Battle at Dol Goldur

 A brief summary of the events that took place at the battle of Dol Goldur. See editors notes at the bottom.

As the fellowship moved into Dol-Guldur through the secret passage known only by Skalithor and Hawkinz, they could hear the fierce war raging outside the gates by the members of the Black Sun legion and Keltrion’s elves as they fought with the orcs of BloodFallen.

As the fellowship moved inwards towards the fortress, they were met with much resistance! All vile creatures of Morgoth had heeded BloodFallen’s call and swarmed the heroes! Skalithor’s kinship cut through the onslaught and with much of the orcs attention being drawn to Epollyon’s forces outside the gate the kinship were able to fight off BloodFallen’s inner forces, And finally entered Barad Guldur The Old fortress of Sauron, the old dark Lord of the Rings!

However, the inside of the fortress was no less well-guarded than the outside! And there would be no sneaking around through any passage this time, The kinship would have to fight their way to the top!

Suddenly without warning a great roar shakes the halls throughout the fortress! "Nooooooo!!" A female's voice is mixed in with the roar, a surge of powerful magical energy pulses like a wave through the fortress, then silence.

Skalithor commands his Kinship to move swiftly because time was not on their side! Slicing and cutting through the orcs that stood in their way they reached the summit of the tower.

Before them was a site unseen by men or elves! The captain stood drawing powerful red energy from BloodFallen, a dark powerful shield that seemed to surround them both. The captain's Dark helmeted face turns to look upon the heroes, his glowing blue eyes stare daggers into Skalithor.

"So you have come at last.." The Captain said

The Captain struggled to keep hold of the dragon's mind!

"I see you've been talking to Prince Galigar.. But it doesn't matter, I am already the Captain of men! And unfortunately I cannot play with you at the moment.. But do keep yourself entertained while I tend to business." The captain said. Then turned his full attention back to BloodFallen. Suddenly a shriek from the air was heard overhead, a great winged beast landed with fierce ferocity surrounded in shadow! A top this beast stood a cloak of darkness! Bearing the ring of shadows Sethos had been reborn!'

The battle was not easy by any means of mortal Men, Tarvhos especially struggled fighting The Ghost of his ancestor!

Skalithor can see that the ghostof Sethos' eye is trained on Tarvhos. "Tarvhos!" He shouts. "The shield!"'

 '"Hawkinz! Dismount the rider!"'

The ghostly aura shield seem to pulse with blue light as it surrounded the captain and blood fallen

Skalithor brings his shield to bear against the ghostly aura!

Hawkinz does as ordered with inhuman swiftness.

Tarvhos would make his way to the shield - Sethos would certainly attack, and he could weaken the shield from the subsequent blow.

A great powerful surge of energy comes as the shield comes into contact with the shield!

The Captain struggles to keep hold of both blood fallen and Skalithors advances!

"So blood of my blood we finally meet at last!" Sethos voice is harsh and echoing as if sounding from the dark void itself.

Tarvhos does not remove his eyes from Sethos, "Rejoin our forefathers and begone from this plane. You have no more business here!" he exclaims, and no sooner has he done that, does the dragon attack - he rolls and scarcely avoids her maw, slipping under her jaw while pinned near the ground.

The maw of the beast  barely misses him and strikes the ghostly aura of the Captain shield!

Again The Captain struggles to keep hold of both BloodFallen and the shield.

"My time on this mortal plane is not through yet boy!" Sethos stretches forth his hand and a dark shadow lunges forth seeking to grasp any in its way around the neck!

Hawkinz quickly drew an arrow from his quiver as the dark shadow lunged. "O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!" He cries. His arrow blazed with light at the very moment, and he loosed it at Sethos' terrible eye!

Tarvhos meanwhile, has come up on the beast from behind! It's occupied with Hawkinz, and Tarvhos has mounted the saddle in Sethos' place! He gives the man a firm shove from behind!

The captain's hold scenes on the edge of breaking, as BloodFallens dragon form seems to melt away and in her place is a woman with blood red hair covered in red and gold robes!

Skalithor commands his forces "Do not relent!!"

Sethos clutches his right eye but catches the movement of Tarvhos and he swings his great sword down at his descendant!

Meanwhile the beast lurches forward like a snake attempting to cleave Hawkins in half with its sharp Maw! It is too slow however and it lights up like a dried reed! The magic of the elves flowing through Hawkins and his arrows Lothlorin of old Even across the river from mirkwood seems to draw a new strength to the elf!

v bMeanwhile the beast lurches forward like a snake attempting to cleave Hawkins in half with its sharp Maw! It is too slow however and it lights up like a dried reed! The magic of the elves flowing through Hawkins and his arrows Lothlorin of old Even across the river from mirkwood seems to draw a new strength to the elf!

With one last Strike from the elden shield maiden and the dwarf general the ghostly aura explodes and vanishes!

The human form of blood fallen falls to the stone floor, and the captain staggers as red lightning courses through his armor

Skalithor moves to engage the Captain.

The winged beast flails and kicks as it is lit on fire! Sethos is thrown from his saddle meanwhile the creature flaps attempting to become airborne to shake off the flames!

Sethos rises, his shadowy figure stands slowly the shadows seeming to grow with his anger.

Tarvhos might have been brought to an end just then by the sword; when the beast knocked he and Sethos to the ground. Tarvhos rolled several feet away and is coming to a stand.

Sethos once again stretches forth his arm using The Ring of Shadow Or Dae`tura a shadow lurches fourth seeking to grab Tarvhos by the neck!

The captain finally turns his attention to Skalithor and Lallinviorn!

Hawkinz fires another arrow at Sethos' left eye!

Tarvhos sees the shadow approaching and is helpless to stop it, his arrows are gone and he only wields a dagger.

The captain looks to the two, His bright blue glowing eyes shine bright, has red electricity courses through his black armor, He withdraws his great Morgul blade! "Come forth little guardians!"

Skalithor says, '"Lallinvorn, remember, the Captain cannot fall by our hand."'

The Shadow seizes Tarvhosaround the neck and he is brought close to Sethos! "We need not be foes boy.. come join me in our familes shadow!"

Lallinvorn Unsure of what to do, nods to Skalithor

Hawkinz again sends an arrow tipped with light at Sethos' remaining eye!

Sethos looks to Hawkins and the winged beast swoops down. Sethos' powerful will has his winged beast to take the arrow for him!

Skalithor rushes to engage the Captain!

Lallinvorn ---The Captain returns the advance and the might of the Dead and the power of a dragon come down to bear on the two guardians!

Tarvhos continues to struggle against the shadows around his neck, "I will - never-"

Hawkinz --- The arrow of light explodes once again, sending sparks everywhere.

The winged beast shrieks in pain, flailing this way and that finally collapsing and dying on the stone pad atop Dol-Guldur.

Hawkinz seems to fly over the beasts' body at the same instant the arrow strikes, his bow fitted with another arrow of light whilst in the air, and fired down at Sethos!

Skalithor is cast to the ground under the might of Captain! Like a heavy sack of fishmail, he rolls and returns to his feet.

Skalithor says, 'You cannot prevail, Captain. I am a soldier to the General of Life, and I shall not stand idle by. Give up your sword or have it taken from you!'

