Intro
This is a tale about a dwarf. I am Ryga Silverfist son of Ryhrad Silverfist and I was born in The Iron Hills but raised in Ered Luin by my uncle Dlaïn. I was brought to Ered Luin at young age. Why you ask? I have honestly no idea, me and my uncle never spoke about it. Later when I grew up I went to work at a local iron mine. At the time this is what every dwarf did that lived there.
A few months later Dlaïn passed away of a something like a sickness, we did not know. His death troubled me much even though he wasn't the kindest dwarf in Arda. This was however the dwarf that learned me everything, from walking to talking. He really took good care of me although he was time to time a bit strict. years past by without anything happening, it was an very uneventful time. As a dwarf you get used to mining, it's just what dwarves do, day in day out mining.. mining.. mining.
That was until I saw Gandalf. He asked me help in another district of the mine, I knew there was something terribly wrong! A mountain troll they found, there were already some dwarves killed and Gandalf asked me to lead the troll away, so that they could carry more wounded away. Young as I was I went for it, not knowing the grave danger lying ahead. I tried to lead the troll away, but I lead him away to a dead end. I was trapped and couldn't get out, at that almost fatal moment Gandalf saved me. He came the trough the wall (as it was the side of the mountain) and petrified the troll with daylight.
After recovering from it all Gandalf said I was very brave and that I was the only dwarf that dared to help him. Gandalf got me out of the mine and learned me how to fight. He said to me that the future lay in Middle Earth and not in this mine. I took it as a sign, a sign to leave for my real home: The Iron Hills.
Here ends part one of my story.
