(Being an excerpt from Bertha Wildhearth's letters home.)
Greetings, beloved family,
I bring news of my journeys far from our mountain stronghold. As you know, the outside world is bright and full of sunlight, neither of which particularly appeals to any Dwarf worth his beard. But up here in the north, near Falcon’s Hollow, at least there are plenty of dungeons and caverns where I can at least feel comfortable for a short while. And there’s gold too, if we can find it. As everyone knows, all gold in the world is Dwarven gold, it belongs to the Dwarven kingdoms no matter who currently has it out on loan, so I really have no problem taking it back – by force or stealth, I’m naturally good at both. Well, pretty good. Well, I’m pretty, even if I’m not so good.
Most of all, of course, the world outside our home in the mountains is full of weirdos. And Elves, who are the weirdest of them all, that goes with saying.
And the peo
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