Hanfrere

OOC: The following text is based on the actual IC conversation between Augir and Hanfrere.

Translation of the Khuzdul used:

ibinê             my gem
abanith         my rock (lit stone that is young)
musmasum   little jewel
Mahal           Aulë

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A long awaited reunion!

Ulfhìrth has changed a lot since the first time Bob came here, young and full of ambitions of idleness.  The air reverberates with more echoes than before, or so it seems.  The old Durin's Folk Hall up at the pinnacle of the neighborhood has been let out to other tenants, who've put up trolls in the yard, and other nasty things.  

In the Great hall of Thorin sits a dwarf deep in thought. Abcentmindedly smoking the pipe he is hunched forward, scribbling runes into a worn book. At first glance he seems poor and rugged, but if you look closer you'll find his armour plates of lordly quality, even if scratched and dirty. His cloak and hauberk is worn and patched. The gold and silver threads have long lost its gleam, but still the emblems of Durin and Khazad dûm are visible. Out of habit the hood is covering his mithril braided hair.

"By Mahal's whiskers!! What have I been drinking?" Midarin groaned and grunted while he stretched and held his head as if it was about to fall off. The pain of his aching skull throbbed like there was a nasty Orc drumming away in his ear.
As Midarin grunted low some more, while carefully stretching his arms, the cracking of his joints could be heard as clear as a bell, growing louder and louder in his head.