Reflections on the Dwarrow Ting

A page from the Journal of Vratni Copperhand

The Dwarrow Ting 

A fine gathering it was, dwarven kin and craft, word and wisdom, all woven together in the halls of Thorin’s folk. I arrived to greetings and good company, welcomed by Frimsi Gembeard, who, as ever, has a knack for bringing dwarves together with the promise of gold and grand prospects.

The evening was filled with talk of trade and tradition. Omali spoke of songs and gatherings, Jokulin of being a fighter and a drinker, Thorlaen of ale and coin from horse-lords, Narali of hard roads walked and fresher air found after years in Mordor. 

Gwoli of treasures buried and lost to time, Grimr reminded us of the honour owed to our elders, while Hrothumund spoke of lore lost, an axe of dwarves and elves, though best we not speak too loud on that last detail. Geofforin, a hunter and wanderer clad in forest green, spoke of returning to kin after years in the wild

Bradati worked to preserve the history of these halls, Thrarfi crafted warriors instead of steel, and Flovald brought word of coffee, a drink strange to me but worth a thought.

Fralir, a mighty warrior, spoke of battle and duty. And then there was Freydisr, an elegant Dwarf maiden, but more, a gracious host and keeper of ale, ensuring no Dwarf went thirsty.

When my turn came, I spoke true, Vratni Copperhand, merchant, peddler, collector of shiny things, and seller of slightly shinier ones at increased cost! I spoke about how a few weeks in Bree had taught me the ways of trading with bigfolk, and I’d wager I’ve done my part in spreading the good word of dwarven craft there too. Elves still claim to make the finest wares, but I’m working on changing people's minds, one deal at a time.

Oh there were some others here and there of course, a busy event, but a testament to many fine beards all having been drawn together in purpose!

As the night wound down, ale filled our tankards, and tales turned from trade to the finer things, soaked rugs, the art of a proper toast, and the reckless wisdom of throwing one's mug when the moment was right. I was glad to note that Frimsi kept the bar tab open and Rúnulf the barkeep kept the ale flowin' all through the night.

A fine moot, a fine ting... a fine showing of dwarven kinship. 

The Dwarrow Ting... may it echo long in these halls, and may it bring as much fortune as it did fellowship this eve'.

—V