The captain faces Skalithor "You little fool! You seek to stop something that has already come to pass! Who do you think assembled the Black Sun legion? They are under my command And you are surrounded by enemies.. and my spell is almost complete I need only play with you a little longer..

Lallinvorn is taken aback by this revelation but moves quickly to strike at the captain, He quickly blocks her and bats her awa

Skalithor says, 'Man was given his agency long ago, you control nothing! Your power is persuasion alone.'

Skalithor rushes to engage the Captain once more!

Sethos's shadow tightens its grip around Tarvhos's neck, "Then You shall die a stranger to me!"

Just then Hawkinzs arrow flys at him and Sethos moves Tarvhos to be a sheild for him!!

Tarvhos is helpless to prevent it - scarcely conscious from hold on his neck, he closes his eyes and awaits the blow.

The arrow passes harmlessly THROUGH Tarvhos, striking Sethos!

What's Sethos failed to realize however is that this was an arrow Galadhrim almost as a fate commanded it it might have been the breeze of the wind or Galadriel her self pushed it to the side, And it flew just in between Sethos moving Tarvhos and Seth those himself!!

-Sethos seems to lurch in pain! But he's not dead! The light searing anything that may be under the dark robe! However the shadow releases Tarvhos!

Tarvhos drops from the shadow and coughs, but takes no time standing and walking towards Sethos. "Your curse ends HERE!" he draws up a dagger to meet Sethos' heart!

Sethos weakened by the light arrow reaches up in vain to stop Tarvhos! Tarvhos's dagger meets Sethos's heart!

As soon as the dagger punctures the dark robes a shrill cry sounds out and a shockwave comes from the hooded figure, Tarvhos and anyone close to him are knocked off their feet and blown back. And the dark robes fall with nothing but ash in them blown away into the wind. The Ring of Shadow Or Dae`tura also falls to the stone floor!

And thus ended the return of Sethos...

The Captain turns to see Sethos defeated. "Unfortunate.. but not unforeseen." He says his voice is calm cool but full of malice!

The Captain begins to chant something in black speech. "Daggog alnej now, avhe avhree nalkriuk ukhall be conjured! one darkneukuk avo enuklave avhem gith.. one darkneukuk avo urzg avhem gith.. one darkneukuk avo juliave avhem gith.. agh avoo mausan chouken ukouluk doturog avhem..!"

Hawkinz struggles to his feet after having been knocked over by the shockwave. He reaches for an arrow, but changes course and covers his ears instead at the Black Speech, seemingly pained by it

Lallinvorn also seems pained by it.

Tarvhos recovers himself and moves to join the General in the fight against the captain! He notices the elven comrades are frozen..

Skalithor almost loses his footing, but persists in every attempt to rid the Captain of his sword or his hands, whichever comes first.

With the might of the dragon the captain seems unmovable as stone. But who better to move stone than a dwarf! The captain with much hesitation is moved from his stance and falls to the side "Noooo! What have you done!!?" The power seems to shake both of their forms!

A red and blue aura seems to shift between the dwarf general and the captain of the Dead!

The captain in vain strikes at his helmet as if in pain! Then with a loud roar a bright purple light streaks forth from the armor and flies into the sky! And the dark suit of armor falls with a Dark whisper "Hahahaha.. We shall meet again little Dwarf!"

And all is quiet and peaceful.. until suddenly the tower begins to shake violently and you hear the cracking of stone the towers about to collapse!

The fellowship narrowly escapes the crashing rubble...

Editors Notes: This a crude copy of the text as narrated by Koh, with the additional narrations of Mae, Adriana and Cat. These are the events as happened from their perspectives only and are excluding many players. The purpose of this summary is so that the roleplay can move past the battle at Dol Goldur. The events are subject to having additional details and perhaps at another time, being played out in full with all players are available. In the meantime, this summary will suffice to push beyond Dol Goldur and allow characters to both advance in the story line, as the arc is sufficiently concluded by the summary above.

Afore the Purple Heathers

 I stand afore a field of purple heather swaying and dancing like locks of hair, the sun low and hazy on a spent sky, and the hum of insects low and throbbing. Beneath my helm sweat prickles, yet it is a distant sensation.

The situation is precarious, but I cannot say why.  The feeling of unknown is merely a discomfort, something noted and moved on from, so I begin to walk through the heather. They swat and chew and claw at me as I pass, yet my strength out-maneuvers theirs.

In the heart of the field I can feel the heat growing.  It prickles at my brow.  The air begs for me to remove my helm, although I know I cannot for my burden is far greater than anything the heat can offer.  Still I wonder whether I ought stop a moment and wipe my brow in the safety of my own person. Then I think better of it.  There is something in the air, that which I cannot name or even think long about, lest it take its cue to come out of hiding. All I can do is fight through the heather.

A soft sigh graces the air.  No more than a breeze, I’ve little doubt. Yet in the array of heather and the heat and the sweat rolling down my brow, my mind imagines the breeze says my name. Not the name I give strangers. My true name.  And the voice is Hers.

I stop and pause, feeling unsettled, but I do not linger long.  The Enemy knows many names, secret ones included.  If I do not acknowledge it, then perhaps the Enemy shan’t know it was my name he spoke.

I come to a thick place in the heather where the purple flowers soar above my shoulder.  The path becomes so difficult I reach for my great sword and begin to beat them madly aside.  It is a weapon for battle not gardening, yet I find both much the same in that moment.

The breeze stirs again.  I wait for my name, but this time it is a sob.

Tricks of the enemy, no doubt.

The air is on fire.  I can feel the heat lash across my helm and sink inwards.  The sky demands I remove my armor and stand before it unarmed and defenseless, yet I persist.  Every step is a labor, yet though my blood denied, it cannot help what it is and endure the trial in a way no man could.

The air does not speak again.  She does, her voice so clear and sweet and fierce that I cannot deny it.

“Help me,” she says through the heather.

I cannot help what I am.  In my mind I know it a trick.  I know the Enemy works not through what you can see, but what you cannot, and plays it against you.  I know even as my hands claw fiercely at the heathers it is a trap, and I shall soon be ensnared.  I know that no matter what I find at the other end, I cannot take back her very last breath. For that breath had long ago been spent, and to deny her mortality is the same as denying who she was.

I am what I am, she was what she was, and the Enemy is what it is.

I claw through the heathers, not knowing what I shall find but knowing it an ill, sick force against me.

She stands before me.

Not as she was.  Not helmed in  her father’s armor, clutching the battle axe he had bequeathed her, and shouting in glee to lead her people against the tyrant forces of evil.

Not as she had been.  Not a young, naive girl in a soft wool dress spun from her cousin’s flock, clutching her father’s stolen battle axe to face off against a foe with no hope of survival.

I find her as she is.  I cannot see her face well beneath her guise, save the liquid green of her eyes and her downturned lips.  Dark raven feathers garb the back of her cloak and twirl strangely in the passing wind.  Yet still she holds her father’s battle axe, not as a weapon, but almost like a very large stick a child might hold to feel safe again.

“Ilerra,” the words pass my lips though I cannot fathom control of them.

I approach, yet she backs away.  I pause, confused, wondering where my folly lays.  I study the curious air about her.

I’d never known her to be afraid of me.  I do not speak, but drop my great sword to be swallowed by the heather.  As I draw forth, she does not shy back but watches me strangely.

