[center][h2][color=999999]Thurin Stoutarm[/color][/h2][/center] 

Thurin trudged through the mountain pass, heavy cloak upon his shoulders and hair matted from the constant rain and elements. He grumbled to himself, his stout arms holding fast to the reins of his pony. Nearly slipping on some mud, he caught himself, and continued on inexorably forward. He coughed, and shook his shaggy head. Even his Dwarven constitution was wearing down after all these days of traveling and rain. He'd hardly slept, for this was troll country. He could tell his pony was getting exhausted as well. In a day or two, they'd crest the mountain and make it over to the Ered Luin on the western side of the Misty Mountains. 

Without thought or deliberate consideration, he began to hum. It was 2nd nature to him, and it showed he was indeed very exhausted. For singing only came to him when he was very tried and at the end of his endurance, for it brought extra strength to his limbs. 
[center][i]"[color=999999]The world world was young, the mountains green,
No stain yet on the Moon was seen,
No words were laid on stream or stone,
When Durin woke and walked alone.
He named the nameless hills and dells;
He drank from yet untasted wells;
He stooped and looked in Mirrormere,
And saw a crown of stars appear,
As gems upon a silver thread,
Above the shadow of his head.[/color]"[/i][/center] 

They made it upon more flat ground, at to his good fortune, he found a cave, the words still streaming from his lips. "[color=999999]The world was fair, the mountains tall...In Elder Days before the fall...[/color]" He lead his pony into the small cave, sure it was small enough that no trolls or Goblins or fouler things inhabited it. He began to make a small fire. His words were now soft, but in a thrumming tune. "[color=999999]Of mighty Kings in Nargothrond, And Gondolin, who now beyond, The Western Seas have passed away,The world was fair in Durin's Day.[/color]" He plopped down on his rump, and began eating the remains of a doe he had felled not two days before. It was then that the most unlikely visitor appeared. A little dove swooped in out of the grey mist and landed right at the mouth of the cave with a message. "[color=999999]What's this!?[/color]" he asked in surprise, but took the message without delay. There was an old race of Ravens that could understand the common tongue of free folk. Why not Doves? 
He opened up the letter, and as he drank in the message he was initially skeptical. Not for its contents, but it seemed rather Elvish. But his sense of duty overrode his prejudice, and he nodded to the Dove. "[color=999999]Aye, I'll be there.[/color]"