‘…and there it was, the biggest wolf I’d ever seen!’ said the hobbit gleefully.
Núri smiled politely and lifted his mug to his bearded face, only half-listening to the young hobbit’s tale.
It was a quiet evening in the Plough and Stars Inn at Brockenboring and the dwarf was relaxing and recovering from his battle with the goblins in the Greenfields earlier that day. The wounds he had been inflicted still ached but a proper dressing of them had remarkably improved the dwarf’s general demeanor to the point that he had been sitting at the table for some time now listening to the wild yarns told by this particular young hobbit.
‘Of course, the elf HAD told me of the wolf,’ continued the hobbit joyfully, seemingly eager to have such a captive audience. ‘But I didn’t think he was serious! A lot of people here in the Shire had told me some pretty tall tales before.’
The dwarf nodded politely again but his thoughts and mind were elsewhere. Núri keep thinking back to his battle with the goblins where he had only managed to barely escape from their encampment that very day.
The hobbit shepherd, Ponto Hornblower had implored the dwarf to seek out the tales of goblins in the Greenfields for the hobbit was greatly concerned –and with some no small reason – that his flock of sheep might fall prey to the foul creatures.
After journeying to the Greenfields, Núri stumbled upon a large goblin encampment. He was able to slay several of them, but by all indications the goblin camp was far more numerous than even Ponto suspected and the dwarf was forced to flee. Surely there were more of the foul things than the dwarf could deal with alone. And yet the folk of the village seemed disinterested in the dwarf’s tales of the goblin encampment or to his warnings out what he had discovered.
Núri had brought word of his discovery to the bounders of Brockenboring but they too seemed generally indifferent in such fanciful tales such as the dwarf had told them. The dwarf doubted his chance of success in dealing with the goblins alone and had hoped to rouse the hobbits of Brockenboring to action, but this proved fruitless.
Núri thought of contacting his friend Aldyi for aid, but he not seen his friend for at least a day or more and the dwarf was lacking in just where or how to contact his friend. And so, the dwarf retired to the Plough and Stars Inn that evening to contemplate his next move. That is when he met with Lundo, the hobbit seated presently at the table with him.
‘…and so I marched all the way over to Budgeford, I think that’s the name of the town, to hunt down this wolf,’ continued the hobbit, not the least noticing that his audience had not been listening for some time. ‘I found some ruins nearby and a bunch of wolves!’ The hobbit shivered as he recollected his journey. ‘That darn elf lied to me, ‘cause there wasn’t just one wolf, there were a bunch of them.’
The dwarf again nodded politely and pushed the thoughts of the goblins out of his mind to pay more attention to the hobbit’s fanciful tale.
‘Ha, but I won!’ exclaimed the hobbit cheerfully. ‘I defeated them all, just me! But then again I’m a pretty good sneak.’
‘Stealth?’ queried the dwarf with genuine interest and lit his pipe with a small glowing ember from the fireplace. ‘How do you mean?’
‘Oh well, you know,’ offered the hobbit sheepishly. ‘I’m a burglar, you see…’
Núri blinked for a moment, not entirely comprehending the hobbit’s words. ‘A burglar? Whatever do you mean?’ Then understanding spread across his face and the dwarf sputtered. ‘Oh, well, hrumph, a sneak you say. Very good.’
Lundo smiled broadly at the dwarf. ‘So, I snuck into the lair and found the great wolf and slew it. I even managed to get out of there without alerting the entire wolf pack! Enough about me though, what about you? You are the first dwarf I have ever met.’
Núri leaned back on his chair and puffed on his pipe before answering. ‘I am on my way to the mannish town of Bree, but events in The Shire have plagued and delayed me. If it’s not spiders its goblins it seems.’
‘Yuck, spiders?’ quivered the hobbit. ‘Really? I saw some before but I ran from them in the woods. Spiders give me the creeps.’
‘Yes, spiders my friend. You best be careful in the forests about here. The woods are cursed with all manner of them.’
‘Oh, ok then. If you say so,’ added Lundo, only half-believing the dwarf. ‘So where are you going now?
The dwarf did not answer directly for he had to admit that he was unsure himself. He knew it was vital that he return to the Greenfields to find out more of the goblins there, but he doubted his ability to deal with so many alone.
‘Of late, I have discovered that goblins have secretly snuck The Shire from the north,’ he said after a pause. ‘I battled them at their camp yesterday but was forced to retire as there were many and I was but one.’
‘Oh, goblins?’ cried Lundo. ‘Here?’ He looked about the inn half-expecting a goblin to jump out of the corner right there.
‘Nay,’ replied the dwarf, hiding his smile. ‘Not here in Brockenboring, but to the north in the Greenfields.’
