I am Galadhloth, a fellow writer of Ethoridin, and while I do not have his fervour, I do have my own skill with the written word. While such can easily manifest itself in several ways, be they the bolts of lightning or a wave of heat, I will always be partial to the art of humor.

Humor it is, when I decided to ‘add’ to Ethoridin’s book. I am his partner in this endeavor, so it only seems fitting that I have my own say. And I have that say on one of the adventures between the dwarven guardian, Urdenn Tukgrund, and the ruin-mad Ethoridin Eluril, an elven hunter. It is a long tale, but I hope you find it entertaining!

-Galadhloth

The night was forming on the edges of the horizon at Ost Guruth, and an elven hunter boredly leaned against a column, tapping his finger on the pommel of his blade, watching the creeping darkness settle around the parting lines of sunlight o’er the western sky.

“Oi! There ya are! Canna ya stay in one place?” a gruff dwarven voice was heard, easily carrying across the hushed conversations around campfires at the forsaken city.

“If I had moved,” Ethoridin replied calmly, “Chances are you would never catch up.”

“Bah! For all ya haste, ya kept me waitin’! Ya ready?” Urdenn came up next to the elf, sighing.

“I’ve a fine blade of the ancients at my side. I’m ready for anything.”

Urdenn arched an eyebrow, looking at the sword, “Looks ta be dwarven.”

Ethoridin laughed as he and Urdenn set off down the hill at a swift pace, en route to the swamps south of the forlorn city, “Dwarven? Perhaps, I’ll make a note to research it…but, when have dwarves used swords?”

“We dunna use ‘em, but we make ‘em!” Urdenn replied, wagging a finger at the tall figure.

“Ha! You make axes and hammers! You can’t create anything beautiful or graceful, liks this,” the elf scoffed. Urdenn looked at him, grinning, “You’ve never been to me forge.”

Ethoridin rolled his eyes, “With good reason.”

Urdenn snorted, then pointed to the ever-closer swamp across the road. Ethoridin nodded, but Urdenn shook his head, “Why is it you and I always end up in swamps?” Ethoridin shrugged, “This time, don’t fall into the water. You’ll drown too easily.”

They came upon their first victim, a large Balt-olog troll. As Ethoridin began preparing himself, a wild cry was heard and a bearded form flew past, an axe raised. Ethoridin aimed and loosed a pair of arrows, “Get his knees, Urdenn! They’re the only target you can reach!”

On cue, Urdenn swept his axe into the knee of a troll, which promptly swept its leg up and kicked the dwarf several feet back. Normally, this would not be a terrible thing, save for the fact that ’several feet back’ also happened to be ‘in Ethoridin’s direction.”

With a cry that was soon stifled for lack of breath, Ethoridin was struck with an armored dwarf in his abdomen and landed promptly in the murky waters of the swamp. Urdenn scrambled to his feet, looking down at the hunter and panting out, “You alright?”

A few bubbles floated from beneath the dwarf’s feet. Laughing, Urdenn settled himself in and used the elf as a launchboard, hurling towards the troll with abandon. Ethoridin rose shakily, caughing bubbles and swamp-water, as Urdenn hacked again at the lower leg of the tall creature. He laughed wildly, swinging his axe and hewing at the creature, as blood poured from gaping wounds.

An arrow landed in the creature’s throat, and with a few strangled gasps it fell foward. Urdenn leapt out the way, splashing in the muck of the swamp, as the large creature toppled. Ethoridin limped forward, an arrow nocked, glaring balefully at Urdenn. His face broke into a wide grin, and he nodded to the creature.

“One.”

Urdenn scowled, ignoring the comment. Muttering to themselves, the two turned and advanced deeper into the malefic swamps. Aside from the sound of a dwarf furiously hacking into a troll’s leg as if it were a tree or the hum of a bowstring was the constant sound of bickering, continuously, endlessly.

