My dearest Grafi:
I just found this couple of pages at the floor of the library here in Bree. I do not know what book they fell from, but as the story looked fairly interesting to me, i send it to you for your enjoyment, because i know you like this kind of stories.
«Short Stories of Eriador» by Fóhelix, literate.
"One of the dwarves barely breaths as he drinks a beer after another. The mining was successful and everyone has been given a day off from the mines. Some of them have gone deep into the tunnels today again, but the vast majority spends the well-earned coins on drinks and meals of dubious quality.
Everything is chants, and the few sober ones that conversate have to shout to understand each other's words as they are mixed with songs and the noise of chairs being dragged and moved around. Everyone is excited and happy when a group of women with more facial hair than Glóin himself enter the inn, making all the eyes turn in that direction. All eyes, except two, that remain lost and unseen, covered as they are by the long hood while the dwarf they belong to takes a beer after another.
It looks like a monstrous figure stands by his side; in the corner a massive being seems to spy the stay from the shadow. But it is no monster, its the mountain of mugs that he has emptied on his beard, covered with beer foam.
Is he not celebrating? might thought the young hunter that approached him.
-Are ye not *hip* Tired?
What kind of animal drinks so much beer? *hip* Gimme SOME!
Right after he picked up the first beer, an empty tankard flew directly into the teeth of the guest. Only the taverner and a few others noticed the scene, and remained impassible
-tavern fights are everyday law- while he spitted teeth and blood.
Shouting wildly, the indistinguishable language's dwarf grabbed a chair and threw it against his rival without effect, because he had knocked over the table in a quick movement. A rain of empty tankards fell on the helpless dwarf, followed by a war chant: Du bekâr! (To arms!) What war was he daydreaming of?
The attacker could now be seen clearly:
His hood had fallen back to his shoulders, revealing an eyepatch. His long beard splashed beer all around and his one good eye was drowned in red, full of hatred and anguish.
His name is unknown, but that isn't important for our tale as someone of such blind violence is merely an animal.
Continuing his attack, he jumped onto the table, and from there pounced on his enemy. Then, chaos broke out as both launched serious and brutal attacks, and broke chairs and rolled over the floor.
Surprisingly after his successful offensive, the dwarf on blue was hit by a thumping attack and fell to the ground, unconscious.
Or so thought the taverner, that approached to see such warrior. Believed to be the real opponent, the innocent tavern keeper was grabbed by foot on an unexpected move from the dwarf, who had feigned defeat.
Without thinking about what he was doing, he threw him with inordinate force against the wall numerous times.
With the first light of dawn, before the dew evaporates in the direct sunlight on the low land flowers, north of Godamon, a dwarf had died.
One dwarf was waiting to be buried underground. His name, that I will leave here for his remind, was Jímil. His blood, spilled all over the floor and walls of the tavern of his family since old times, hadn't been cleaned yet; and his joys, his fights, his loves and his whole life, forgotten.
Jímil
At the same time, the assassin is already far away. Aided by a traveler (that I will not name to protect his reputation and respect) he had arrived at Adso's Camp, but the rest of this story is for one or many new chapters."
I hope I manage to find the original volume, or atleast more lost pages to send you.
Yours,
Mundanoc
