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Old 07-28-2006, 12:08 AM   #190
Noinkling
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Join Date: Nov 2004
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Bívor and Bávor exchanged a puzzled look. Nothing interesting beneath the mountains? Now there was something neither of them had ever heard, much less experienced. They were quite at a loss for words. Reflexively, their hands reached down to rest on the handle of the pickaxes resting against their chairs.

It was Skirvir, the youngest of the three, who spoke up. ‘An adventurer, is it? We’re on a bit of an adventure ourselves; though it was not without some difficulty that we left the halls beneath the Lonely Mountain.’ He looked at his two cousins and grinned. ‘We are scarce into our seventh decade, each of us. And our fathers spoke long and hard against our going. But we stood firm and so our own little adventure was granted.’

‘We had always heard that the halls and caverns beneath the Blue Mountains were long and deep,’ said Bívor ‘with many branchings and caverns. Dwarves of old brought out precious metals, shining jewels and made many beautiful things. We were hoping to see some of that. The mines where they delved. The others are most likely long gone, though not in our imaginings.’

Skirvir’s eyes glinted at the thought of the craftsmanship that must have flowed from the forges and workrooms of those ancient halls. His fingers twitched at the thought of working with such metals and gems. And his mind turned over another thing Kár had said to them – something about a wife and children. He sounded like a man who might have the opportunity to have a wife. Perhaps women flourished beneath the Blue Mountains. Aulë knew they were scarce as the mithril of Khazad-dum where he and his cousins were from.

Bávor reached into an inner pocket of his vest and brought out a flat, silvered flask. ‘How about a taste of Dwarven spirits?’ he ask grinning at the other three men. He offered the flask to Kár first, motioning for him to pass it on. While he waited for the flask to come round to him, Bávor nodded his head, thinking about the last thing Kár had asked.

‘The line of Dain; isn’t that what you asked about?’ Bávor looked at his brother and cousin. ‘I suppose you could place us there. . . sort of. More like a small fissure off another a fair sized vein branching off the mother-lode.’ Bívor and Skirvir laughed at the analogy. ‘And how about you, Kár? How do you trace your family line?’
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