Ahmo

“Let us look for Estarfin in the Hall of Fire, and we can talk to Sogadan again. As you said to him, we have more tales to tell - or peradventure, there are tales being told there now about us,” Parnard said with a grin, brushing off his brand-new green velvet doublet and making a few adjustments to his twiggy crown. “Am I presentable, Cousin?”

Well, Diary. Today's entry is a little unusual. But then unusual seems to be my usual condition of late.

Exiting the Hall of Fire -- the usual music, dancing, wine, all very much the same, although there was a new elleth and meeting her was very pleasant; Fingolian proposed to return to his home in the Golden Wood, and was given a great deal of well-meaning advice, not least about the pass. If only he had the sheer muscularity of the letter I came home to -- but I get ahead of myself.

Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon

16 Tuilë in the Reckoning of Imladris

Eduwiges of Faldham huffed and puffed her way up the steep ramp deep inside the bowels of Moria. Sweat beaded on her forehead and she could feel it popping out from every pore in her body. Dust from the deep caverns coated her skin like a fine powder. The humidity of the ancient mine meant that her clothes were drenched and stayed drenched. She blew a lock of hair away from her eyes and adjusted her makeshift pack. She ceased staring at the ramp in front of her and looked up.

Treasure hunters delving into the necropolis of Tyrn Gorthad were held to be disreputable and base for pilfering ancient tombs of grave goods. But, Laicamiril reflected as she picked her way over a flying bridge over an unplumbable chasm, how was this any different than anyone who trespassed in Hadhodrond? The place was a colossal tomb.

I have risen early, slipped into a robe and wandering up to the gleaming Dwarrow Mirror high above Tol Lochul to greet the dawn. Stars are still gleaming in the velvet blue sky as I reach my perch, arrange my implements, and begin to draft this account. 

“What…what by the horde of Ancalagon goes on here!!!” shouted Gareth Steelheart, Captain of the Hounds of Anarion as he stood surveying the wreckage of the upstairs chamber of the Thirsty Seer.

Over Gareth’s shoulder, the barkeep Emery surveyed the room with dismay. “You maniacs...do you know how much this flooring COST ME!!!????'