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Old 11-10-2006, 07:31 PM   #6
piosenniel
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The Sixth Wizard's post

In a large open field somewhere in Rohan, a small figure was hurrying through the bright sun. Heavily dressed, he was nevertheless in a state of disrepair, and looked as though he had travelled a long way. This was in fact a dwarf known as Dárin of the Iron Hills. And Dárin the Dwarf was in the state of mind that had carried him through the past few weeks. Grumpy.

"Witch-Kings and Necromancers! Elves and Dragons! Spiders and Skin-changers! Goblins and Trolls! I can't take it any more, no I can't, I am too old, too old. Why oh why did I ever begin this journey? I don't like Thin-gloomy! I should've earned my bread at home, or become a builder, ...or something anyway! And curse this infernal grass!" A stream of mixed curses and profanities were dispatched from Dárin as he plucked a few spines from his clothes.

There were many miles behind him, and many a clue from travellers he had met over the disappearance of his second cousin Thin-Gloomy. The main reason Dárin had left the Iron Hills was because of his poverty, brought on because he was terrible when dealing with gold, and the thought he may profit from helping his relative. And somewhere there were some family ties hidden under his gruff exterior. He actually had quite a loyal heart.

Finally he began to draw near to civilisation. Civilisation, he laughed. People of the farms know nothing of stonework! One thing they're good at though, making ale. He hastened toward the nearest Inn, ignoring their stares, and a snuffling horse. A good drink awaited.

Last edited by piosenniel; 11-11-2006 at 01:33 PM.
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