“You’re not really here,” she says quietly.

I do not respond.  Rather I walk forward, drawing up my fingertips.  She is right, I suppose.  Neither of us could really be here, together.  Yet in this moment, it does not matter.  She watches me yet does not turn away, waiting for the one moment of touch in the infinity of moments before.  

Then I open my eyes.

I stand alone afore a field of purple heather, the sun bright and high in a noon sky, and everything is silent.  The air is cold and the winds are still.

I wait a moment longer, yet nothing is there.  Had it been no more than a waking dream, sent to torment me in a moment of idle thought?  I suppose I cannot attest my mind to be kind to me, yet I sense something else.  A vein of truth beneath the mirage of fallacy.

The air is quiet, yet beneath it I can feel.. a hum.  Quieter now. But there.  As though I need only reach out and pull some invisible string to feel what lays at the other end.  I close my eyes, mulling the realization.  When I open them, nothing has changed but myself.

I can find her.  I know that power lays in myself, so deeply  buried I could only find it in a moment of my deepest solitude.  I pull at sensation of the hum, imagining my own hands reaching across time and space and thought, until I can feel Her at the other end. 

With open eyes I begin southward.  It is time to go home at last.

Inner Thoughts

Where am I?

I have no memory of this place. A dark forest, with looming pines, seemingly void of life. My whole body aches to the marrow of my bones, and my mouth is dry. I feel as if I have not rested in weeks. I can't sleep again, not now.

I close my eyes for only a moment, and Lyn's voice resonates in my mind.

Sethos... in these waking dreams, he has dominion over my physical being. To be a prisoner of your own mind is wicked in and of itself.  To be submit to someone who has already caused your family so much pain is unspeakable.

I have wanted since my youth nothing more than to rid myself of my family name. The Bartholomaus line has been cursed with a cruel fate since ages past.. I have spent my life trying to avoid it, only for it to meet me time and time again.

Lynsyrien has been generous to aid me to the extent that she has. However, I worry that she has wasted her efforts on me - there is something I don't see, that she believes me to know. I can't even begin to fathom the general idea of what it may be that I should know intrinsically-let alone bring it to a question as she desires.

Therefore I'm left to speculate, constantly until I'm all but mad. If my abilities as a skilled hunter have taught me anything-it is that my own mind is a well constructed trap, the inner workings of which I have no idea how to disarm without becoming ensnared. Every time I seek this "truth", I have to start from the beginning, and work my way through until the current point in time. I keep coming up short, and more confused than the last time I sought the answer.

It's easier to consider first what I do know, then try to read a library for texts that don't exist within.

I know that I have sought purpose my entire life, even now. I've toiled to atone for my sins, and the sins of my ancestors. I've fallen out numerous times-giving up on purpose and hope and all but lost-only to be dragged back to the brink, more often than not against my will. Then by who's will?

In the last few years... I have looked death in the eyes more times than I can count. Yet here I am.

As it is, my current task is simple. I must stop Sethos. In his previous reign, countless lives were lost at his hands. I could hear them - their terror. I cannot let this happen again. If it doesn't end with me, then how many more lives will yet be lost at the hands of the Bartholomaus?

I reach to my hip to find the hilt of my dagger, and slowly I withdraw it from it's sheath, turning it in my hand.

Is this the answer?......

.... No... Taivian still lives out there. I'm not so important that he won't turn his eye on my brother if my body is no longer of use to him. Perhaps he doesn't know of Taivain's existence yet.

I replace the weapon and stand slowly-my legs feel useless beneath the weight of my body. I use the massive root beside me to hoist myself up, then look sideways at it, my gaze following the root up to the tree. Turning around, I recall this place now - Lyn brought me here before. The patterns in the roots and carvings in the tree, another one of the riddles she wanted me to discern. I came up empty handed then just as much as I do now. Why did he come here? I feel so ignorant-as if I'm contemplating a book written in another language, without the smallest understanding of it. How will I find the answers?

Perhaps I will not be afforded the opportunity.

There's the slightest crack in the deafening silence. I turn around-to see Ardonali standing a few yards from me. He's not alone... Apostos is there, in his grasp, a blade pressed to her neck.

Ashes for Wine; and Lost Letters

"I found the way into the dark," Hobbitish hands once wrote. "I've gotten in! And I shant be turning back. I've come too far, too long, too soon! I've broken through and I'll be going all the way in, mark my words."

"I've looked and looked for what's I've found, and I shant be turning back - not now, not ever. The Missus will never know what became of me, and the hobbit lads and lasses - well, they'll think of me kindly. I'm sure they'll have a burial for me and say many of the best words about my outstanding character and influence in the community. "
 "Dear Maeflower, well... she'll wonder the most, but they as soon shall make a fine hobbit lass of her and then she'll know what a puffed-up codger her old pop really was. It's for the best. I've filled her head up with enough stories and adventures of faraway places ... Before I left, I told her that I was going off to find the place the elves all sail to, and that when I got there I'll just not have the heart to leave - that I'll lay down bare naked in the white grass and stay there til one of them elves pours white wine from them heavenly fields on my face! Well, everyone will say I got drunk and drowned down by the Brandywine instead, and someday Little Mae will believe it too. I don't have to worry."

    "The truth is better unknown. No one should think the wiser, and no one shall come looking for me. To think, a hobbit in the Iron Hills? Why, no seree! They shant be thinking it for a minute. But that's where I get in, and now I shant be going back. Bless them all, they haven't a thought for what I've really found. I've said my goodbyes, more or less. I left gifts for the old ones I couldn't think to tell, and the little ones have the Missus for their mum to turn my stories out their ear. My belongings, when they're searched, are all evenly distributed. My final will and testament is all in order. All the old chaps at the Green Dragon who made a mock of me - well, I've left them something clever too. I'm off to my greatest adventure and there's no turning back!"
~ Totterbold (Tater) Tooke
[Someone said this letter came out of Dale. It was found stored among the family's old belongings, but no one seemed to know what kind of a name "Totterbold" was. The previous owner believed it to be a made-up name for a children's game of treasure-seeking.]
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The next is a page from a ledger, citing such currency as gold ducats, silver pennies, and fine gem stones among detailed accounts of handcrafted treasures. The page appears to be complete in its calculations of the total sum value of each item described, and includes a comprehensive list of family heirlooms. Judging by the items listed on this latter portion, it appears the owner must have been of Dwarven descent. A historian might also note the influence of the Blue Mountain dwarves in the descriptions of item details. No name is cited on the ledger, however, and the page itself is stained brown in several places by old dark blood.

[This ledger page was said to be found by one of the hobbitish folk helping Dorus the Book Keeper clean out the Grand Hole attic. No one seems to know who it belongs to, as none of the items on it correlate with the kinship treasury. It has yet to be thrown out.]

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"The Clerk of Kinships at Michael Delving feels it appropriate to document a census of all organized parties in the Shire. As such they obligate all listed parties to keep an annual report - something I have neglected in past years, if you'll understand.
There is always a conference accompanying the return of a report to inform us of, eh, new regulations and such - all the general affairs of town meetings 'concern every resident of the West Farthing' and so forth... And of course they insist only 'authorized' persons attend.
As there are far too many things to be done here, I have asked Lilliway if she would assist in alleviating the matter from my mind."

