December 16, 2009
My friends, I hope my correspondence finds you well. A brief note from beyond the Haunted Inn, underneath the greenish-smoky branches and sky of Mirkwood. Thalya and I are about to venture further into the Forest. We stand once again at the ruined gates to Dannenglor, screeching merrevail and flapping bats just beyond the walls. Giants, too – and no one dares contemplate what else.
Perhaps it is the perpetual hazy gloom of this place, but I feel a kind of hopelessness that edges fear. I must control these feelings. I hope that I am gifted with the strength. We must take the first step inside, to go forward in our stand against the darkness.
Namárië. Be well.
December 14, 2009
Greetings to you all from under the boughs of the gloomy forest, just outside a town of the dead. It could be slightly more pleasant here, could it not?
This was once Greenwood the Great, the land of my Father, he known as Valaríon Avathar the Honourable. It has been changed since the Darkness drove the Thranduil’s people, as my Father was, north and out. He has spoken little to me of this, having dwelt many years in Lothlórien, but perhaps I shall speak with him about his homeland, in which I now I fight a brutal war.
Thalya and I are uneasily lodged in an establishment they call The Haunted Inn – a way-station for those sworn to fight for the Free Peoples. I’ve rather wondered at the legitimacy of the place, for it reminds me of the cruel Forsaken Inn and the ill events that took place there.
Before my father travels West, I dream that he will see his home once more as it was, before he was taken driven to foster in Rivendell, before he came to dwell in Lothlórien and to be with my mother… and, of course… an infant daughter. Me. I fight on behalf of my family, and on behalf of my loved ones who must inhabit all of Arda after I have passed to the West, with the rest of my kind.
My hopes are that everyone is healthy and in good spirits. I wish you would not see Mirkwood from our shores… I do not want you to see such gloom. Please, be well, and I will do my best to do honor to Caras Galadhon, and to those I love.
December 14, 2009
Salutations and my fondest greetings to you all, from the depths of Moria once again. I cannot say that I enjoy the environment of either place, but at least in Mirkwood I may breathe freely and see the sky on occasion.
Along with Thalya I joined a a group of our regularly seen comrades in arms, to adventure through the depths of the Sixteenth Hall, which would seem to be yet another decrepit, decaying, once grand dwarven structure. Now it is a sickening, foul breeding ground for the servants of The Lost One, who is poisoning thier minds and warping their bodies with virulent disease.
It was imperative that this fell creature be stopped, before his disease can spread past the walls of the Sixteenth Hall. We stood ankle or knee deep in this noxious, stagnant water overgrown at the edges with diseased mushrooms…. in front of the The Lost One himself, a hulking, twisted and monstrous creature… dwelling here, in this decaying sewer.
We took the strategy that Kaleigh, Thalya and Tarnorili stand mainly against The Lost One, while Minstrel Whenwith healed the group… And Minstrel Ceoltoir the Hobbit had the privileged job of letting the swarm of bugs called to the lost one as aid run after him, so that we would not kill them in the process of defeating their master. I was to destroy mushrooms before they virulently exploded across the room, the stench surely slowing the lot of us. And surely those spores couldn’t have been healthy…
We mostly performed flawlessly. Within just a short time, The Lost One fell to our feet in the foul, green water. The sixteenth hall, emptied of its foul residents, may be reclaimed by the dwarves – if they have the stomach for the remodeling they will need to endure.
I wish you health and happiness, and cannot wait until I may be permitted to return (with permission, of course), to Caras Galadhon…
December 10, 2009
My fond greetings from beyond the Anduin, within the depths of that which was once Greenwood the Great.
Fell creatures dwell here in Mirkwood, savage and strange and unlike any I have yet seen. Here, in the decrepitly beautiful ruins of Dannenglor, the Enemy keeps their prisoners. Even during high daytime, the light is weak, here. And the rumors I have heard are true – there are day-walking Trolls, more powerful than I have ever seen, as Thalya and I found out. We were victorious, by the grace of the Valar it seemed, and lived to tell the tale.
As you know, I am quite tall — but I am dwarfed in the shadow of these day-walking abominations. They are far from the worst. Far, far from the worst. I will not speak to you of other things, as you need not know. I do not want you to.
At night I cannot help but to look back and think… My life now is so much different than my life “back home.” My life after coming to the western reaches of Eriador – the Shire, Bree, when we first visited Tinnúdir. And traveled to Amon Sûl. We were so much more care-free – ah, I would give anything to be back there.
My very soul itself feels heavy, being here. This is an oppressive, almost tangible darkness. Anything could be just beyond my lantern, and it does not help me rest. I have not slept comfortably in weeks. My memories are what I have now to keep me comfortable. And… I… I wish I could see you. Thalya is so serious, and I know little of her personally. I miss your company.
As my people say:
Ná Elbereth veria le, no in elenath hîlar nan hâd gîn.
May Elbereth protect you, and her stars shine upon your path.
December 3, 2009
My apologies, friends, for my lack of communication of late. War has come to Mirkwood and I could not ignore the call to action. I have, as such, crossed the Anduin into the forests which were once the home of Thranduil’s people, before they were driven out or to the north. In all my years of looking across the river to this dark, impenetrable wall of trees, I had never set foot on the shores of my father’s homeland.
More allies arrive by the day – Men, Dwarves and Hobbits alike, who seek to aid our kind in our battle to drive the evil from the forest once known as Greenwood the Great. The fighting is already savage, and the wounded, dying, and dead are many. I feel a sense of dread in the pit of my stomach, and I fear this will be unlike the rather tactical stand against Angmar. The Uruk-hai are bloodthirsty and brutal, and the landscape dark and bewildering. What fell creatures dwell further in, I dare not imagine.
I will stand strong against the Shadow, and I pray that this horror will never reach the shores of Lothlórien.