Loth i Lonnath

Arradril worked alone, as she normally preferred. Tonight's project was a sheath for her favorite boot dagger. The single-edged weapon was not her largest, nor her longest, nor yet was it her oldest -- so it was no painful reminder of fair Ondolindë. It was not even balanced for throwing; given the alarming upward curve of the blade, and the solid hiltward weighting, Arradril reckoned that any attempt to fling it would end in a loud thud.

Frimsi was messing up his beard, delicately smearing soot at just the right parts. Another young Dwarf, dour and sturdily built, grumbled as he followed suit. Frimsi smiled in the mirror once he finished his curious craft, “There we go! Perfect! Just like a petty-dwarf!” Frimsi glanced at the other Dwarf, “You however…I think you are missing a spot right here Nislina”. Frimsi jokingly gestured at a random spot on his own beard.

Dear Diary,

I have neglected you so. But things have happened, many strange and perhaps terrible yet wonderful.

It was a restless night at the skirts of the Mountains Blue. We were seeking for rocks for future climbing with Ephendir, following the river’s bank. We heard vile voices in the distance, goblins… And there were dwarves yelling their war cries.

- What is this? A battle?

-Sounds like one. Have the heart to see?