[This letter was found in the Grand Hole library during a dusting. It appears to be in Skalithor's handwriting and is dated December 11th. On the back is an impressive, albeit secretive, recommendation presenting Lilliway Tooke as "Kinship Leader" of the "Mallorn Children". ]
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[The following is a few pages from a written record of kinship proceedings in Evendim during the dark days of the Rune Hunter and the Siege of Annuminas. The handwriting is unknown.]

The companies had poured into Annuminas by various byways, some entering by the main gate, while others slipped in by unguarded cracks in the walls and crept up to the besieged camp of Echad Garthadir. It was the strict direction of Little Bear, or General Mountainzephyr, or whatever other name each person had come to know Skalithor by, that when the companies had entered the camp that they were then wait there and help the King's men defend it until Skalithor himself should join them.

It was not surprising that the children of Beorn should be the first to have arrived, for they had very little to conclude at the Kinship homes and had been waiting solely for the time to act.  Bodvir and Ragnbourg, a company of two, entered through the water gate of Annuminas and swam about the fallen and flooded old city walls. They leveled the sharp-eyed scouts posted there, and continued their journey inward until they found Echad Garthadir.

  While Bodvir went immediately to the aid of the wounded and fallen upon entering the encampment, Ragnbourg went to the aid of the battle in other parts of the city and tore down the barricades of the enemy. Thus engaged, the Beorning were found absent when the Gondorian Champion, Tyrral Jones, arrived in Echad Garthadir some days later with those who were chosen to accompany him.

 Immediately the Champion sought out news of the General from his countrymen within the camp, but he heard very little more than that the dwarf was indeed somewhere within the city and doing some work which must for the moment be left unknown to all, yet likely done in preparation for the companies. So after a long battle into the city, Tyrral instructed his company to rest in the camp before taking up the fight against the nearly constant assaults of the Angmarim loyalists.
The last of the parties to join the siege in Annuminas was Thannor's company, which on account of some dispute had been prematurely relieved of two of its most valuable members, Hawkinz and Tarvhos.

Thannor arrived by the main gate, his company tore the greatest path directly through the most besieged parts of the city and entered Echad Garthadir at dusk. A storm having risen off the lake of Evendim began its tear-shed in earnest shortly thereafter, and lightening made sleeping that night difficult for all under its sound and torrent.

When the Second and Third companies made their way back to Echad Garthadir that night, the Kinship members gathered in a brief and solemn reunion. Among Thannor's company was a woman from the far south country of Haradwaith, by the name of Mosaine, who Thannor had appointed place among the Kindred for her valiant fight against the Angmarim and Nilithion's Champion: Deathscar the Blood-eyed, who had served with Draklevin Black in the days of Sauron and the Ring.

The joining of Mosaine to the cause of the Mallorn Children on account of her great skill in battle, and the absence of the two best archers from the First company, should have rightfully made it a reason to rejoice, but her presence was regarded with coldness by the Gondorian men in the companies, more especially Tyrral Jones and Captain Evonfall, who discussed the matter between themselves, (albeit the latter's prejudice appeared very mild, if not pretended, and he seemed to entertain it only account of his countryman.)

When all that could be thought of to say had been said, the Kindred slept on their swords - for every moment a cry sounded somewhere within the city as the battle raged on. A gloomy cloud seemed to rest on all, both in mind and body, for the storm had not passed. Though there were some that seemed to be determined to be helpful and cheerful, such as Bodvir, whose optimism had never failed, many in the camp were silent and grave whenever there was a moment to rest.

Five days in the city had seen a great many victories and some defeats waiting for Skalithor. It was hard to measure the overall success of the companies and the King's men fighting within the city, but it had been seen that Opalescence and her pirate crew cut off the enemy's supplies and reinforcements from the lake, while further up in the city the battle of Skalithor and his company went unknown to those at Echad Garthradir. Armor and supplies had begun to grow scarce, and plans were made to barter with the pirates for a portion of their plundered loot. The Angmarim began to take to their strongholds for support and battles in the night were less often, nonetheless the Angmarim fought fiercely to retain those strongholds and little success was had in penetrating them. [….]

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"An old pesky crow has been hanging around here lately. Like a daft wretch he is - always crooing at me and looking at me with them red eyes. I get an awfully unnatural feel from 'im, like a rat waitin' til you fall asleep so he can chew the soles off your feet he is!"
 "I've written yeh a few times to have that miserable bird shot, but he keeps eating me letters. Thrice I've caught im! Beak stuffed full of papers, shipping to and fro like some carrier pigeon. I thought at first there was some sense to it, that he was building a nest for a lady-bird, but I tell you he hasn't the brain any lady would want! He'll steal and dash off and I won't see him again for many days, then he'll be back scaring me cows. Yes, that's right, the cows all turn mad when he flies over. It takes me hours to get them back, and he'll just sit on the branches laughing at me the devil. Well. This is the final note I'm writing, and it best find it's way to you at Trestlebridge. I don't pay a bale of barley to you for protection just to have my cows scattered. Get rid of im!"

[This letter was written by an unknown hand and was found on the road between Trestlebridge and the Northdown farmlands. No carrier was nearby … perhaps the letter simply fell out of his bag by mistake.]

The BloodFallen

Hostage of Angmar

Though the air smelled like smoke, Hawkinz breathed it deeply. It was a relief compared to the stench of the dungeons where he'd been confined only a few hours ago. Those cells might have been larger than his current containment, but they were dark and reeked of things he wouldn't even try to guess. Inside the merciless little cage they had moved him to, there was hardly enough room to sit, nevertheless it was a welcome change. From here Hawkinz could at least see the sky, blood red though it was.

It was surprising actually how much the change of scenery had lifted his spirits. Not even the sound of Gaian chewing a bone behind him, or the popping of the acid lake far below could darken the captive elf's mood. Though his cage swung from the side of Angmar's tallest tower, and the warden had threatened to throw him into that seething lake if he caused any trouble, Hawkinz didn't mind. He just kept staring steadfastly upward at the churning clouds overhead. He couldn't help but think that there was sunlight somewhere behind those clouds, or perhaps moonlight and stars. Either way, it wasn't anything solid that separated him from them now, just clouds.

Hawkinz adjusted his position, trying to get more comfortable despite the fact his cage had intentionally been built against it. His body protested the movement. Though he hadn't been tortured at all, his captors were not kind in moving him. He'd been thoroughly bruised. Still Hawkinz was grateful for that too. He preferred bruises over being cut or slashed. At least there were no open wounds where infection could set in. Given a little time up here by himself, he would heal.. Then he could make his escape.

His situation had changed after all. He didn't have to break away from a dungeon wall, fend off Gaian with whatever he could find on the dungeon floor, and navigate a labyrinthine of hallways in order to escape anymore-- All he had to do now was get out of this cage. The rest would be easy for an elf! Merely a test of acrobatic ability getting from the tower down to the Angmarium village by the lake. But, as previously stated, Hawkinz wasn't going to try that right now... It would undoubtedly involve some sort of climbing and his arm would not be able to hold his weight at this time. It would fail him, then he would fall into the acid lake even without the warden's help.
Just letting his right arm lie motionless in his lap, it still hurt very badly. The Captain Of The Dead had ripped it from the dungeon wall, chains, bricks and all whilst lecturing the warden about feeble security measures; and in so doing, he had cruelly dislocated Hawkinz' shoulder...
Thankfully, the elf had managed to relocate it shortly afterward, once his captors had left him alone.

