Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: The Diary of Percival the Mage, part the second Message-ID: From: tomscud@ruf.rice.edu (Thomas Reid Scudder) Date: Thu, 15 Oct 1992 03:15:21 GMT The Diary of Percival the Mage, part the second I have now spent many fruitful days in the halls of the Dwarrow, who most men refer to as Dwarves, or even the insulting diminutive "Dwarfs". Their home is a place of much beauty, despite what many think of their artistic nature or lack thereof. The passages and rooms are straight and high-ceilinged, even for one as tall as me, and, though the decoration is sparse, the architecture itself is so sturdy and unblemished as to be beautiful in itself. The Dwarrow themselves are friendly folk, again belying their reputation among those of my race, although it may be that the fact that I speak fluent Dwarvish helped my reception, and they treat those who force them to speak in human tongue with rudeness to equal their presumption. In any case, I did find that one common conception about them is not mistaken, and that is their love for money, and for precious objects of all kinds. You may be a dwarf's brother, but he will make the best deal he possibly can with you when he deals with you. This resulted in my purse being considerably lighter after my stay than it was before, despite the fact that my services were not completely unneeded. Indeed, I assisted in the enchantment of a blade, "holding" its enchantment while the master enchanter rested, and also assisted in translating a scroll from the ancient tongue of the Northmen into Dwarvish that it may be more widely appreciated by Dwarven scholars of all walks of life. Truly, I almost stayed here, to lose myself again among the knowledge of the ancients, but then I felt once again the stirring in my heart, which I feel that I may never leave behind, the stirring that calls me back to the open road, and to new horizons. And the time I have to traverse the mountains was short. It is now the middle of August, and I must cross the mountains before the winter snows set in. My friends here at the library have given me instructions and a map to find a small pass through the mountains, narrow and dangerous, but probably the best way through within 50 leagues to north or south. So, on the morrow Proudfoot and I set off to conquer the Misty Mountains, or, quite probably, die in the attempt. Some may wonder why I choose to call my mule Proudfoot. Surely, they say, that name is more suited to a great charger, a noble steed to ride into battle. But Proudfoot has put up with much from me, and surely the most put-upon and disliked of man's beasts of burden deserves to have some recognition from his oppressor. Percival the Mage, Vascondian exile and wanderer.