Post by Torvaen Firehand on Oct 13, 2012 16:45:37 GMT -5
Dol Amroth. The news from Minas Tirith continues to be grim. It is all too obvious now that Mordor is planning an offensive. Many, perhaps most, believe it to be merely rumor, but I fear this is no more than wishful thinking. Patrols of evil men and orcs have been on the increase, and travel is becoming more difficult and dangerous. I fear the Black Gates may open within only a few years. Prince Imrahil worries, and has taken little comfort in reassurances from the Steward that the matter is in hand.
Both frustrating to me and perhaps portentous is the word that Mithrandir paid the city a brief visit. There is little detail, but apparently he sought some ancient lore from the archives there, and left as suddenly as he had arrived. His counsel would be most valuable, if any would listen.
Dol Amroth. I have decided to accompany a group traveling from Dol Amroth to Edoras in the spring. It is long since I have visited Rohan, but goodwill with the Rohirrim seems essential, and the Prince is sending an emissary with a trade caravan. The escort will be larger than usual, as well, and in fact my nephew Sarnarth will command them. It should not be too long a journey, and there are men of learning there I can consult. In fact, I am hoping it may be possible to arrange an audience with Saruman the White himself. Surely he will have wisdom to share that could aid in our struggle.
Along the River Blackroot. As we approached the passes through the White Mountains, a small ambush of goblins sprang upon us. They were apparently assuming our company to be smaller, for the fled as soon as they saw our full numbers. One of our archers was wounded, but at least three goblins were slain. We have proceeded with more caution, but there has been no further danger. Perhaps it was simply a tribe after loot. Perhaps.
Edoras. Edoras stands as proudly as ever, but something is definitely amiss here. We were received with courtesy, but little warmth. Our traders were welcomed, but for the rest of us, few seemed to have any use. We were not even asked for news from Gondor, as has always happened on my previous trips. Tonight at least we will dine at court.
Edoras. Stranger and stranger! We were formally received by the Lady Eowyn, who presided over dinner. She apologized for the absence of Theoden King, but says that he is in ill health. My offer to assist with his healing was politely refused. Formalities were exchanged, but nothing of real substance was discussed. Both Theodred and Eomer are out of the city at present, so dinner conversation consisted of little more than pleasantries. Tomorrow I hope to learn more.
Edoras. Troubled I am with but what little I have learned. I paid a call upon Hangalad, a sage I have known for at least two score years, a wise man and loyal to Theoden King, and he could be of little assistance. He, too, has been cut off from the King, not having seen him in half a year; and his own attempts to consult with Saurman the White, with whom he has been long acquainted, have been refused. He promised to send a message requesting an audience for me, but did not offer much hope.
Of news outside the city, he had more. Trouble with orcs and bandits has been on the rise for years. Raids have come from Mordor, stealing horses, which of course the Rohirrim prize nearly as much as their children – always the black horses, so that few of that color remain in the land. The King's work has been largely delegated to a counselor by the name of Grima, for whom Hangalad obviously has little but disdain. We did not meet him at dinner. I talked with Hangalad well into the night, but we could give one another little comfort.
Edoras. I had a most curious encounter yesterday, with a Dwarf of all things. His name is Hathar, and he is a merchant who says he has just traveled with a caravan of Men and a few other Dwarves, bringing goods from the far north to Isengard. Only part of the group, all Men, went to the city; the rest came to Edoras. The dwarf was peddling a product called “pipe-weed” which he says comes from a land called the Shire, a land inhabited by creatures who call themselves “Hobbits.” This pipe-weed is dried and placed into a vessel of clay, wood, or some kinds of stone, set aflame, and the smoke inhaled. He showed me how, and I admit that it does produce a most pleasant sensation, and seems ideal for contemplation and thought. I wound up purchasing one of his better pipes and a quantity of leaf of three or four different varieties. According to Hathar, quite a lot of this leaf was being carried to Isengard, along with a quantity of other goods, including ale.