Hawkinz had noticed the corroded state of those chains when he was first clamped in them. Over the course of his captivity, he subtly pulled against them to weaken their hold. They gave a little more each time, and if The Captain hadn't arrived today, they would have eventually failed completely. That might be considered an inconvenience by anyone else, but Hawkinz thought it better this way, since it led to there being less for him to do when it came to escaping later.
Actually, to be perfectly honest, Hawkinz thought his entire capture was for the best: Without him, Taivian could not be found-- Not by the kinship, but especially not by The Captain. And Hawkinz had always intended to come to Angmar anyway. He had a promise to keep here. The thought caused Hawkins to looking down toward the village. He could see the people. They were the real prisoners here; prisoners in their own home, and only half of them knew it. Once he escaped, he could occupy his time making good on that promise to free them.

For now however, he needed to take advantage of the rest his captors afforded him through their fear of him-- Oh yes! The warden had heard tell of this elf hunter, clad in blue, and the thought of guarding him against escape caused the poor man to tremble and sneer. Hawkinz breathed a chuckle at the thought; the first chuckle he had breathed since his capture in fact.

Once again, the elf rested his head back and gazed upward. How could he be prisoner in such a dark place and yet feel no worse than if he were on a rooftop in Bree? There was a comfort, one he couldn't see but could definitely feel, and it made him smile. Slowly, his eyelids closed over his brilliant blue eyes and his lips parted in a quiet song:

"From the west she appeared

Sunlight and stars in her hair

In her eyes an undying memory of home

A land that is magical and fair

When her feet came to rest

Deep in a canopied glade

She lifted her face and there she danced

The realm of Lothlórien she made

Gaze on me, lady of gold

Reawaken my slumbering soul

Beacon of courage, summon me home

To your haven of wonders untold

Lórien laurë

A laiqa alcar

O Ehtele lisse

Nimrodel a

Nyére auta

A Lórien laurë

A Lórien laurë

Lórien laurë

A laiqa alcar

Orë áro

Lothlórien"

Hawkinz' voice was weak from having not been used since he was first captured, yet it remained fair as the voices of elves always are, especially when carried in song. Gaian did not like the sound and permitted his captive to go no further in the utterance of the lyrics. Forcefully, he grabbed the chains that bore the elf's cage aloft and shook them violently. Hawkinz immediately went silent, wincing as the motion caused pain to spike once again. He kept his eyes shut until the swaying stopped and Gaian returned to his bone. Then with one last glance at the sky, he lowered his head and allowed himself to drift to sleep where he saw not dreams, but memories of The Golden Wood... 

Hawkinz was unaware that his song had been carried to the ears of the village below where many heard it...

...Including one quite familiar to him...

The Captain Of The Dead

Thoughts of The Lost One

It started in Moria, in the darkest depth of Khazaduum-- Looking back, I supposed a lot of things started there for the kinship.

Malgamorie had been found. The dark force behind nature's upheaval, the disappearance and madness of the Rune Keepers, the force who had commanded the spider, Nilithion, who our kinship had slain in the peaks of the Misty Mountains-- He was the source of so much corruption and evil, and yet he was not what we had expected. Through the mouths of his slaves he had painted himself up to be a Balrog, but now we stood before him, and he was nothing of the sort:

We could not see his face. He was huddled in the shadow of a rock and did not so much as look up to greet us, but we knew he was a man.. Or rather, the shriveled remains of one. Indeed, what we beheld before us was little more than a corpse, a skeleton wrapped in a thin layer of papery flesh. He was long decayed, more so than many wights I have ever seen. The spongy growth of the lake and dust of the earth had long since settled on his remain. If he was even breathing it was imperceptible!
Yes, to our horror, we discovered Malgamorie was dead in all but his mind, which he had used to enslave and torment. Some in the company were disappointed that the body of our foe was so pitiful, and recognizing it, Malgamorie tried to play on their sympathy.. But he could not fool us. He was a wretched victim of his own maliciousness: The dark magic with which he had surrounded himself had consumed him completely, yet devoid of mercy would not grant him death. His soul was still tied to the corpse whilst his mind had plagued the land above Moria and far beyond...

How often, I thought, we had come to these depths during our time in Moria. How often we had passed this lake, seen this stone on the distant shore, and walked right by our enemy time and time again-- All because we sought something of towering height and incredible strength. We thought our foe's physical form would be as mighty as he claimed. We had believed him, fallen prey to his lies.
He had eluded our detection, sickened the land, maddened the animals, stolen our friends, he had caused misery and fear... But he was nothing. He had no physical strength at all. It was deceit that gave him power. It wasn't that he had been undefeatable, we just believed him so, and thus he was able to work his dark magic to our manipulation and suffering. We believed he was powerful and therefore overlooked the weakness we sought desperately for.

...As the corpse was vanquished by phoenix fire, Malgamorie fell forever into the darkness he had sold himself to. He would never torment the world again, and his absence was immediately apparent: The captive minds were freed, speaking to us in their own words for the very first time. Tension, it seemed, was released from the walls of Moria; as if a festering thorn had at last been removed, and real healing could begin. ...Moria will be reclaimed. I have no doubt of that. The mountain itself knows and awaits it. Thus our kinship returned to the surface, soaking in the sunlight they had so longed for during the bitter months of our hunt. The fresh air was welcomed into their lungs. They and the world around them were ready for much needed healing. They departed...

...But I stayed.
I stayed under the pretense of aiding the dwarves in reclaiming their great kingdom, but the truth was my eyes had been opened: Malgamorie was just one. One who stewed long, but one nonetheless. One one of the darkness' many pawns. The darkness had other followers yet hidden from us-- I say this not in despair, but in realization. For in Malgamorie it was made clear to me, Malgamorie embodied what the darkness really was: A lie.
It built itself up to be something amazing and powerful, something that promised it could never be defeated, but was really only an opportunistic leech. Something weak that relied on neglectful glances in misdirected directions in order to carry on it's sneakery unhindered. ...And I knew it would be back. It lusted after many in our kinship. I had seen it pulling at the mind and heart of my mentors, Apostos and Drakelvin. It pulled at my brother Tarvhos, at Dekota, at Ardonali, at Lartenell, and at others I have yet to meet. It is not because they are bad people, it is because the darkness wants them and their power. It tells them they can never be good enough, it says they were born in the dark and in the dark they must remain.. I have heard them when they voice their doubts. I know what it tells them. And I know even if they individually can not contribute anything of significance to the darkness' strength, as long as they are bound in it's web, neither can they contribute to the light in which their potential would be unhindered. It is a struggle. They need to shut their ears to it's whispers.

...As do I.
I am constantly reminded that I am a descendant of a dark wizard, the son of a man who heeded darkness' lies, apprentice to those who once succumbed to darkness for themselves. My history is spotted with unseemly black marks... I will not let this define me as other have.. I left Moria shortly after my kinship did, but secretly and in the opposite direction. I am a lore master, but there is no one here who can teach me how to use my magic. I have to teach myself.

