erebor

The inn came to halt in the early hours of the morning. Gone was the hustle and bustle of Dwarves working the kitchen, and the clear clank of mugs brought together. Every step Dalbran took seemed herculean, every croak of the wooden floorboard seemed to shatter against the walls of the hall, and shimmer onwards into the rooms. The Dwarf huddled down into the tunnels leading to the Dwarven dwelling beneath, and into the unfinished hall of carved stone. As he expected, his brothers were asleep, snoring and huffing loudly from their bedrooms. Just as planned. 
 

The Lifescroll of Song is a compilation of folk songs and ballads compiled by minstrel Skarde from Dale, during the late reign of Eldarion, King of Gondor in IV Age. It details the common histories and legends from the Rhovanion, and is the source of history about that time. A original of the scroll was presented later to librarians from Pelargir. The copy was later taken to the great library of Erebor, and dwarven sages added some reliable parts.

One evening, while playing my lute outside the Prancing Pony, I met a friendly and most noble Dwarf named Luqi. We got talking about all manner of things after I had played my music and eventually he spoke about his wish to visit the Lonely Mountain. I agreed it would be a wonderful thing to do but would take many days planning and at least several sturdy people to accompany him.

Disclaimer: The following piece features graphic and violent content. It is meant to describe the horrors Dalbran witnessed during the battle. That being said, read on at your own discretion. 

The world bemoans the lifeless hands 

The Dwarfs who died to keep their lands 

The valiant souls of Durin’s Folk 

Shall echo in eternal sleep 

The Orcs came to our lands, and we fought them hand to hand, 

Sweat and blood, turned the ground to mud. 

Dwarf and Orc in strife, sought to vanquish every life, when the hammer falls! 

“Into them! Borri, take the left flank, strike them down! Baruk Khazâd!” 

“Khazâd ai-mênu!” 

When a Dwarf is sent to war, he pines for home, his heart is sore 

Though never was such bravery, nor strength of arms or weaponry! 

Erebor. Finally, Erebor. 

From the fire is made, evey Dwarven axe and blade! 

When the hammer falls, forging weapons for all! 

When the hammer falls, songs of battle fill the Halls! 

“So you’ll go?”