Spar

To Rûndis, my Moonlight,

Yesterday we reached the fortress of Ost Guruth, out East in the Lone-Lands. The Eglain are not the most outgoing people, but they welcomed us with open arms at the prospect of Dwarven coin and stories of reclaimed honour. It seems Frimsi has had his fair share of dealings with these people, and are on quite friendly terms. It was not a particularly comfortable camping location, but it certainly beat staying out in the cold, so we are thankful.

It was another late night for Fiontann. He helped at The Thirsty Boar till late and now he was heading home to Cedwyn and Averick.

Second Age; beginning of the year 1717, in Imladris…

The main gem for a cloak clasp was nearly done…the intricate detail and great effort put into the jewel was not hard to miss. Undómion did not want to stop; enjoying making it the best it could possibly be. There was nothing left to improve, and instead of leaving it be, the Noldo kept looking for ways to further improve it.

“How long have you been sitting there?”

“Go away.” Undómion grunted.

I don't know how that happened, and why it was there in that right time, but something is clear: My past is not clear yet, and maybe I am someone that is not like me before.