‘Greenfields?’ asked the hobbit. ‘Where’s that?’
‘Not but an hour or two march to the north,’ answered Núri.
‘What are you going to do with them?’ asked the hobbit rather curiously.
‘I have half a mind to do nothing,’ said the dwarf with frustration, thinking back to the general indifference the dwarf’s news of the goblins had garnered from the folk of Brockenboring. ‘But even if the hobbits here in Brockenboring choose to ignore my warnings, I must do something about the foul creatures before they cause more mischief.’
The hobbit clapped his hands excitedly. ‘Well, I can help!’
Núri looked sidelong at the hobbit dubiously. ‘How so, my friend?’
‘I can help you defeat the goblins!’ exclaimed the hobbit cheerfully.
The dwarf hid his smile at the young hobbit’s enthusiasm. ‘Nay, it is a terrible and dangerous mission I seek. You do not know these foul creatures as I do.’ Yet, despite his misgiving, Núri was intrigued by Lundo and he fell into deep thought.
Presently Núri spoke again. ‘However, young Londo, you could be of some use to me and my quest. Your special…..skills……could be a boon to me. Perhaps I could be in need of your assistance.’
The hobbit clapped his hands in joy at the news. ‘Should we leave now?’ exclaimed the hobbit eagerly.
‘No,’ replied the dwarf. ‘We will depart in the morning at the sunrise. Let us meet here in the tavern room before departing.’ Núri stood up from the table and bowed low before the hobbit. ‘I will retire now, Londo to prepare tomorrow. I suggest you do the same.’
The morning was cold and grey as Núri and Londo prepared to depart from the inn. The wind had changed and began blowing from the north and ragged clouds were hurrying overhead, threatening a coming rain. As the cheerless shadows of the pre-dawn fell away, the unlikely pair made ready to set out for the Greenfields.
When all was ready, the pair strolled down the hill from the inn to merge with the main lane of the village. Passing along the lane, they kept to the main lane until it reached the outskirts to the village to the east, where the two travellers then bent north along the lane leading into the Greenfields. They passed by the outlying buildings of Brokenboring until the village was hidden in the deep shadows behind them.
Somewhere behind the grey clouds the sun had already risen, but this did little to relieve the thick gloom of the dawn. The wind blew fiercely and the trees along the lane bent and sighed. Soon, the clouds broke and released a chilling rain upon the pair.
For some time the pair marched in silence, the dwarf’s mood now thoroughly soured by the turn of the weather. Once or twice Núri had to hold back the enthusiastic hobbit from darting off the lane to inspect some interesting piece of landscape or to get a better view of the rather large bears that inhabited the Greenfields.
Before returning directly to the goblin camp, Núri wished to investigate the rest of the Greenfields to uncover if there might be more goblins in the vicinity. It was a great shock then when the dwarf spotted a flock of sheep at the northern edges of the Greenfields. Much to the dwarf’s amazement, at least one of Brockenboring’s inhabitants still dared to shepherd his flock in the fields despite the goblin presence. Núri motioned to Londo, and then stealthily made his way forward.
Presently, the dwarf spotted the shepherd of the flock, a short rustic-looking hobbit, standing in the midst of the sheep, scanning the fields about for signs of danger. He immediately spotted the pair as they passed through the nearby tall grass and braced himself as if from an attack. He blinked and then relaxed as he noticed Londo standing next to the dwarf.
'You've come along at just the right time, neighbor!' called out the hobbit with relief. 'The goblins in that camp over there have stolen my prized ewe, and if you don't do something, they'll roast her over a spit! I have other sheep, but she's the pick of the lot and wins prizes at the Brockenborings Wool Festival year after year. You've got to rescue her!'
Núri’s eyes followed the hobbit’s extended arm which pointed off to the east but could see little in the early morning gloom. He motioned for Londo and walked forward to stand before the excited hobbit shepherd. He bowed low and spoke swiftly. ‘I am Núri, at your service, and this is my companion Londo.’ Londo spoke nothing but waved happily at the shepherd. ‘What of these goblins you speak of?’
'You've got to go inside the goblin-camp over there and escort her out. She won't be able to leave on her own...she's just a sheep! She'll need you to guard her on her way out, so stay sharp! You might want to bring some friends along...I don't think those goblins care too much what they eat!'
Another goblin camp, thought Núri to himself, the hobbit’s words confirming his earlier suspicions. ‘I have come to deal with the goblins for other reasons,’ declared the dwarf. ‘But fear not, my friend, my companion and I will recover your lost sheep. Can you tell me however, how many goblins are there in the encampment?’
The hobbit shepherd only shrugged to the dwarf’s question. Núri nodded and then spoke again. ‘Very well then, we will return shortly.’
