Dear Diary,
I have spent the last month here in the dark staring out into the blackness. Every day we find new areas to explore and new bands of goblins to fight. New horrors to face.
Every new place has to be checked and double checked.
When we came back to the main camp I saw a Dwarf being carried and they were covered in blood.
The Dwarf group missed a room as they cleared a gallery, it looked empty when they looked through the doorway. There was a second room to the rear hidden by a bookcase. They met a band of gobbos in the next room and a fight started. Ten more gobbos came from behind, from the room they hadn't cleared and the dwarves were surrounded. They didn't stand a chance. Only one got out of that fight, there were originaly six of them, and he had wounds deep and painful.
The sound of a Dwarf screaming in pain isn't one I will ever forget.
I was asked to help if I could but the wounds were beyond any help I could offer. I played tunes for him, just ordinary and everyday, to help ease the pain.
Rokak lingered for two days. He fought every moment to hold onto life. His wounds had started to fester and the poison had taken over his mind. He babbled and ranted, all the while I played. Simple tunes, Shire tunes and songs of Elves and Men.
In the middle of a silly tune about ducks Rokak reached over and grasped my arm. He looked me in the eye and in a moment of clarity said "Thanks lass" and finally went into a deep sleep.
I sat next to his bed and fell fast asleep.
When I woke I was told Rokak had died while I slept.
He had called out for his brother Daffinn and then life slipped away.
Daffinn was not there for his brother, he was back in the Blue Mountains with his father.
I think I lost my senses then, I strode off into the dark heading for the landing overlooking the Deep Delving. My harp was clutched so tight in my hands it creaked and protested.
I stood on the landing and played for a Dwarf I didn't really know and who had been in my life so briefly.
The sound of the harp echoed into the mine. The notes reflected and delayed returned to join fresh ones as I played a song of mourning. I could hear voices join the tune from behind me. The Dwarves sang a wordless lament for the dead of Moria.
When the last echoes had stilled, a new sound came from the depths of the mine. Drums from the goblin camps. The sound was terrifying. It was as if the deep walls themselves were making the noise.
I hate them. I want to find each and every one of them and beat them to death with a rock. I want each one to feel the pain Rokak did. I want to hunt them and hurt them.
I have asked that Rokak's family be given my place in the resettlement of the mine when the final gobbo is dead.
I have asked to leave the mine, I'm waiting for the next group heading for the surface and I shall leave this place of darkness and death.
My money is gone, but I have managed to arrange to travel with a Dwarven caravan heading to the Blue Mountains. My help in mine has secured me food, safety and companionship for the journey home.
