Dīm Silverrage
Just as Lily and Willow heard the bird singing the content morning tune, another entity heard the the same cheerful song. The grass surrounding the dirt road was wet and green, and the trees were humming with cicadas. From aways off, could be heard the sound of cart wheels rumbling along the rough track and the clickity-clockiting of mule-hooves.
As the cart's noises slowly advanced on the two lasses. Just bearly over the sound of the cart and donkey, a baritone voice humming a foriegn tune could be heard from the same direction.
Finally the cart rounded the last vegitation-covered mound and came into sight. Clicking along the road tetiously, the sad-looking mule pulled the rickity cart along. Exhaling a long negative grunt, it grueled along. The driver, a dwarf puffed on a pipe with some newly added weed all the way from the Iron Hills.
By the looks of the dimunitive being, he was very young for a dwarf, maybe sixty years at the most. His eyes were young and icy blue, and no signs of age (not including the blond beard hiding his chiselled features) were upon his face.
The dwarf wore a worn green tunic with a soft leather-armor vest studded with dull metal forged in Eriador. Upon his head sat a torn grey warg-hide-lined cap. The traveler wore a dark brown cloak coated with a thick layer of wax to repel water and large black boots crusted with dry mud.
In the cart was a few packages covered by canvas a circular wooden sheild with an iron band surrounding it. In the middle was painted a red dragon flying in a circle. Below it was a lone mountain. The Lonely Mountain to be exact. Sitting next to the shield was a dirty sword with a bit of black blood stained upon it. At one time, it might have been a beautiful elegant weapon, but now it was only a tool for flaying, hacking, and slicing. Adjacent to his melee weapons, stood a quiver with arrows and bolts, and a small crossbow and a crude bow. If an elf would even get a glimpse of these long-range weapons and he or she would pale in horror.
This particular dwarf was named Dīm Silverrage, son of Janoin and Isilda Silverrage. Dīm was always a dwarf who had a lust for travel, adventure, and violence. Growing up in the Iron Mountains, defending his home from Orcs and men allied with Sauron, he was a well seasoned warrior, but with an optimistic and kind side to almost everything and everyone.
Dīm left home about three years ago for travel and adventure, promising to bring home treasures and stories the dwarves of the Iron Hills have never heard or even thought of before. He had travelled for a long time and now had many stories and plenty of treasures. The downside was Dīm had wander-lust, a disease diagnosed in many travelers. The dwarf had forgotten the meaning of home and family. Now he contently roamed Middle Earth, going and travelling as he pleased.
As the cart met up to Willow and Lily, he tipped the faded and torn blue cap upon his head and smiled with his pipe to one corner of his mouth, showing off his cheery dimples.
"Good day to yeh, lasses" Dīm exclaimed happily to the two ladies, puffing a few in the statement.
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