To the dear Duinn Drakenbane, son of Muninn, lord of Durin’s Folk,
And to all who dwell in the shelter of his arm,
In the halls of Thorin, among the Blue Hills of Eriador,
Shamûkh, your brother greets you!
It is with a happy heart that I write to you, at last, from the safety of mighty Baraztûm. Norgi and his family send their greetings as well: Zhigi and Thrandili, young Arni and little Norgili. We are well and prosper in our new home, and wish to share the story of our journey eastwards.
After crossing the Misty Mountains we had the excitement of attending the presence of King Dain Ironfist. He extended the hand of friendship to myself and my people, and with sad heart sent us off on our journey through Erebor with his blessings. Along the way we were welcomed by many Blacklocks, who, of their own agency, and out of the love in their hearts, or perhaps a yearning to visit the Halls of Obsidian, chose to band together to escort us across Rhûn. They call themselves the Iron Hills Militia. The desert road was long and weary, but we sweetened the way with good company and song.
And we came to the halls of my fathers bearing the precious commodity of news. The cries of the embattled of the Iron Hills have been heard. The king of Baraztûm, my uncle King Mòdsognir VI sends his aid. The Iron Hills Militia have returned fortified with provisions, armed with superior equipment, and enriched by fresh volunteers from the city. We do not face the shadow alone! But there is much to be done for the Eastern Halls. I have been tasked at once to liberate an outlying city from the grips of evil men so that my brothers and sisters can return to their ancestral halls in peace and security. The effort I took in coming west, to obtain information and training, has been repaid sevenfold.
I will only utter a few words admonishing you to support any who also resist the Shadow in the West. In the East, we have not been so fortunate, and the horror of the foul deeds that have been done in service to the Evil Eye seem hard to believe. They tear whole mountains apart to rape them of their ore. They process that ore and foul whole oases for generations just for the one crop of metal. They take forests more lush than the Shire and turn them into choking deserts in order to despoil their timber. And need I mention the wanton enslavement of any soul who crosses the path of the servants of Mordor? They spare no-one, and their promises are vain. Do not let them come near you.
But on to lighter matters! I must at last explain why a princeling from a distant kingdom would travel so far just to play a few songs and perform push-ups in the snow at another king’s gate. Among the Longbeards, I have been free to be myself without pretension, at liberty to befriend my brethren without being confused for a statue of an ancient king, whose visage I share. Among Duinn’s regiment I have been free to serve as a footsoldier, and at liberty to pursue the art of runes to great benefit without being expected to play the role of glittering hero of yore, dressed in full plate at the front of the army. At the halls of the Blue Hills, in the delvings of the Hobbits, among the ruins of Arnor, (and even in Elrond’s lodge), I have been able to freely enjoy the music of surprising possibilities, the mirth of unlikely alliances, to hear the whole story of the West’s valiant struggles, and lastly to taste all that delicious foreign food. I have been honoured by your kindness and generosity of spirit.
I was in danger among you, and sadly, I could not linger. Should any discover my true identity and spread it abroad, I could have been betrayed into great peril, and the future of my people along with it. But you folk protected me and offered me the shelter of your company while you permitted me my anonymity as Bob. As I feared, on my return I was formally declared to be the very spirit and image of my forebearer Druin the Proud, something I have suspected for a very long time. And while this is a great honour to take on the mantle and fate of his name, my nickname was earned among you. Know this then, I am forever at your service, for you have given me a jewel more bedazzling than any treasure in the great vaults of Baraztûm, you have given me a good name,
Druin the Bard,
nephew and ward of King Mòdsognir VI of Baraztûm, son of Mòdsognir V, of the house of the Blacklocks.
((This letter will bring to an end my RP with Raggolgrimbob.))
