy, the new Mandrake wouldn't require constant spell infusion to transform, it would grow as a magical plant on its own.

Besides, a Mandrake's scream could sometimes come in handy.

As they set off from Bag End, Sylas used the usual carriage, pulled by his pony Little Brownie, as their transport. Bilbo and Gandalf shared the ride with him.

The Dwarves, due to their number, couldn't all fit. So they walked ahead to the village, planning to mount up later from the Green Dragon Inn.

After a brief stop at the Green Dragon Inn, they continued east along the East-West Road.

Several days later, they crossed the Brandywine Bridge and officially left the Shire.

When they passed the Old Forest, Sylas stopped briefly and entered with Gandalf. From within the forest, he cut off a branch from a vine-like Huorn and then calmly exited, even as the surrounding trees rustled with displeasure.

That branch of vinewood would serve as the staff for Gandalf's custom wand, something Sylas had promised to make for him.

Because Gandalf's staff was originally made from vine wood, Sylas hadn't needed to test multiple kinds, he had gone straight for the most compatible choice.

Thorin, however, wasn't too pleased with their detour into the Old Forest. Although he said nothing outright, his furrowed brow made his displeasure known.

Their company journeyed on, pressing eastward until the rolling hills of the Barrow-downs came into view. Due to the delay, night fell before they could pass beyond the haunted region. Left with little choice, they made camp in a clearing just beyond the borders.

"Everyone stay alert tonight," Gandalf warned gravely, the pipe in his hand unlit for once. "Though we're not directly among the Barrow-tombs, we are close enough that Wights might wander near."

The warning sent a chill through the group. Bilbo tightened his grip on the short dagger Sylas had given him, eyes flicking nervously into the gloom as if expecting a spectral figure to emerge from the shadows at any moment.

Thorin's scowl deepened. His gaze slid coldly toward Gandalf and Sylas as he muttered, "If you hadn't wandered off into the Old Forest for your personal errands, we'd be well past this cursed place by now."

Sylas frowned, but didn't respond. If not for their agreement, he wouldn't have minded letting Thorin fend for himself.

Gandalf, unfazed by the jab, responded with his usual good-natured patience. "My fault, I admit it. I pestered Sylas to make me a wand, and he kindly agreed. We sought the perfect wood—and found it."

"But rest assured," Gandalf added, "Wights rarely stray from the tombs themselves. If we stay vigilant, we should be quite safe."

"I'll make preparations," Sylas said, stepping away and lifting his wand.

With a few precise movements, the plain traveling carriage shimmered and expanded. Its shape twisted and reformed into a spacious yurt, glowing gently with warm, ambient light. The grassy floor beneath their feet thickened into a lush, springy carpet. Scattered leaves fluttered upward, transforming into plump, forest-green sleeping bags.

The Dwarves stared, speechless.

"Am I drunk?" Bombur murmured, blinking blearily. "Or have I gone mad?"

The others began to poke at the sleeping bags and the carpeted floor, murmuring in astonishment as they found everything solid and real.

Even Thorin looked taken aback, his eyes fixed on Sylas in disbelief. This was magic far beyond what he'd expected, even from a Wizard.

Bilbo, having seen many of Sylas's miracles already, took it all in stride. He simply gave a soft nod of appreciation.

Gandalf chuckled and lifted one of the sleeping bags. "Well, I must say, I've stayed in many inns throughout Middle-earth, but few compare to this."

Still focused, Sylas moved around the perimeter of the campsite, casting protective wards and silent enchantments into the earth and air. When he returned, he spoke calmly, "There's a magical barrier now. You can rest without fear. No night watch needed."

Having witnessed Sylas's incredible magic firsthand, no one questioned his words. One by one, they entered the enchanted yurt, settling in for the night.

By midnight, the interior was filled with deep, contented snores, some soft, others loud enough to rival thunder. Blankets rose and fell with each breath, the Dwarves sprawled in their sleeping bags like sacks of potatoes. Even Thorin, ever prideful, had drifted into a grudging sleep.

Outside, the skies were veiled in heavy black clouds, blotting out moon and starlight entirely.

Apart from the gentle munching of the tethered ponies on the grass, the camp was eerily quiet. Not even a cricket dared to chirp.

Then, without warning, the air turned sharply cold, unnaturally so.

A pale mist began to creep over the hills like a living thing, rolling in soundlessly, thickening with every breath. It slid over stones and around tree roots, slinking toward the yurt as if guided by a dark will.

The ponies grew anxious, stamping their hooves and snorting. Their reins clinked and pulled taut as they tried to shy away from the encroaching fog, ears twitching, eyes wide with unease.

From the heart of the mist, a tall shadow emerged.

Its form was draped in darkness, long and thin like a corpse left to rot. What remained of its face twisted into a ghastly grin, jagged teeth gleaming faintly in the gloom. A Barrow-wight.

Drawn by the warmth of the living, it moved with terrible speed, so swift it was barely more than a blur. The ghostly creature paid no attention to the frightened ponies as it lunged straight for the yurt, eager to feast upon mortal breath and soul.

But just as it was about to breach the camp and descend upon its sleeping victims—

CRACK!

The creature slammed headlong into something unseen. An invisible shield shuddered at the impact, sending ripples through the air like water disturbed by a stone.

...

I have changed name of the sword from Flamme to "Brisingr"

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