~Taivian

Of Ebbs and Flows

"Thar i' urra anfauglir,
imya tum ar' lad
lye auta a' i' ndor en' gondor,
yassen varna vesta ta ona..."

A chorus of melodious voices.... a sea of ornate garbs brushing against the golden sand and stirring it at their hems.

I know this-this is not a dream, it is a memory.

I am young-my feet don't touch the ground, I ride in the back-saddle of another wanderer. There are horses, carrying supplies... all of the women carry packs, or baskets in their arms, bundles at their sides.

The women on the outside carry something else-bright, glistening weapons and shields.  They move with a steady pace.

I can see nothing beyond a sea of white sand-the sun reflects harshly on it and makes my eyes want to shut tight to block it out.

"Lye auta utu- lye coia,

n'ala wanwa a' i' ohta

sii' lye maa ten' seere,

lye eska, y' winya beginnien"

They continue, but I do not yet know all of the words. I only know the strange feelings it invokes in my young soul; hope, peace... it begins to lull me to sleep as I fixate on the garbs of the women in front of me, swaying to and fro with their rythmetic steps......

---

"Cuiva, amin hin...."

I wake up. No longer on the back of a woman.. below me is a horse I had fallen asleep on. Behind me, a figure stirs my shoulder. I open my eyes, and another woman carries a bundle towards me, looking down on it with a beautiful smile. She holds it up somewhat as she nears me, still keeping her arms around it so it does not drop... it is a small, white creature with horns on it's head.

"Ta naa lle nosta re, Mosaine. Mani will lle yela ho?"

I looked on his dark eyes and small stature, reaching out, nearly leaning off of the horse. I felt a hand catch me at the waist, and they offered the goat up to me to hold in my lap. We were not much different in size, then.

"Astal."

---

"Lle caela istim- quen- i' sanya lambe en' edain." Farmona spoke firmly,

"Amin uma il- merna a'... Mankoi uma lye anta a'?" I respond. I don't meet her eyes yet, but I am taller now.

"Ten', i' ohta naa wanwa.  sal', i' edain en' i' ohta naa il- ie' seere.  Ta naa ante ie' sina coiasira.."

I wanted to continue to learn of the flowers, of the land I would be entering into, the creatures of it... how to hear to the wind and listen to the trees, to play the instruments of my people, as we had been. Still, I would not argue.

"Eller naa somethien eile..." Farmona said, producing a beautiful weapon. I looked in awe at it's detail-the jewels upon it's hilt, the gold and stunning blue imbued into it's design. I didn't recognize the words upon it's blade, written on both sides elegantly.

"Mani uma sina parma?" I asked. When Farmona spoke again, it was in a tongue I didn't not understand.

"To battle without prayer, is injustice. We raise our swords solemnly, and invoke Thy name, that this sword may rest one day in peace."

"Lle istima dagor-, tul're."

---

Images of sewing and basket weaving, of nights of dance and song around a fire, of following the wind to find water and food, of my beautiful family on our journey... we began the trek admist the war, our fathers and brothers having been lain out upon the land, their blood staining it's earth. We traveled for days and nights. Learning, growing. Some, growing into youth. Some, growing into oldness, and some, passing on into the stars, their journey never destined to make it to the safehold called Gondor. We learned of joy and pain, of loss and of gain....

Most importantly, I learned of my desire to protect. First of all my people... and then this place I would call home when we reached it. I would not lose it as I had lost my first home. I would protect it, even unto death.

---

I blinked again, the next image was of fields and houses, of townspeople staring on at the strange villagers arriving. The next time I blink, there is a massive white wall before me.... but it does not bring the same joy it does then. Something is different when I look upon it now, in this vision. There is pain, and fear accompanying it. There is a deep ache within my heart, and a feeling of loss.

The other villagers are gone-they have blended into the peple of Gondor, selling their crafts and wares, marrying the men who are stricken by the beauty of the swarthy skinned women, who speak the common tongue in an intoxicating voice, and can lull them to sleep from a long day with their enchanting songs. I never learned-why did I not learn then? I am still seen as an outsider.

Farmona is not around. I do not know where she has gone. I have taken up the sword to fight for peace, but no Captain of these men will take a woman of the South. So I must go alone, to fight for peace, the peace written on my sword.

Amin uma il- merna aut- ereb.

The scrolls of Dafin the swift Handed -2

Lallinvorn-- It has taken a lot of digging but Drake and I have found one of the scrolls... I fear that most of the rest of the scrolls are lost to time or fire, Drake is Working as hard as he can to bring as much as he can back from the scrolls.. But I it will take some time..

The scrolls of Dafin the swift handed.

The First scroll is a bit worn, and most of the script has been smudged.. And most of these scrolls are like that, I'll do my best to restore them.. ~Lallinvorn

x

The Snail Wrider

General, 

I hope this letter finds you well in body as in spirit. It is my pleasure to report that Mosaine has been acquitted of the charges for which she was held captive in Minas Tirith these past months.  The honorable men of the court determined that she was acting in self-defense, and, owing to the testimonies of the noble women at the Houses of Healing, they saw fit to release her without further tribunal. 

With this matter now addressed to the great joy of all, I believe I will return to the northern kingdom. As well as it has done me to see the state of the old guard houses, and find Minas Tirith as lively as ever after the war, I still feel that my coming while necessary was premature. Minas Tirith has brought me nothing but solemnity where it once brought me gladness. I find that all my old friends are scattered abroad on the eastern fronts, defending the borders, and doing battle with the remnants of dark forces in distant lands. New young men now stand on the walls where my old brothers once stood. I feel I must return to the field, or else abandon myself to the tide of idleness that takes the redundant and antiquated.

If there is any service I may perform while I am yet in this country, my strength is yours to command.
Your servant,

Tyrral Ezekiel Jones.

****** 

My good friend, 

Messengers do not run quick enough between the Shire and Gondor, nonetheless I finally received your letter of the twenty-first of November yesterday afternoon. I am pleased to know of the cessation of Mosaine's trial, and that the good men and women of Gondor's upper circles have the sense to spare one who has sacrificed so much for the sake of her king and country. No doubt your efforts were aided by the Hand by which justice and mercy are rightly administered. 

As regarding your return here, I look forward to seeing you again and hope the others will join you. It has been far too quiet here lately. My errand-runner returned with the antidote to the rivers and springs two days before your letter, but those who fell ill in early autumn are taking longer to mend than those who were taken to it recently. The dragon who caused their suffering has withdrawn to the north for which purpose I can only imagine to be evil. She cannot be allowed to remain in seclusion, lest perchance her second flight of chaos be worse than the first. Nonetheless, our strength must be gathered sufficiently before we pursue a dragon into its lair. If you should chance to see Tarvhos while you are journeying back tell him to come to ride with you at once. I will be holding a council the moment you are again in the Shire.

Until then, may the back of your horse bear you safely and his hooves carry you swiftly.

Yours faithfully,
Skalithor MountainZephyr.

