Scarburg Meadhall

[Eönwë]

"Hello, I am Daghan-Turi-Dan," said Dan, and seeig the look on his face said, "But just call me Dan, like most people do."

The man who was now known to be called Erbrand had looked at Dan strangely before. Even though he had tried to hide it, he looked nervous. It must be because he had never seen a Drúedan before. Or was it something else? Erbrand probably thought that he was a Dunlending, or something of the like, which Drûgs, to their horror, are often mistaken for. Anyway, he was determined to prove that he wasn't a mere savage.
"I am one of the Drúedain." At the blank, open mouthed look, still pasted on the man's face, he assumed that Erbrand had never heard of the Drûgs before. "We are not your enemies. We are, in fact, the ones who saved your folk as they crosssed through our forest in the War, far to the East. Many call us the Wild Men, or Goblin men, but we are far more civilised than some, bear no resemblance, whether physical or mental, to orcs whatsoever. In fact, they are our sworn enemies." Suddenly he snapped to attention.
"Ok, so that is what I am, one of the last of my race still living in ourr homelan. And what about you Erbrand? I can tell you have only ridden here in the last day or two, and what is your business in this place?"