Investing in some local ale, along with the leaf, I found the Dwarf to be a fair conversationalist, and full of news from his travels. Some of it was old news, much of interest mainly to other Dwarves, but he did agree that there is something grim about the times approaching. As we spoke on, he eventually revealed to me that he did not much care for the looks of the Men with whom he was traveling. They, and a number of others, approached him recently as an intermediary with these Hobbits in some matters of trade, and seemed keen to hear news of all the doings in the Shire. As it is a pastoral land where apparently a stray cow can be big news, this seemed quite peculiar to Hathar, who takes little note of such events as pass there in any event. He agreed to accompany them partway on their trip for sufficient consideration – including the goods he has brought to Edoras – but was glad to see the last of them; they were a grim lot, secretive, and suspicious. Hathar believes that they are carrying news as well as goods to Isengard...but why should Saruman the White concern himself with such a place when there are stirrings in the East? I hope I will have a chance to ask him myself.
Edoras. As expected, Hangalad gave me the news that my request to visit Isengard had been refused. Our party has still not been able to meet with Theoden or Theodred, or even with this Grima. Sarnath tells me our emissary is considering returning to Dol Amroth soon, with little to show for our efforts. The locals have become somewhat friendlier as the days have passed, but still tell us little. Fear seems almost palpable.
I asked Hangalad if he knew anything about these Hobbits. He was interested, saying that tales spoke of legendary half-men called Hobytlan who dwelt with Men long ago, living in holes in the ground; but he knew nothing of such creatures in reality. Together we sought out the Dwarf Hathar, who obligingly drew us a map and described the location of and route to the Shire. He mentioned casually to our surprise that Mithrandir, more often known as Gandalf in the North, had been a frequent visitor to the land. He then spun us a tale he learned from his grandfather of a company of Dwarves who set out with Gandalf and one Hobbit named Mr. Baggins to reclaim a treasure horde from a dragon under a mountain, far off in Erebor. It was a most amusing and exciting tale, involving Elves, Eagles, Goblins, and Men, and at the end of which the dragon was slain, the treasure reclaimed, and the Hobbit returned to the Shire wealthy beyond dreams, but even if half of it is true it hardly seems relevant to our current concerns. It did, however, consume an evening, a good quantity of ale, and several refills of pipe-weed, to which Hangalad has now been introduced. Quite a salesman, our Dwarven friend.
Edoras. Tidings most grim have reached us today; the Dark Lord's forces have attacked Osgiliath. We are making preparations to return to Gondor speedily and at once.
Edoras. Last night I sat in long thought before coming to a decision. I will not return with the rest to Gondor. One old man will add little to the strength of Minas Tirith, which now stands between the Dark Lord and the lands of the Free Peoples. But the right information could make all the difference.
This land, the Shire. Why would Mithrandir and Sauruman be interested in such a place? And why is Sauruman being so reclusive and silent as the crisis brews? Where -is- Mithrandir, whose counsel could prove of incalculable worth? And how ready stand the rest of the lands of Middle-Earth should Minas Tirith fall?
I have made my decision. I will set out on the morrow, to the north, perhaps to the Shire, perhaps elsewhere. I will attempt to learn what I can of these events, and perhaps even find Mithrandir myself. And I will attempt to alert the other Free Peoples of the danger we all face, remote as it may seem in such distant lands.
I have written to my brother, telling him what little I now know and what my plans are; Sarnath will carry it to him. Sarnath joked that I was actually more interested in seeing the ruins of Arnor than in any of what I might glean about the Dark Lord and his plans. It is true that for nearly a century I have longed to make such a journey, but it seemed a distant dream; now even I can hardly believe that I am setting out to do so.
Hangalad has done me the favor of helping me secure a horse; one of the noble steeds of Rohan, no less. Swift and steady, it should enable me to travel with the needed speed. I will head west through the Gap of Rohan, then north through Enedwaith. Hathar assures me that if I follow his instructions carefully, I will find the old road they call the Greenway, which leads north all the way to Fornost. He suggested I should stop at the town of Bree for news, and recommended the Inn there, called the Prancing Pony, as a likely place to find it. The Shire from there is but a day's ride west, should I choose that route. He also sold me some hardtack and other travel goods, at a very fair price, I should say. I thanked him, and wished him well on his own travels.
