Post by jubalong on Sept 5, 2012 15:48:35 GMT -5
Jubalong was born in the year 2782 of the third age of the sun. He was the second son of Grimlong of House Silverbeard. Not among the great houses, but still a prosperous and well respected house. Jubalong was trained well in the martial arts and saw his first action as a young dwarf in the terrible and bloody battle of Azanulbizar in year 2799. There at the east gate of Moria he fought shoulder to shoulder with many other young dwarves. Several among these brothers in arms were to be remembered for a long time, even by the race of man. Dain II Ironfoot, Thorin Oakenshield and Gloin, son of Groin were the most noteworthy, and strong ties were formed in steel and blood that sad day. Jubalong later swore allegiance to Dain Ironfoot, and when Dain became Lord of the Iron Hills in the year 2805 Jubalong and his elder brother moved to the Blue Mountains to set up trade routes between the two colonies. Jubalong became weaponmaster of house Silverbeard in 2815 and in the next century he trained many young dwarfs to become savage and ruthless fighters. He also fought under the banner of Dain Ironfoot at the Lonely Mountain in the battle of five armies in year 2941. He retired as weaponmaster in 2980. A year ago the two aging brothers shut down their business in the Blue Moutains and set up a caravan with most of House Silverbeards wealth and resources. Jubalong was delayed in Bree and therefore traveled a few days behind. The plan was to bring it to the Lonely Mountain. The caravan never made it through the Misty Mountains...
He found his brother and many other dear friends dead in the cold snow, but his son and nephew where nowhere to be found. Enraged and almost overwhelmed with grief the battered and gnarled old dwarv straightened his back and shook his fist at the irongrey sky. On the howling northern wind his vow of vengeance was carried down the mountain. But not all hope was lost. Could his son and nephew still be alive? Could that small spark of hope light a fire in the old fighters heart?
He found his brother and many other dear friends dead in the cold snow, but his son and nephew where nowhere to be found. Enraged and almost overwhelmed with grief the battered and gnarled old dwarv straightened his back and shook his fist at the irongrey sky. On the howling northern wind his vow of vengeance was carried down the mountain. But not all hope was lost. Could his son and nephew still be alive? Could that small spark of hope light a fire in the old fighters heart?