"My name? MY NAME?!!!" the dwarf bellowed, getting the attention of most of the common room, and discomfiting one or two of the humans in front of him.
"My name, Master Elf," he continued as he drew back his hood, "is one of the few things in this wide world I may call my own. As such, I treat it with great care, and do not prance about showing it off. No disrespect intended, of course."
Although he did not share the ill will of his kinsmen towards the Elves, the dwarf had disliked the cold glance he had received from this one. He indeed had to remind himself to be civil, since he greatly wanted to be a part of this quest, if it was indeed what it seemed to be.
As the company looked at him, they could see that he was of average height for a dwarf. His head, which was covered in matted red-brown locks, was only up to the ribcage of most of them. He was dressed for travel, and wore a hard leather jerkin, which could be seen below his beard, beneath the folds of his deep blue cloak. His heavy boots were caked with dirt, except at the bottoms where they had been scraped clean. From a bulge in his cloak it could be seen that he wore a travelling bag slung at his side. The dwarf had obviously just returned from a journey, and would have benefitted greatly from a bath, a change and a night's rest.
"I am a bard and loremaster of the Kingdom of Erebor," he addressed the group. "I could not help but overhear your conversation. I am professionally interested in books, you might say, as in all matters of lore, and I would like to offer you my assistance. I know these lands well. And if you are thinking of travelling to the Kingdom Under the Mountain, or to the land of my kin in the Iron Mountains, I can help you to wander there unhindered. Will you have me?"
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But Gwindor answered: 'The doom lies in yourself, not in your name'.
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