Presently, the pair was crouched beside a large rock-outcropping at the edge of the vast goblin camp. From there, the dwarf viewed down upon the camp itself and could clearly pick out goblins walking here or there, or squatting round multiple camp fires within.
Whispering quietly, Núri quickly spoke to Londo. ‘There are many of the foul creatures within, and we cannot risk bringing the entire camp down upon our heads,’ explained the dwarf. ‘We will try to sneak in as best we can. You best stay behind me.’
The dwarf waited until the young hobbit nodded with understanding and then moved forward into the camp. With Londo behind him, Núri crept into the camp, hugging the cliff wall to his left, which led deeper into the encampment. Stealthily the pair made it past a campfire where a couple of goblins sat about, talking loudly in their foul tongue.
The Scrag-Dells Goblin Camp
Suddenly, Núri halted and crouched low. Ahead he spotted a pair of goblins walking down the path towards Londo and himself. He motioned for Londo to remain back and he unslung his axe and waited. As the goblins approached he sprang forward from his hiding place and swept up with his axe, first forward and then back again. Both goblins fell to the ground headless.
Núri swiftly glanced about and then waved Londo forward to his spot. The pair moved on once more, following a path that bent to the right and up a gentle slope. The dwarf pulled up abruptly when the sound of bleating ahead came to his ears. Ahead, the dwarf spotted a crude enclosure in which stood a hapless sheep. Núri bade Londo to wait as he crept up quietly to the pen holding the stolen sheep. The dwarf glanced about nervously as the sheep bleated loudly then opened the pen gate.
The moment the gate was opened the ewe sprang forward with a loud bleat and down the path. Cursing aloud, the dwarf turned to give chase, grasping at Londo to follow. The blasted animal is going to awaken the entire camp, thought the dwarf with great concern.
The Impatient Ewe
Much to the dwarf’s horror, the ewe’s cries echoes through the encampment. From nearby and far off, there now came the harsh cries of goblins, even as the pair sped after the wayward ewe, seemingly oblivious to the danger it had wrought. Suddenly, several goblins sprang out of the gloom ahead; Núri had already unslung his axe and Londo had drawn his sword even as the goblins fell upon them.
Núri leapt forward to meet the goblins, hewing at the nearest one with a broad stroke of his axe. He turned the jab of another’s spear and brought his axe down upon its head with a cry. The goblins’ headlong charge was disrupted and the goblins fell back in dismay, only to attack more fiercely than before.
Suddenly, Londo cried out. ‘The sheep, it getting away!’ Núri beat back a snarling goblin with his axe and glanced up to where the hobbit was shouting and pointing towards. Indeed, the ewe was sprinting off down the path with abandonment.
‘I’ll get it!’ cried Londo aloud and he sprinted down the path after the fleeing ewe. ‘No!’ bellowed the dwarf with dismay. ‘Londo, come back here!’ But the dwarf’s attention was turned back to the throng of goblins surrounding him as they pressed him from all sides.
Núri swept his axe in a wide arc, beheading a goblin and then drove another back with a series of blows. Cursing, he turned to bound after the hobbit in pursuit of the fleeing ewe. Up the path he ran, driving a lone goblin that leapt out of the shadows to one side with a heavy blow of his axe.
‘Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!, the dwarf cried aloud as he sped down the path. Núri smote a pair of goblins to the ground that stood in his path and then swept forward with alarm. Even as he ran his quick ears caught sounds further down the path. There was the bleating of the sheep and the startled alarm of the young hobbit, and among them the harsh voices of goblins. As he ran, the cries of the sheep came more urgent and desperately Londo was calling the dwarf’s name. Fierce and shrill rose the yells of the goblins and Núri raced down the path, his axe in hand, crying aloud ‘Baruk Khazâd!, ‘Baruk Khazâd!’as he went.
With a shout the dwarf sprinted into a wide expanse of the camp. There he found Londo, surrounded by a great many goblins. Next to him lay the unmoving ewe. The hobbit was desperately trying to hold off the goblins and sliced back and forth with his small sword in an attempt to ward them off. Blood flowed freely from a cut upon the hobbits brow and his arm hung loosely and unmoving at his side.
With a shout, the dwarf fell upon the goblins. With a thrust of his axe haft, he turned the awkward spear-thrust of a small goblin and bore it backwards, throwing it to the ground. Diving under the clumsy swing of another, he swept his axe up and brought it down upon the head of another.
Londo Falls
The dwarf’s voice roared and he scattered the surprised goblins, and yet he gave them no respite. He redoubled his attack with such fierceness that none could withstand him. Soon, the dwarf was standing alone and many goblins lay slain at his feet.