******

General, 

I write from Evendim and hope my letter is carried with the speed with which I entrusted it. I beg leave to apologize for my error, as it shames me that I forgot to inform you of my meeting Tarvhos in Gondor prior to Mosaine's trial. I am sorry to say I found him in a tavern attempting to regain his wits, though I learned later the cause for his overindulgence and aided him to the Old Archives of Minas Tirith. There, we learned somewhat about this dragon you have mentioned. We found an ancient tome regarding an expedition of some sort which took place in the Second Age. I have enclosed a copy of the document with this letter for your review. I regret, however, that you will find the story incomplete, as many areas of the tome were singed beyond readability.

  

As for myself, I have seen the dragon with my own eyes and witnessed the devastating power of her breath. Tarvhos, I found, was bound by oath to confront the beast and I would not have him go alone, nor would others of our comrades. He did well to forbid us from it, lest peradventure we return not. But the terror of facing even such a magnificent beast as Bloodfallen could not compare to the terror one feels at the prospect of losing a friend and brother. To think that I should let him go silently and never see or hear from him again... I could imagine no greater torment. Therefore, though he threatened me severely and rode out alone, Captain Evonfall knew of his designs and we two arrived ahead of him. 

It will come as no surprise to you, I trust, to know that the Captain of the Dead awaited us. For of a truth it was he that held Tarvhos bound by blood oath to come, and others were also expected. I fear to think what might've become of our friend had he come alone. Nonetheless, we were joined by the golden masked elf, with whom you are previously acquainted, and whom the Captain seemed to treat with a fair amount of mutual respect. Then the Captain led us into the lair of Bloodfallen.

You will forgive me, I hope, for not recounting the details of our visit. The dread with which we entered, and the terrors which we encountered are not worthy of recall. Yet I will say that we escaped, or rather, were permitted to leave after we learned the dragon's true interest. It appears that for whatever purpose, the dragon and the Captain are united in their common pursuit, and seek none other than Tarvhos' half-brother Taivian. This was the Captain's interest in Tarvhos all along, but he was deceived I suppose in part, for which I am grateful. Taivian's whereabouts remain unknown to them at present, and I hope for the sake of all he remains so. 

As my letter has grown particularly lengthy, and I trust we will have time to speak before long, I will close with the only bit of cheerful news I have. You see, it was discovered after we escaped the dragon's lair, much to our amazement and delight, that the golden mask was worn by none other than your friend Hawkinz. How he played such a magnificent part is beyond my understanding, but even the perceiving Captain of the Dead was taken unawares. Now I am in company with them all; Tarvhos, Evonfall, Hawkinz, and Lartenell. We come to the Shire in two days time, and then I shall hope to speak with you in person.

With good faith that this letter will precede us, I remain

Your servant,

Tyrral Ezekiel Jones.

Homecoming

For a long moment, he kneels there upon the shore, digging his fingers into the sand of the land that will become his home.  The West.  The sea called him.  A different song than the music of the wind in the trees, than the clang and hiss and spark of the forge, of the shouts of battle and the laughter of the kin-home.  It had been long in coming.  There was work to be done.  Words flash through his mind, from long, long ago.  He closed his eyes and the face appears again before his mind’s eye.  Once, Thannor had said that love bid him stay as surely as it bid him go.  And he had stayed, for a time, doing what work he could, however small.  A word.  A shield.  Until his long vigil was over and he could lay his sword and shield down.  Until he could rest, sure that the land he had loved so was in good hands.

For a moment, all he can hear is the hiss of the tide and the call of sea-birds.  He is here.  He is here at last.  Now there will be no more sorrow, nor pain, but joy everlasting.  He will be with kin, with friends, with…  And yet, he does not rise.  Not yet.  Some part of him wonders, wonders if he is worthy.  Worthy to be here, to see….  One hand clutches the thin chain he still wears about his neck, a lifetime ago, and the still-bright silver rings forever intertwined.  And he remembers.  Remembers the songs he sang as he drew the wire, shaped the rings.  Songs of hope, of joy, of love everlasting as the rings. That was a lifetime ago.  Slowly, he takes a breath and lets his hand fall to his side.  He squares his shoulders.  He is here now.

His keen ears catch a faint sound.  Footsteps in the sand.  Just one person, a light step…. He glances up, blue eyes narrowed.  And all he can do is stare for a long, long moment. He longs to run to her, to call her name.  But he cannot speak.  He is trembling.  It is her.  It is a lifetime since he saw her face, since he heard her voice, but it is burned into his memory.  She is not as he saw her last—no, she is whole and hale and so fair that his heart aches.  The sunlight turns her hair to gold.  He can scarcely hear the waves over the pounding of his own heart.  She smiles, her face alight, and he swears it is as if he has given her his heart all over again.

A name he has not heard in a lifetime leaves her lips.  And the spell is broken.  They run across the sand—she flings her arms about his neck, he cups her cheek with one hand, pulls her close and holds her as if he will never let go.

(Hi, guys.  So, this came about because I really wanted to write Thannor again, and...Well, this is what I came up with it.  Hope y’all like it.)

A Bitter Melody: The Tale of Ragnböurg, Part I

 The daughters of the house of Beorn, born along the Anduin under the long shadows of the Mirkwood eaves, have never been called fair for their thick skin and wiry hair; which more often then not hangs at great lengths about their shoulders; frayed at the hems and knotted as it will. But it is well known that all Beorn's daughter are strong, lively, and fierce, even as the blood that flows in their veins.

My story is not one that may be related without some quiet remorse, but it is one I can justify to relate in that I have no real regret. Trial and error was the doom from the beginning, and bountiful mistakes were made. But I know more about life now than I once did, and I won't blame myself for stumbling on a highway none can tread without falling.

 My tale began when I took a blade I crafted long ago and cut the long threads that had been the comfort of my shoulders since childhood. 
I was a woman of twenty years, the only daughter of my father Gudbrand, the son of Hallbjörn, the son of Hildreth who was a daughter of Beorn the Great Chief. And from this lineage of nobility I descended, to become a wayfarer in the lands of men....

 ****** 

In my youth I dwelt in the mountains overlooking the Vale of the River Anduin. I grew with my brother under the roof of our father, and learned the essential skills that profited our people's way of living. I learned to plant roots and harvest herbs, to craft and mend clothes, and to cure wounds and diseases - which were greatly common in some months and seasons. My brother, Bodvir, learned his first love for the ways of a healer there as we tended to the wild beasts that lived as our neighbors and friends. We reaped the crafts of the bees and the flocks and herds who imparted kindly to sustain us, and we were happy to be unwise in those days.

Beorn's Hall by J.R.R. Tolkien

 I recall many fond memories had in the months of Tribal Gathering, when our father Gudbrand would take we two children down the mountain to visit our cousin's kindred at Chief Grimbeorn's Lodge. The smoke that filled the great hall and the smells of the feast hung so thickly in the air that every emotion contrary to mirth and gaiety were crowded out of the heart and soul of everyone who entered therein. There was a warmth brought about and a feeling that set our hearts at ease when the sounds of laughter and the voices of family made merry and cheerful together.

     Children gallivanted under tables and around the legs of adults from one end of the hall to the other. They went unhindered by their matured peers who, knowing of their safety, were content to let the restless roam. Even the grave-faced chiefs and elders were at peace with the noise, content to ignore or else conceal their own hidden delight at the boisterous amusement of the young.

