A friend of Beglund here. I really just wanted to take a moment to mention the recent spotlight spammers that are hardly giving anyone else a chance to be seen. It makes me a sad clown that these folks are posting six and seven times in a row and thusly pushing everyone else’s writings clean out of the way. I would like to know what other players are up to as well. If you’re one of the ones doing this, please bear in mind that you’re hogging center stage when you spam the Player News section with your multitudinous postings. 

It is, frankly, quite rude.

So, please stop it. Please? Beglund is more cantankerous than myself and also carries a very large axe.

 <—— Smaller than Beglund’s axe.

And so, my friend, my mission from Lord Dain had to be postponed until I could recover my sketchbook, which had, I may have mentioned, been thieved by some goblins whilst I was in combat with their fellows. No, no. I never actually did witness goblins taking it. I suspect that that is what happened as, you see, all goblins are suspect. The book itself isn’t worth a fortune by any means. I simply couldn’t bear the thought of those putrid creatures touching and pawing at anything personal of mine.

A blizzard had sprung up shortly after I began my search, as fortune would have it, and I soon became lost in the bone biting, flesh rending, soul freezing tumult. I had to press on for my own honour, which is also the honour of House Thunderknuckles!

The Misty Mountains can be cold even to a dwarf.

It was, perhaps, the grace of Iluvatar wot spared me. A most gracious elf maiden (I was not going to argue the questionable character of elves at this point!) and tracker of the wilds spotted me stumbling, half dead, through the chaos near nightfall. She seemed unaffected by the cold nor hindered by wind and snow, and, with eyes and a smile warm as sunshine, put her arm in mine and bade me follow. She led me to a depression in the mountain’s side, a shallow cave, really, and made us a fire, though I don’t think she needed it for herself if truth be told.

There I warmed my bones and ate a bite and resolved to continue my search for my missing sketch book upon the morrow. We made pleasant conversation, and I learned much from her about the habits and cruelties of the goblins and wargs. I had thought all this time that the wargs were the unwitting slaves of the goblins, but nein! I was wrong. The wargs themselves are intelligent, even possessing a language of their own, and work as tenuous allies with the goblins.

I must admit that the Elf maiden, Sorche, was very difficult to remove my eyes from for very long. It’s hard to explain. No, of course not! There was no romantic inclination there. Being in her presence was a little like the joy a child gets from a holiday of giving. The dangers of the mountains were afar in my mind, the bitter cold not so bitter at all, and the grime and weariness of the wilds seemed lessened. Still, I couldn’t help but think she might be even more beautiful with a thick, glossy beard tumbling down her chin.

I shall have to reconsider my opinions of the elves. Aye, reconsider indeed. Tomorrow I shall find my sketchbook!

Father,

At last I tread the Misty Mountains! They are as beautiful as you have ever described them to me and I can smell their iron and silver from a mile so rich are their veins! It is terribly cold, though, if I am honest, and the goblins and wargs are still an infestation. How it pleases me to hew their necks asunder! Khazad ai-menu! Worry not, please. I am in good health, despite the bitter frost, and my heart is glad within me.

The mission upon which our Lord Dain has sent me has led me as far as the smouldering wastes of Angmar. A savage land indeed, but much riches in the way of metals and gems. The Angmarim muster and war is certainly imminent. Worse, even, is that The Nine are abroad. I have seen evidence of this with my own eyes! It is not mere elven melodrama. The news we received was true.

I have made the acquaintance of an odd man by the name of Aragorn. His eyes are dark and shifty and I do not trust this fellow. It would not surprise me to discover that he is an agent of Angmar in disguise. He should beware lest he come face to face with the serious end of the axe of Beglund Thunderknuckles! A young hobbit by the name of Frodo Underhill assures me, however, that he is an utterly honorable man and is to be trusted. Bah.

I had prepared some sketches of these mountains for you, but my book was dropped during battle with the goblins and some of the cowards made away with it. I suppose thinking me a spy and that my spy notes. I have made you a rough sketch (Very rough, admittedly) for the time being with naught but a charred stick end till I can remake my former drawings.

I head next for Eregion and to our ancestral home of Khazad-dum, where I hear that our kinsmen have begun a reclaiming! The rumor is that Durin’s Bane has been vanquished! Can it be? Ahhhh to walk its halls…

Give mother my love. You know you have it.

Beglund

The primary reason Beglund doesn’t like to wear helmets with pointy metal designs on top.