User blog:Balor of the Blue Mountains/History of the Nifargrim: Prologue and Nifar I

I have started a story chronicling the adventures of a new tribe of Dwarves, from Forodwaith. I know ‘Nif’ shows up in every single name in this chapter but I’m not really that creative and I’ll try to mix it up in the next chapter. I’ll be releasing these at least every week, but I may be able to get more in. Hope you guys enjoy it and please suggest anything for it, such as whether you want to be in it.

Prologue:

Here I, Nifar X, Lord of Nifargodon and descendant of Nifar I, may he dwell happily with his forfathers in the halls of Mahar, do set down the history of my people, the Nifargrim, feeling that all should now of our great deeds in defense of Middle Earth.

Concerning Nifar I:

When the World was still young, Melkor was still imprisoned in the Halls of Mandos, the Dwarves of Durin’s Line dwelt, as they do now, in the Iron Hills. But among them was a restless Dwarf, Nifar by name, who yearned for adventure and new lands to discover. Thus began the March into Forodwaith, in which many braves were done by Nifar and his household, and those which I tell now are not even the half of what the dwarves endured. They had equal foes, though. Great trolls, bred in the everlasting cold, set upon them while they journeyed. They could barely survive the freezing sleet and wind, nevertheless they fought valiantly and at last drove them off. It was then that Nifar noticed the clothing of the trolls. It was made from a plant akin to a thorn bush, but out of neccissity was much tougher due to the extreme cold. They found that when they made garments from this plant, it’s prickling kept them warm and it was tough enough to stop a dagger from penetrating. They clad their 50 of their best warriors in pieces cut from the 10 trolls garments, and leaving the others in caves leading onto a steap ravine set off after the tracks to find the troll camp. What they found did not bode well. 30 trolls encamped in a rocky valley, overhung by a great mountain with a waterfall issuing from the mountain near the bottom, providing plenty of fresh water. If they were to pass through that area, they would have to overcomb the trolls. It was decided that they would lure the trolls one by on to the stream issuing from the waterfall, finishing them off with boulders from above, by allowing of themselves to be captured and then executing Nifar’s plan. Naturally, Nifar chose himself to go. It was simple enough being captured, he jumped into the waterfall, and once to the stream made such a racket coughing up water and wheezing that they couldn’t have failed to catch him. He then started pleading for his life, while slowly telling them that he was an accomplished cook. Once instructed to cook their stewed horse, he added increasingly large amounts of salt, even for a troll, to each bowl, causing each troll one by one to go the stream and be killed. The leader, the last one to come, suspected something and would have come upon the Dwarves unawares had not Nifar come upon him from behind and killed him with his concealed dagger. Upon exploring the valley, they found it rich in game, one of the few spots in the surrounding area with any grass. There in the mountain they founded Nifargodon, city of the Dwarves of Forodwaith, and in it they discovered a new metal unlike any other. It was jet black, but unlike galvorn had a dull look about it, and was of great value, protecting the Dwarves from the fiery whips of the Balrogs themselves. They called it Nigron and because of it the great city of Nifarogon prospered, protected from the return of Melkor and evil, like Gondolin, by secrecy. And thus the Nifargrim passed into legend, and the general opinion was that Nifar had frozen to death. He, surprisingly, met his death of old age, having lived a full life, and the Nigarom, the hammer of Nigron wielded by Nifar, is still wielded by the Lords of Nifarogon, who all are called Nifar in his honor.