This land has taken much of my strength and will to adventure. My throat is parched, even though I have water to drink. My food does not seem to satisfy me any longer, though perhaps that is because I'm growing tired of eating Naugrimbas. I never truly liked that mushroom. Little taste in it, but sure is light to carry and is enough to keep you going for long distances.
I miss the Blue Mountains, its cold mountain springs and the look of snow under my feet. And of course the roaring fires of the Hall of Madt-Bekhaz, or Stouthammer Hall. How do I long for a soft bed in a chamber of chiselled stone, with my hoarded gold and a few interesting scrolls within arm's reach... The taste of mead or a good frothy ale after a hearty meal and the tunes of silver harps in the hall of the king. The company of my fellow dwarves in the tavern at Thorin's Halls and the sharing of good stories and laughter and merriment of all kind. How much I'd like to play my mighty drum again, hearing its sounds resonate from archway to archway in the deep of our western kingdoms.
Alas, now I am here in the black land of Mordor, where the shadows lie. I thought this was going to be the summit of my adventuring, the greatest of my journeys that would make me well known across all the seven kingdoms! Nyr the Wandering Bard and Great Adventurer, Conqueror of Mordor! But things seem ever more grim as I venture further and further into this land. I should have returned to camp to recover some of my strength, but now I am coming ever closer to the most dreadful of places in Mordor: Barad-Dûr. The tower no longer stands and I fear much of it lies in ruin. If I fail to bring my king the secrets he seeks, I will evermore feel ashamed. Perhaps it is better that I lay down my life hither and be remembered for who I was.
