Azaghâlbad’s log: 18th of ‘Afkalm
The Mahal-cursed paperwork up at the barracks is doing my head in; if Uzbad Hosgrim had mentioned the endless forms, reports and logs (aye, this one too) that have to be filled in, I’d have refused the promotion! Nevertheless, as this document shall only be seen by myself and future dwarves cursed to carry out the duties of a warlord, I can be as bloody well rude as I wish. Durin curse you, dull drudge of a diary; I hope that whatever papery afterlife lies in store for you when I finally decide to chuck you in the river is filled with ink-blots, spelling mistakes and snobby, self-indulgent journal articles.
Anyway, returning to the subject at hand: today has been rather a good one, excluding of course the current log-writing boredom. My present position allows the ‘pulling’ of rank upon those junior to myself, including the poor hobbit secretary who draws up the schedule of officer duties. As such, myself and my ageing father Thorfralin have allotted ourselves guard duty at the Celondim bridge. Granted it is a rather boring, cold task, but anything beats life at the barracks! So off we went to start our shift, merry as a hobbit in a pantry.
A most strange company greeted us as the night closed in: a dwarf, an elf and a hobbit, all seemingly travelling for common cause (I have made a crude sketch of their likenesses below). The dwarf quickly introduced himself as Frimsi Gembeard, a wily entrepreneur with a less than perfect moral character - best keep an eye on him. Strangely Linglorel, his companion from the woodland realm, gave me no such impression. Her smile was as pretty as a summers morning, and, as you shall hear, her disposition was quite unlike that of her kin who imprisoned Thorin Oakenshield all those years ago. The third in their small company was, at first glance, an archetypal hobbit: small of size, great of warmth and overly fond of pies. But as I heard more about their travels, I soon realised that this hobbit was not of the same stock as those lazy shire-folk; Passerose was a fearsome warrior, and had faced down a troll, no less!
Being properly introduced, and having nothing better to do, I offered to escort this strange caravan up to Thorin’s Hall, where I planned to spend the next night. Leaving Thorfralin to guard the bridge, I guided them up past Gondamon (where we stopped for a most picturesque supper) and up to Thorin's Gate. It must have been quite a sight for the elf and hobbit, and they seemed very grateful for the tour I gave; Frimsi was of course a dwarf of Erebor, but nonetheless was pleased that his kin in the western halls were capable of such great works. I must confess I felt a tinge of pride, despite hailing originally from the Iron Hills; I suppose Ered Luin has truly become my home! I bought them the obligatory round at Rúnulf’s and offered to lodge them at the Durin’s Folk barracks for the night.
On the way back to the halls, however, I stubbed my toe. I want this noted in the records, so I remember to shout at the stonemason.
That is all.
Frimsi Gembeard, the leader of the company
Linglorel and Passerose, his two companions