I must end this for now. I leave on the morrow at dawn.
Both frustrating to me and perhaps portentous is the word that Mithrandir paid the city a brief visit. There is little detail, but apparently he sought some ancient lore from the archives there, and left as suddenly as he had arrived. His counsel would be most valuable, if any would listen.
Dol Amroth. I have decided to accompany a group traveling from Dol Amroth to Edoras in the spring. It is long since I have visited Rohan, but goodwill with the Rohirrim seems essential, and the Prince is sending an emissary with a trade caravan. The escort will be larger than usual, as well, and in fact my nephew Sarnarth will command them. It should not be too long a journey, and there are men of learning there I can consult. In fact, I am hoping it may be possible to arrange an audience with Saruman the White himself. Surely he will have wisdom to share that could aid in our struggle.
Along the River Blackroot. As we approached the passes through the White Mountains, a small ambush of goblins sprang upon us. They were apparently assuming our company to be smaller, for the fled as soon as they saw our full numbers. One of our archers was wounded, but at least three goblins were slain. We have proceeded with more caution, but there has been no further danger. Perhaps it was simply a tribe after loot. Perhaps.
Edoras. Edoras stands as proudly as ever, but something is definitely amiss here. We were received with courtesy, but little warmth. Our traders were welcomed, but for the rest of us, few seemed to have any use. We were not even asked for news from Gondor, as has always happened on my previous trips. Tonight at least we will dine at court.
Edoras. Stranger and stranger! We were formally received by the Lady Eowyn, who presided over dinner. She apologized for the absence of Theoden King, but says that he is in ill health. My offer to assist with his healing was politely refused. Formalities were exchanged, but nothing of real substance was discussed. Both Theodred and Eomer are out of the city at present, so dinner conversation consisted of little more than pleasantries. Tomorrow I hope to learn more.
Edoras. Troubled I am with but what little I have learned. I paid a call upon Hangalad, a sage I have known for at least two score years, a wise man and loyal to Theoden King, and he could be of little assistance. He, too, has been cut off from the King, not having seen him in half a year; and his own attempts to consult with Saurman the White, with whom he has been long acquainted, have been refused. He promised to send a message requesting an audience for me, but did not offer much hope.
Of news outside the city, he had more. Trouble with orcs and bandits has been on the rise for years. Raids have come from Mordor, stealing horses, which of course the Rohirrim prize nearly as much as their children – always the black horses, so that few of that color remain in the land. The King's work has been largely delegated to a counselor by the name of Grima, for whom Hangalad obviously has little but disdain. We did not meet him at dinner. I talked with Hangalad well into the night, but we could give one another little comfort.
Edoras. I had a most curious encounter yesterday, with a Dwarf of all things. His name is Hathar, and he is a merchant who says he has just traveled with a caravan of Men and a few other Dwarves, bringing goods from the far north to Isengard. Only part of the group, all Men, went to the city; the rest came to Edoras. The dwarf was peddling a product called “pipe-weed” which he says comes from a land called the Shire, a land inhabited by creatures who call themselves “Hobbits.” This pipe-weed is dried and placed into a vessel of clay, wood, or some kinds of stone, set aflame, and the smoke inhaled. He showed me how, and I admit that it does produce a most pleasant sensation, and seems ideal for contemplation and thought. I wound up purchasing one of his better pipes and a quantity of leaf of three or four different varieties. According to Hathar, quite a lot of this leaf was being carried to Isengard, along with a quantity of other goods, including ale.
