From the Journal of Knoren

September 16th -

I had only just arrived in the valley of Coldridge, but it seemed my stay had been more brief than expected, of which I am immensely grateful. The snow never stops falling here. It falls down in wispy gusts of icy drifts, piling up in great heaps upon the hillsides, until I'm up to my knees in the blasted stuff.

To make matters worse, the place is swarming with wild savages such as troggs, trolls, and the like. Not to mention the crazed, starving wolves and raging boars that prowl the outskirts. Of course, these threats are why I have come to this dreadful place. With the majority of our honorable army off fighting The Hoard, it's up to simple country-folk, like myself, to defend our sacred mountains from the world's lesser evils. Though I must hardly say I have little to offer. Being naught but a common hunter, I have little skills other than a good aim and the basic knowledge of axe-wielding.

But I am young, by dwarf standards, so I have many years ahead, if destiny will permit me to live long enough to see them through. If I am nearly as stubborn and hard-headed as Mother used to say, perhaps one day my combative skills will allow the opportunity to serve a greater purpose for the sanctity of my home and fellow countrymen. Until then, I will remain where I belong; a hunter tracking beasts in the depths of the wilderness.

Perhaps I am being unfair in my descriptions. For I would not go so far as to say that my journey to Coldridge was lacking in personal gain. Previously all I had was what few possessions I was able to scavenge from my family's rustic woodland cabin, including my Father's old rifle and axe. The valley's inhabitants were quite grateful for my services. They kindly made sure I was well-equipped, fed, and had enough silver and copper in my pockets before sending me on my way. For their welcoming hospitality I am forever thankful, though I am even more grateful to leave it all behind.

Of all my possessions, I am both the most relieved and grieved to have been able to acquire a keener axe. I fully admit to being hesitant at tossing aside my Father's old blade, due to its sentimental value, of course. Yet despite whatever sadness it would bring to my heart, my head fully well knew I could not afford hauling around such a useless weapon. So I sold the old thing, along with a few other treasures I picked up, for a fair price.

I still have the old rifle, though it is also past its prime and will one day be in need of replacing. When that day comes, I will then have nothing left to remind me of home, other than my memories. Those will be more than enough to make my heart sore with longing to return, even when I know my destiny lies elsewhere.

Night is approaching faster than I expected, so I must end this while I still have some light left.

I presently find myself on the borderlines of Dun Morogh. I have been honored with the task of delivering a report to a Senir Whitebeard on the Frostmane Troll situation that has been growing in Coldridge. Grelin Whitebeard, who presented me with this quest, seems entirely optimistic despite his valley being overrun with the bloody savages. Grelin's convinced the dwarf-soldiers stationed there will be more than enough to eliminate the trolls from the valley completely. Personally, I cannot say I agree. It appears to me as though Grelin is being blinded by his pride, a trait found common among our kind. But what right does a humble countryman, like myself, have to protest in the matter? Tonight, I am naught but a meager messenger for greater men.

The snow if falling less heavily now. Looking upon it this very moment, I can't help but admit its beauty. There are few things so pure as untouched snow when it first floats down to gently settle upon the land. Yet, once it reaches the ground, it can only then been tainted with dirt and other unclean elements. Never again will it be such a pure shade of white.

So here I intend to end my entry, that I may enjoy this silent beauty before the wind picks up and, once again, I am cursing this wintry hell that nips me to the bone.