Of Durin and the Speckled Trout

Durin had been walking for days on the dusty road.  It had been less than a week since he had accepted a self-imposed exile from his mountain home.  Leaving in haste Durin had managed to scrape together little else than his maul, holy symbol, chainmail shirt, a back pack full of salted pork and most importantly, a tankard of ale.  He was not fearful of what waited ahead, as he knew in his heart that Moradin had designs on his path.

 

He was however getting a wee bit peckish, as he had polished off the salted pork earlier that morning by a lovely waterfall in the foothills of Baro-Karak.  The trail he followed ran beside a stream coming from that same waterfall.  Durin was thankful for that stream as it sated his thirst, something which his long finished ale was no longer able to do.  Durin reminded himself that next time he travelled to bring more ale!

 

Glancing into the stream, Durin though he saw something jump.  Durin raised an eyebrow and said to himself,

 

“While it’s no salted pork, I will hardly refuse a nice juicy speckled trout!”

 

Durin looked around for something to help him fetch this tasty trout.  Being of noble birth, Durin had never actually attempted to catch a fish, but he said to himself,

 

“How hard could it be?  It’s a little wee fish.  I’ve felled orcs 20 times its size in a single blow with my trusty maul!”

 

Unfortunately for Durin there was little in the way of items that proved useful.  He found some stones, but found his aim with them was not nearly good enough hit such a small target.  There were no trees in the foot hills, just some shrubs, and their branches were shorter than his maul.  Grumbling Durin took off his pack, boots and armour and jumped into the stream with his maul,

 

“For Moradin!!!”

 

Splash! 

 

He waited for the water to settle and with a grin on his face expected to see the lovely white belly of the trout floating.  Instead he saw nothing… then he saw the trout jump again.

 

“I cannot believe my eyes.  This must be some sort of devilish fey fish to have evaded that well aimed blow!  No matter, Moradin guides my hand, die trout!”

 

Durin assaulted the water, in a way that it had never been attacked before.  The banks were flooded by his onslaught.  In the height of his fury he tripped and face planted into the river bank.  As he extracted himself, covered in mud he pleaded,

 

“Moradin, show me a sign of how I am to defeat this evil fish!!”

 

As he whipped his face clean he saw the imprint of his body in the river bank, and in it he saw the shape of his holy symbol, the Anvil of Moradin.  He glanced down at it hanging about his stout neck and raised an eyebrow.

 

 

Journal Entry 6

 

Blessed be Moradin

 

The journey into the world is most enlightening.  Today I discovered two new things.  The first was a new use for Anvil of Moradin, and the second was that I quite enjoy speckled trout, especially when lightly seared!

 

Your faithful servant,

-Durin Foehammer