Investing in some local ale, along with the leaf, I found the Dwarf to be a fair conversationalist, and full of news from his travels. Some of it was old news, much of interest mainly to other Dwarves, but he did agree that there is something grim about the times approaching. As we spoke on, he eventually revealed to me that he did not much care for the looks of the Men with whom he was traveling. They, and a number of others, approached him recently as an intermediary with these Hobbits in some matters of trade, and seemed keen to hear news of all the doings in the Shire. As it is a pastoral land where apparently a stray cow can be big news, this seemed quite peculiar to Hathar, who takes little note of such events as pass there in any event. He agreed to accompany them partway on their trip for sufficient consideration – including the goods he has brought to Edoras – but was glad to see the last of them; they were a grim lot, secretive, and suspicious. Hathar believes that they are carrying news as well as goods to Isengard...but why should Saruman the White concern himself with such a place when there are stirrings in the East? I hope I will have a chance to ask him myself.
Edoras. As expected, Hangalad gave me the news that my request to visit Isengard had been refused. Our party has still not been able to meet with Theoden or Theodred, or even with this Grima. Sarnath tells me our emissary is considering returning to Dol Amroth soon, with little to show for our efforts. The locals have become somewhat friendlier as the days have passed, but still tell us little. Fear seems almost palpable.
I asked Hangalad if he knew anything about these Hobbits. He was interested, saying that tales spoke of legendary half-men called Hobytlan who dwelt with Men long ago, living in holes in the ground; but he knew nothing of such creatures in reality. Together we sought out the Dwarf Hathar, who obligingly drew us a map and described the location of and route to the Shire. He mentioned casually to our surprise that Mithrandir, more often known as Gandalf in the North, had been a frequent visitor to the land. He then spun us a tale he learned from his grandfather of a company of Dwarves who set out with Gandalf and one Hobbit named Mr. Baggins to reclaim a treasure horde from a dragon under a mountain, far off in Erebor. It was a most amusing and exciting tale, involving Elves, Eagles, Goblins, and Men, and at the end of which the dragon was slain, the treasure reclaimed, and the Hobbit returned to the Shire wealthy beyond dreams, but even if half of it is true it hardly seems relevant to our current concerns. It did, however, consume an evening, a good quantity of ale, and several refills of pipe-weed, to which Hangalad has now been introduced. Quite a salesman, our Dwarven friend.
Edoras. Tidings most grim have reached us today; the Dark Lord's forces have attacked Osgiliath. We are making preparations to return to Gondor speedily and at once.
Edoras. Last night I sat in long thought before coming to a decision. I will not return with the rest to Gondor. One old man will add little to the strength of Minas Tirith, which now stands between the Dark Lord and the lands of the Free Peoples. But the right information could make all the difference.
This land, the Shire. Why would Mithrandir and Sauruman be interested in such a place? And why is Sauruman being so reclusive and silent as the crisis brews? Where -is- Mithrandir, whose counsel could prove of incalculable worth? And how ready stand the rest of the lands of Middle-Earth should Minas Tirith fall?
I have made my decision. I will set out on the morrow, to the north, perhaps to the Shire, perhaps elsewhere. I will attempt to learn what I can of these events, and perhaps even find Mithrandir myself. And I will attempt to alert the other Free Peoples of the danger we all face, remote as it may seem in such distant lands.
I have written to my brother, telling him what little I now know and what my plans are; Sarnath will carry it to him. Sarnath joked that I was actually more interested in seeing the ruins of Arnor than in any of what I might glean about the Dark Lord and his plans. It is true that for nearly a century I have longed to make such a journey, but it seemed a distant dream; now even I can hardly believe that I am setting out to do so.
Hangalad has done me the favor of helping me secure a horse; one of the noble steeds of Rohan, no less. Swift and steady, it should enable me to travel with the needed speed. I will head west through the Gap of Rohan, then north through Enedwaith. Hathar assures me that if I follow his instructions carefully, I will find the old road they call the Greenway, which leads north all the way to Fornost. He suggested I should stop at the town of Bree for news, and recommended the Inn there, called the Prancing Pony, as a likely place to find it. The Shire from there is but a day's ride west, should I choose that route. He also sold me some hardtack and other travel goods, at a very fair price, I should say. I thanked him, and wished him well on his own travels.
I must end this for now. I leave on the morrow at dawn.
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