This is but a short entry, friends. The battles went on for several hours, and as I listened to them bicker - even as they told the tale, they couldn’t stop! - I was amazed that they hadn’t killed each other. I’ll add in some other adventures they’ve had when I can next. - Galadhloth

I will add myself, however, that Urdenn did not win our little competition. In fact, by the end of the matter, he had been defeated by a total of three trolls. And he had been kicked numerous times, despite his constant argument that “Dwarves are a nimble folk”. Lest he set aside his nimbleness and agility for a game of dwarf-kicking, I think he was at a loss - Ethoridin

Just let the dwarf be. And this is my chapter! - Galadhloth

*The written argument continues for two pages, ending only when the third page they reached became smeared with ink. One wonders what caused the spill…*

Chapter One: On the Observations of a Kinship of Elven backgrounds.

Also known as: On the Observations of a Kinship.

I had tried so long ago to publish my research findings, but, sadly, much of the research I had established was lost to me and I am forced now to begin anew. I had wondered initially where to begin, but then the facet of information kindly presented itself.

I had just introduced myself to Lady Maiir, a wonderful new recruit into the Kinship that I have observed, the Marchwardens of Ennorath. And just moments after that, Lady Aerhinn kindly informed me of a message from a friend of mine, Urdenn Tukgrund, with whom I have had the rather dubious honor of fighting alongside in a few misadventures.

Such made me think. A Kinship is a gathering, yes, but it is far from being the same as, say, a basket of apples or a tray of tankards brimming with Barliman’s best ale. Those things are put together based upon their type, but there really is no such thing as a ‘type’ in a Kinship. Lady Maiir seemed to be extremely bright and happy to have joined the Kinship. Lord Urdenn has been my hunting partner in, again, our misadventures (read the ‘glories’ of the crazed Dwarf and the sane scholar who constantly has to save his bearded hide in a coming article).

I believe that a good Kinship is like an exquisitely flawless diamond. Possessed of many unique facets (representing the various members) each one is similar or different in their own way. Perhaps this diamond is of a pyramidal shape, and therefore some facets will be small, some insignificant in appearance, and some quite large. The flawless diamond with perfect clarity will allow each facet to view another, presenting many unique points of view. In that sense, each and every facet is free to engage with the others.

The diamond is seen in its truest beauty when brought to the light and shared, seen by all. That is, the members of the Kinship do not sit around in some dank dungeon or dark hall - they are active, as a group (seeing the whole or most of the diamond) or as their own small contribution to the world (seeing the sparkle of one or two facets, instead of the whole). A diamond resting forever in a lock-box gains no dust, true. But it also can never gain attention, notoriety or fame by being kept away.

Most enjoyable to me was a very recent invititation - the sharing of the diamond, in keeping with our analogy - from a member of another Kinship, known to mortal men as “Amarthel” for a celebration. A party, for no reason other than having a party. I have long hoped that various Kinships - various diamonds - could be brought together to act as one. Rather than seeing a single diamond, one would then see dozens or scores of diamonds, and although the light will only catch a brief glimpse here or there, instead of one diamond shining, many will.

I know that the Marchwardens are one of those many shining diamonds - a gem indeed! - because I have been in there. So, in continuing with my observations…

How does one know what makes a Kinship their own? Why, the answer is quite simple.

The diamond will suit you. Be it in a band of precious metals, or be it simply hanging from your neck as an amulet, it will suit you. The diamond will sparkle always, it will be available when you want to wear it (such as a particularly difficult task) and even if you cannot wear it at the moment, you think of the diamond and are waiting patiently to wear it again.

There are a myriad of kinships, a myriad of diamonds. Only you can decide which diamond suits you best, and only you can decide how large a facet you will be. For although the smallest facet may seem worthless, no diamond can be a perfect or flawless diamond with a gaping hole where your facet ought rest.

-Lord Ethoridin Eluril, Marchwarden, Scholar