To ye, Moradin, I offer this prayer, as I do each night a’fer me rest.
I thank ye fer the followin’, Lord o’ the Forge, that I may use these trials to temper the steel of me resolve and me faith in ye:
Thanks be fer the company o’ me brother, Boggle Hammerblow. I’m fer knowin’ he’s blasphemin’ on occasion, Allfather, and I ask that ye fergive ‘im. ’E uses so many words in his cursin’ that I’m sure yer name jes’ gets in there by accident sometimes. He’s a fine fighter, as ye know, and I’ve no doubt his blades are doin’ yer work, e’en though he denies it.
Thanks, too, fer the Rotten Apple Inn. We were in need o’ a rest, and more in need o’ a purpose, and ye guided us to both. A strange place to find ’em, to be sure, but welcome all the same.
Grateful am I fer the opportunity to do good in yer name, and it seems the people o’ Drellin’s Ferry can use some good. Me head questions the companions ye’ve sent us – the half-ugly in particular, but I know ye work in mysterious ways sometimes, and I’ve nae forgotten my lessons: the hardest diamond is oft hidden in the darkest coal. Suren’, though, if he takes too much to his greener kin, I’m fer crushin’ ’im tae powder, diamond or no.
Me humble thanks fer leading me brother and me to victory o’er the scurrilous varmints what beset us on the road, and fer guidin’ our eyes to what may be clues to their purpose there. I dedicate their deaths to ye, Moradin, and may my hammer’s work have tipped the scales of good a wee bit toward yer side this day.
To you, Allfather, all praises be.
Your humble servant and shield-dwarf, Haemish Hammerblow.