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A short tale of the dealings with strange folk in the lands of Men between the mountains of Eriador, and also a celebration of the simple joys of life as seen from a minor company of dwarves (or "dwarrows" if you like).
((In a cloth-bound diary, in a guest room of the hall of the Order of the Divine Brew))
His poetry was bright with embroidery,
To woo her and never avoid her, he
But when Midarin was hale,
He blamed all this on ale,
And so Zhigi should marry a brewery!
Such were the lopsided lines I sent in response to the lavish poem concerning the color of my hair, and the supposed quality of my heart, by the tailor, Midarin - who later tried to disavow them, citing alcohol and lord Dwalin as the chief perpetrators instead.
((Any who frequent the road past Noglond will notice the results of recent Goblin depredations in the area. The damage is described below.))
As the traveller approaches Noglond from the west, his nostrils are assaulted by the mixed odors of burnt wood and decaying meat. Near the road, and occasionally on it, lie the corpses of recently slain animals, lynx, bears, and sundry birds, animals that were wantonly slain and thrown down on the road to rot.
The elves would gladly die for gems,
They delight in keeping rankour'd
Give me a dwarf who doesn't mind, and mines -
to hit the pay dirt!
A 'Suilad Melon' may be quite continental,
But mithril is a dwarf's best friend!
An oath may be strong, but it won't pay the rental -
On your humble halls,
Or help you when a dragon calls!
After a great deal of fighting against goblins in their underground realm , the Dwarves in Ered Luin sent out a call of aid to deal with those tribes that sought escape on the surface.
The nearby elves of the Grey Havens were the first to answer that call in an action that helped to strengthen bonds of friendship borne out of mutual aid, trust and respect.