Shortly after midday on the second day, I ceased pacing, sat down at my desk, took up pen and paper and began writing.

To Rûndis, my Moonlight,

I understand now why they call it Moria. They were right, all of them who told us not to come. But it is far too late now, we have delved too deep.

Frimsi brought a ring. A cursed ring. Cursed by the Nameless, by the source of the whispers that have been tormenting Narali since our arrival. Why did we not realise sooner? How did we not notice that the Expedition was cursed from the start?

“I suppose she should be able to defend herself…but only at great need,” Parnard answered, after a long pause. “There are no Trolls to be found in these parts, I think.”

I was not sleeping well. Rather, I replayed my decision of the past two weeks regarding what I knew of Naraal, and what I withheld from Estarfin. I asked myself time and again, why I had not told him that Naraal had been outside Numenstaya to claim the Mithril owed the Black Dwarf. 

(((  For Atmosphere  )))

This was the moment, I thought. This is what all my ceaseless labours have led to. 

Captain Fangnir was tired of the docks of Pelargir. Much of his time these past weeks had been spent there, overseeing the unloading, the repairs and the provisioning, and the hiring or paying of his crew.