V. A Dwindling Fate and Broddur's Betrayal
It seems fate has not been kind to my family. Once they were stout, hard-working and well-known among their kindred. But late in the second age of this world, the hammer would fall hard on the anvil. The ongoing family feud was only the first blow. Several more followed, heralding the possible end of a line that had long been in the making.
First, the family's numbers dwindled due to the deaths of many astute members, a pure female offspring in the last centuries, and a lack of marriages. The only dwarf whom ironically succeeded in finding a dwarf woman was cold-hearted Fikli and he had a son with her named Frir. Overall, however, we were just not blessed when it came to finding dwarf women.
Second, the family's treasure hoard was raided by one of our own. My distant cousin Broddur, brother to Lindrod, was unsatisfied with the current state of the family. He had secret wishes to leave the Ered Luin and take with him the gold he thought was his fair share. Whatever his plans might have been, the fool never got far with his large stack of gold. We found him trying to cross the Lhûn river, but in our attempt to bring his treachery to a halt, the cart full of gold fell off the bridge into the water where it was washed away to the sea. We brought Broddur back to the Blue Mountains where we spent three days debating on what to do with him. Eventually, it was decided that his life was to be spared. However, we did expel him from the family and retracted his claim to the treasure, putting him in a serious debt with the family. He never earned the gold back and I heard he spent his remaining days drinking away what little he did earn at Thorin's Hall. It came as no surprise to us to hear that he eventually drowned in his own ale in the year 2989.
Third, much of our prominence and influence had become merely symbolical, a shade of its former self. There were no new deeds of great renown, no great gestures worth a minstrel's praise. We spent gold more than we earned it and fell gradually into namelessness. Perhaps I am casting it in a darker light than it deserves – there were still dwarves among us that earned praise, like my father Norr the Benevolent who spent much of his time helping the less fortunate, or Fruni who was making a name for himself at the garrison as a warrior of great promise. But there is no denying that our golden days were over. Even the family-owned Firethroat Meadery was shut down as there was little interest to excel in the art of brewing anymore. From then onwards, we spent most of our time doing humble work. I myself gave up my position as archivist and started my solitary travels to inspire my writing, which I sought to improve. What riches we had left we guarded solemnly, deep within our vaults at Stouthammer Hall, where laughter was heard no more.
