We are proud, we men of Dale and the Laketown. Descendants of the Edain, precursors to the Dúnedain Kings, we have adapted since the three Houses left for Beleriand and the far west. We have had to adapt, for we are surrounded by enemies, and have forged relationships that keep us safe - amongst the Elves of the Woodland Realm and the stout Dwarves of the Lonely Mountain we are known as friends and friends we much need. It was the presence of Dwarves that gave our ancestors the means to settle – where others went south, we stayed, and Dale was built amongst the spurs of the Lonely Mountain.
On all borders save those we are flanked upon by our friends, there are hungry eyes waiting for us to slip and fall. To the east are the vile Wainriders, whom we remember well. To the south is the darkened Wood, the Mirkwood, and in there lies Dol Guldur, the 'Hill of Sorcery', as it is often known - few have seen it. We prefer to never utter it’s name, to simply call it the Shadow of Mirkwood, for we will not speak the Black Speech here in the north. In the Brown Lands are beasts that feed off men, off our cattle, and things that slink through shadows and others that are worse. We know what we face in the future times, as we know it will come for us, for all us – far sooner than later. There is talk of resettling the lands of Rhovanion, reclaiming the lands swept clear by the Great Plague, and the wars that followed. Some call it only a dream, yet we men of the north are a strong people and if any have the rights to those lands it is us.
Dale has it’s own tongue, but we speak Westron in the main. Ours is a form of it’s own, but bears semblance to the tongue of the Horse Lords of Rohan – for both of us come from Northern stock. Here in the north, there is brotherhood between men of differing cultures, for it is how we survive. We built our city in the Celduin Valley, between spurs in the south of the Lonely Mountain. It affords protection, but scant defence against an ancient danger such as a Dragon. We had one to face....King Girion died facing it; it’s name was Smaug the Golden, and it was attracted by the wealth we and the Dwarves generated, much as we do so again.
Esgaroth, ‘Lake Town’, was the haven of our people after Smaug burned Dale and took the Lonely Mountain. Our Kings fell to ruin, much like Gondor’s heirs, and the Master of Lake Town was our ruler, but Bard I, the Dragonslayer, the Bowman, kept in his veins royal blood, and the Kingdom was restored to us. We prosper now, and expand.Our people number many, and our friends have brought much wealth to us – it is in our own power to bring the glory and honour to support that wealth. We need the focus to keep our society well – safe, with laws, and living with good intention, towards ourselves and others. We live by a code of the ancients, to a code of Faith and Honour, where wealth is not governed by base instinct...otherwise we are as lost as the Easterners who fight in the service of the Shadow.
The River Running, the silver Celduin, is our lifeblood – it makes Dale and it's lands what they are. The Dwarves do not bear water well, and the wines for King Thranduil must be hefted up-river from distant Dorwinion. It places us in a position to benefit all, and we gather our military might from the wealth and bounty the River gives us. Armed and armoured by Dwarven smiths, we are marching, drilling, honing our troops for the coming storm. The wealth we have accrued is as nothing without an army needed to sustain and protect it in this harsh world. Dale is strong, stronger than ever before, and we will not relinquish our lands, not to any creature, be they Dragon, the filth of Mordor or barbaric Easterling. No one will take our lands, unless every fighting man of Dale lay dead and every town burning and blackened. We relinquish nothing to the servants of the Dark Lord, nor do we fear them. We say come and feel the spears of the Lake-men!
On all borders save those we are flanked upon by our friends, there are hungry eyes waiting for us to slip and fall. To the east are the vile Wainriders, whom we remember well. To the south is the darkened Wood, the Mirkwood, and in there lies Dol Guldur, the 'Hill of Sorcery', as it is often known - few have seen it. We prefer to never utter it’s name, to simply call it the Shadow of Mirkwood, for we will not speak the Black Speech here in the north. In the Brown Lands are beasts that feed off men, off our cattle, and things that slink through shadows and others that are worse. We know what we face in the future times, as we know it will come for us, for all us – far sooner than later. There is talk of resettling the lands of Rhovanion, reclaiming the lands swept clear by the Great Plague, and the wars that followed. Some call it only a dream, yet we men of the north are a strong people and if any have the rights to those lands it is us.
Dale has it’s own tongue, but we speak Westron in the main. Ours is a form of it’s own, but bears semblance to the tongue of the Horse Lords of Rohan – for both of us come from Northern stock. Here in the north, there is brotherhood between men of differing cultures, for it is how we survive. We built our city in the Celduin Valley, between spurs in the south of the Lonely Mountain. It affords protection, but scant defence against an ancient danger such as a Dragon. We had one to face....King Girion died facing it; it’s name was Smaug the Golden, and it was attracted by the wealth we and the Dwarves generated, much as we do so again.
Esgaroth, ‘Lake Town’, was the haven of our people after Smaug burned Dale and took the Lonely Mountain. Our Kings fell to ruin, much like Gondor’s heirs, and the Master of Lake Town was our ruler, but Bard I, the Dragonslayer, the Bowman, kept in his veins royal blood, and the Kingdom was restored to us. We prosper now, and expand.Our people number many, and our friends have brought much wealth to us – it is in our own power to bring the glory and honour to support that wealth. We need the focus to keep our society well – safe, with laws, and living with good intention, towards ourselves and others. We live by a code of the ancients, to a code of Faith and Honour, where wealth is not governed by base instinct...otherwise we are as lost as the Easterners who fight in the service of the Shadow.
The River Running, the silver Celduin, is our lifeblood – it makes Dale and it's lands what they are. The Dwarves do not bear water well, and the wines for King Thranduil must be hefted up-river from distant Dorwinion. It places us in a position to benefit all, and we gather our military might from the wealth and bounty the River gives us. Armed and armoured by Dwarven smiths, we are marching, drilling, honing our troops for the coming storm. The wealth we have accrued is as nothing without an army needed to sustain and protect it in this harsh world. Dale is strong, stronger than ever before, and we will not relinquish our lands, not to any creature, be they Dragon, the filth of Mordor or barbaric Easterling. No one will take our lands, unless every fighting man of Dale lay dead and every town burning and blackened. We relinquish nothing to the servants of the Dark Lord, nor do we fear them. We say come and feel the spears of the Lake-men!