[mormegil]

Kuric received the parchment and writing implement and wasn’t sad to see Tollers leave. While he had enjoyed his brief conversation with him, Kuric wasn’t much of a conversationalist and really wasn’t in the mood to be chatting, unless it was grand tales that were almost too outlandish to be true. He had also realized that his assessment of hobbits was closer to the mark than he had thought when young Tollers began talking of adventure and had caused his hopes to rise. With a degree of disappointment focused on the parchment. He was looking forward to quickly jotting down a note and heading up to take a brief respite from his travels. Unfortunately for him, Kuric wasn’t great at his letters and was never much one to write with any degree of eloquence.

He sat deep in thought as to how to begin his letter to Bilbo and had finally resolved to start by simply writing:

Billbo,

The trouble was, as Kuric saw it, he didn’t know if he had spelled it correctly and wasn’t about to ask if he had, maybe he would have somebody write it for him. He never liked learning or being taught as he found it extremely tedious and boring, but he hated letting people know he wasn’t as well educated as he should be too. So showing his possible typo was off, perhaps if he paid sufficiently he would get somebody to write it. While musing on his current quandary, he was surprised when a stranger began to talk to him.

“A shining and unblemished coat of mail, no missing links nor any replacement links, each looks as if it had been but made yesterday, straight from the forge! Yet here you are, tired and dusty clearly from long travels. Nay cannot be steel, there be only one metal that could remain so polished and unbroken.”

Kuric watched as this newcomer proceeded to sit down at his table and tried to size him up, without a thought Kuric subtlety reached for his mace that was at his side, hoping not to be in a threatening posture, hoping it wasn’t even noticeable but decided that it really didn’t matter and he would rather be in a state of preparedness than taken unawares. Kuric had been questioned before about his mail and too often the results of the conversations turned bloody. His troubled mind flashed to the last group of thieves who thought that his coat belonged to them and wondered what this newcomer had in mind.

“A fine coat of mithril sir! I am known as Aranholt, I have a passing knowledge of smith craft, and how by the blessed life of my mother did you come across such piece?”

His previous troubles of the writing now forgotten, the dwarf focused on the newest problem at hand and wondered if he would find any peace here.

“Aranholt, did you say? Well what do you want to know about me mail for? How it is mine is for me to know and I’m not to be sharing with the likes of you. Now if you have nothing else to say I suggest you leave!”

With that he gave a dismissive grunt and began to look at the parchment again trying to appear interested and hoping that this newcomer wouldn’t cause any trouble. Peace was not Kuric’s lot in life though there were times when even he enjoyed such times. His hand would stay on his mace until he felt more secure with the situation and stranger before him. He would, as always, have to be prepared for the worst.