      I was seated by my brother and many of our cousins near our matrons and patrons on one such day, as we spoke in uplifted and hearty tones. Those who had been my playmates in the activities of youth were now my companions: men of bold-brow and dauntless chin among deep-eyed women whose cheeks were beautifully browned by their vigorous work under the Vale's noonday sun. All of us had grown to have a place among the adults of the tribe, but we still felt too full of life and apt to become bored when the conversation took a turn toward the future that we did not spend our time long in ripened company. They who knew and took greater interest in the topic were happy to discuss matters of union and posterity with every hint that we, ourselves, were some subject of conversation. But we would find ourselves idle among them, and therefore had often turned an invested interest in the mirth of the children and the serious mutterings of the elders.

      It was at this time of quiet interest that I overheard a word imparted between the greater chiefs concerning lands westward, and I felt to pardon myself from my cousins and slip out of the hall unnoticed. I stepped out into the twilight of that night, and I remember that the evening was warm with the smell of the woodland trees coming in over the hedge. The bee families where bringing in the last of their daily harvest and the air was beginning to grow quiet in the absence of their lively thrum... Stars had already appeared in the eastern sky and all around me the world darkened at a quickening pace. Thus, it was not long before I was traveling through the black of night under the mighty trees of the Vale. The night-song of the creeping creatures and the sparse pools of moonlight were as my only company, though I went on for miles to climb the Great Carrock and there tarried for a season.

****** 

The cold winds were fierce in the high crags that winter, nonetheless our ancestors came from these mountains and instilled in us their resilient blood. While the anger of the giants shook the peaks and snow cascaded from the skies, the children of Beorn endured. Many feet made our covering a thick blackness of ice and snow, yet with the rising of the sun we broke free onto the white plains and resumed our journey west.

I was in company with seven others sent as emissaries to the lands of men. We passed over the Misty Mountains together into the hill country of the west. We were then obliged to bid farewell to each other and take our path in many threading roads. I will never forget the day of our parting when I looked on the brave faces of my cousins for the last time.

******

Ragnböurg: A Decision to Help Rescue, the Might to Save.  

. 

******

White Hands and Red Cheeks

"Lynsyrien, I don't want you to go..." Maeflower whispered weakly, holding fast to the elven maid's long white fingers.  
"What shall I do?" The latter replied, smiling softly as she swept the hair from the former's fevered brow. "Shall I send them off into unknown lands without aid?"
Tears rolled down Maeflower's hot red cheeks.  "No," said she, with a broken sob. "But I don't want to be alone again."
"Gentle spirit," The elven maid whispered. "He will come to watch over you."
Then she leaned down and pressed her cold lips to the hobbit's forehead and whispered quieter still, "You need only say my name..."

The Book of Riddles: An Explanation

It has come to my attention that at or near the beginning of the events which led the companies of the Mallorn Children into the depths of Khazad-Dum, a curious book was found and translated by our friend, Raechal Middlebrooks of Rohan.

Although the book contained helpful hints at the time that the fellowships were engaged in their quest, the whole translation of the book was unnecessary to bring about the success of the fellowships in Moria. The following is an explanation of the book and all that it contained, presented in the same order as it appears in the original manuscript.

The opening paragraph of the manuscript is intended to emphasize the significance of the book itself and foreshadow the events that the fellowships would encounter. It warns, "leave no stone unturned in your quest for knowledge," for only the prepared are unafraid when danger arises.

The starlings are the members of this kinship and a number of other individuals who participated in the overthrowal of evil beneath Moria and throughout the lands of Bree, the Shire, and elsewhere. The second paragraph calls the unsung heroes of Middle Earth to gather for battle against the foe, and states the purpose of the manuscript as a book of instruction.

Paragraph three describes the events which heralded the power mounting beneath the earth, and how nature became silent preceding the evils which crept up from Moria to terrify the land.

Paragraph four continues the description of events, making more particular note of the influence darkness has on the souls of men. Many in the kinship and those outside it were beset with trials prior to their rallying against the foe, trials which either strengthened their resolve or turned them against the light.

The Feather-friend and Time-breakers mentioned in the fifth paragraph refer to our friends, Vax, Naumran, and Tyrral, who came at a needful hour to aid in our quest against the enemy. The Petals four compose the True Shield; four guardians namely, Thannor, Ardonali, Lallinvorn, and Skalithor. The Player, we can safely assume is Gladwine, who came into our lives with his friends at that time. The Riddler, who discovered this manuscript is Raechal Middlebrooks. The Spear-Master(*s) and the others mentioned here refer to friends the fellowships met on the way, respectively:
 Unora and Silverfeather, Dekota, Aedeyn, and others who crossed paths with the aforementioned at that time.
(*The exclusion of the 's' was a mistranslation. Some of these titles refer to multiple people, and here, both Unora and Silverfeather are called "Spear-Master".)

Paragraph **six gives instruction as to where each piece of the manuscript was to be found. Those who know the name of trees are those who named them in the first place, namely the elves. The "wonder-lacking and dust-keeping" refers to the sleepy and unadventerous inhabitants of Breeland. The last is a curious reference to an animal upon which the fate of the second part of the book seems to be thrown at random, which we have since learned brought the pages to the library in Tuckborough.
 **This paragraph was repeated on each section of the divided manuscript, however the repetition was considered unimportant and thus omitted by the translator. 

Paragraph seven correctly refers to our friend, Fahlion, who played an important role in a number of events preceding the downfall of our enemy. While referring specifically to him, however, it was also intended as a word of instruction regarding the attitude of the fellowships throughout their quests in the lands of Evendim, the Misty Mountains, and on into Moria. The "three-faces" mentioned in this paragraph also refers to the Goblin Champion defeated prior to overthrowal of the evil in Moria.

More reference is given as to our allies within the kinship in paragraph eight: The animals; our friends of the house of Beorn; our friend Mosaine from the south; the hobbits, Maeflower, Lilliway, etc; and the elves who delayed their passage into the Far West to aide us, Elirae, Keltrion, Faervaren, and Fendalwyn, etc.

Paragraph nine references allies of Middle Earth who belong to other kinships; namely that of Jhonan Maynard and Premton Heatherly, who fought the battles in Breeland while our fellowships were held up in the Misty Mountains.

Paragraph ten tells of the nearly fateful victory won against the Rune-Hunter in the fortress of Helegrod, where our friends were saved by Naumran and Vax and carried from the heights back to Rivendell. The name of our enemy is at last given here, as our attention turned to Moria.

Paragraph Eleven: This paragraph speaks of the Captain of the Dead, and the significant role the Rohirrim and Angmarim have yet to play, who united will bring his downfall and save Galigar from the fate that consumed him long ago.

Paragraph twelve refers to those who preceded us into darkness, namely Farmona and Genaveve. It also recalls information brought to me by Elirae, ere the first events of this tale began; referencing those fated Eldar who were sent by Master Elrond into the shadows and fell prey to the persuasion of our enemy. 

 
The third part of the manuscript refers exclusively to prominent individuals on whom the success of the fellowships in Moria largely depended, and foretells future events that will shortly unfold. A portion of this third part was lost by the translator during one of the many misadventures that were encountered during the books translation. As these things will be revealed in due course of time to those with whom it concerns, there is no need for the explanation to be given here, therefore the explanation heretofore provided is both sufficient and concluded.


Written for the archives of the Book-Keeper in the House of the Mellryn by
~Skalithor MountainZephyr.