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'When we last left the Hobad lass Beannaithe and the Dwarf Laekir they'd completed a long march downslope from the dreaded Hill of Dark Sorcery where, near a dark lake, they'd found a cave...
'When teams of defenders were assembled, Beannaithe were paired with an old Dwarf. Beannaithe had a fondness for old Dwarves, for reasons that ye know well, so the pairin' suited her just fine.'
I understand now why they call it Moria. They were right, all of them who told us not to come. But it is far too late now, we have delved too deep.
Frimsi brought a ring. A cursed ring. Cursed by the Nameless, by the source of the whispers that have been tormenting Narali since our arrival. Why did we not realise sooner? How did we not notice that the Expedition was cursed from the start?
Beannaithe felt as cold as the tomb in which they'd laid her pabbi. Dwarves, ye see, don't bury their dead in the ground like we Hobaid ("Hobbit Folk"). Instead they lay 'em to rest between two slabs of stone.
I continued me story where I'd ended the night before...
'As instructed, Blacksmith and the Dwarf wiped their feet on the mat outside the door before entering the farmhouse. The inside of the home were far cosier than either had imagined.