Friday the 13th coming, beware!

Post date: Dec 22, 2016 11:23:16 AM

-- By Thardi Halfhorn --

Word reached my ears of a remarkable occurrence that happened down in the Vale of Thrain last year on Friday 13th. For some reason, this day is regarded as unlucky, even spooky, by some peoples, predominantly Men-folk. Why this is I don’t know, but I do know this superstition has no place amongst us proud and noble dwarrows. And yet, the day played host to a nasty sequence of events that only served to lend backing to their ridiculous beliefs.

A hobbit called Fardo, a regular trader with the elves of Duillond, was making the journey up from Needlehole. Little was he to know how much of a disaster it was to be. His wagon was piled high with freshly grown vegetables, his backpack was stuffed with all he’d need for the journey and his favourite feathered hat sat atop his head.

As he came past the pond just into the realm of Falathorn, his wagon hit a small rock on the road. Normally, one small rock would not have been a problem, but it collided at such an angle that the wheel jerked off to one side and the axle snapped.

Fardo was alone, as he always is, other than his mule that pulls the wagon, so he was faced with quite the dilemma. He took his mule and led him onwards, intending to reach Duillond and bring some elves back to help. He was never destined to reach the elves.

He came upon the bridge and started over it. At this moment, a great gust of wind swept in from up the river, whirling over him and the mule. His precious hat was blown from his head and began to swirl away. Fardo went to grab it, but the wind caught his backpack and sent him stumbling towards the edge of the bridge! He would’ve gone over, were it not for the reins he was clinging to and the mule’s natural stubbornness to move. He held on for dear life and hauled himself back onto the bridge, his hat somewhere way downstream now.

He pushed on, making his way up the steps nearly to Duillond. At this moment, a great fog came down, and he couldn’t see far in front of himself. Losing his way and with the path vanishing, he rapidly became afraid he’d not live to see morning.

But luck set in, and unsurprisingly it came in the form of dwarves! He found himself at Thrasi’s lodge, where he was taken in, sat down and fed. The next morning, he was taken to Duillond. Reports say the elves took care of his wagon.

I was staying at Thrasi’s lodge when Fardo came upon us, and managed to get a statement from him: “I never believed in the sinister nature of Friday 13th before, but after today, how can I not? Clearly, fate was against me. I’ll never leave my hole on this poxy day ever again!”

Strong words, and Fardo has been convinced. Have you? January marks another Friday the 13th, so beware!