Gently Núri stooped and pulled the body of a goblin off the unmoving hobbit, and a graven look fell over his face. The dwarf knelt beside the hobbit and clasped Londo’s hand in his own. He spoke haltingly in a low tone. ‘Londo, my friend…..’ but the hobbit did not answer.
Núri knelt for a moment, bent with tears, still clasping the silent and unmoving hobbit’s hand. It was only the sounds of approaching goblins which spurred the dwarf to move. Then he gently lifted the hobbit and bore him out of the encampment.
I must apologize for my absence of late. I fell behind in updating the story over the past couple of weeks, but I am in the midst of several consecutive postings today and tomorrow. Hopefully people are still reading the story and have continued interest in it despite the recent delays and lack of new posts.
I feel really bad about getting Londo killed - he was a newbie to LOTRO (as well as being only 10th level), but he turned out to be rather brash and impulsive; not surprising for a hobbit I guess. Still, I should have tried to keep his character alive or at the very least not allowed him to accompany me at all since it was a very dangerous place for a 10th level Burglar to be.
He disappeared after being defeated at the golbin camp and I never saw him again after that. I wish I had the opportunity to apologize but if I ever see him again, I hope to have the chance to make it up to him.
After that failure of the quest to resuce the ewe, I decided upon another Total Immersion rule. For most quests, should I fail, I will not repeat it, EVER. Of course, this will have to be decided per quest. For instance, in the quest, Sheep Theft, the sheep can be killed by the goblins. Hence, since I failed and got the ewe killed, there would be no way to re-do the quest over so I would have to accept it as a failed quest and never return to it.
Núri remained in The Shire for several days after returning from the Scrag-dells before continuing onto Bree to seek out the mysterious ranger.
It was some time before the dwarf could look back on his short-lived friendship with Londo and often did the wish to hear the brash hobbit’s laughter once more come to him. But always in the back of his mind was the task at hand and he was aware that he should not tarry long. And yet, it was some days before Núri set out for Bree. He buried Londo beneath a fine oak on the edge of the Greenfields and laid the hobbits notched sword upon his breast.
Núri's travels - 18th to 20th Harvestmath, 3018 TA
It wasn’t until the drawing of Harvestmath when at last the dwarf was prepared to journey onto Bree and the Bree-lands to the east. For several days, Núri rested in Brockenboring, hoping to hear word of his old friend, Aldyi before departing. Yet even hearing no word of his friend could not long delay him and his thoughts often turned to the road ahead. After two days, therefore, he bade farewell to the folk of Brockenboring and prepared to depart early in the morning.
The following morning the clouds that had brought rain before had now been swept from the horizon and the dawn broke to warm clear autumn skies. For the early part of the journey, the dwarf passed through the peaceful central and eastern lands of The Shire.
For much of the morning, the dwarf followed the lane westwards from Brockenboring to the town of Overhill. Then, he turned round to the south and after some time crossed the Water by a narrow stone bridge at Hobbiton.
From there he joined the Bywater Road that swept eastwards towards the eastern borders of The Shire. By late morning he passed the village of Bywater and slowly passed through the lands of the Tooks and Greenhill Country that lay just to the south.
When he had walked for some four hours, he rested beside the lane beneath a large elm tree. The dawn had long passed and given way to a clear, warm and sunny morning with but a few wisps of clouds in the sky. He sat there for some time, eating a meager and cold meal of dried fruit and meat, and then went on again. Soon, he struck a section of the lane that began rolling up and down as he approached Stock, the eastern-most Shire town just before the Brandywine Bridge and the border of The Shire.
The morning melted away and by noon Núri found himself standing before the expansive stone construction of the Brandywine Bridge. He looked over his shoulder and back down the lane then beyond to The Shire he had just left. A sigh escaped his lips as the dwarf turned back to the bridge and proceeded across.
The Brandywine Bridge
At first on the journey to Bree, the dwarf passed through the respectable countryside of The Shire inhabited by the decent hobbit folk, with good roads, an inn or two, and frequent hobbit farmers, folk and bounders all ambling by on business.
On the far bank of the Brandywine was a new land. A long valley stretched ahead and to the east. To the north ran a series of high hills and ridges and to the south there rose a dark and forbidding-looking forest. It was a cheerless land and the going was slow and gloomy. Many a strange cry of strange beasts came from the darkened woods off to the south and occasionally Núri spotted flocks of dark birds passing overhead.
Here and there upon the heights and ridges of the road he caught glimpses of ancient and crumbling walls of stone and the ruins of towers which bore an ominous look.
Only once did Núri glimpse the source of the strange beasts whose calls and growls surrounded him at all times. It was large dusky yellow wolf that bounded out of a stand of trees along the road, yet the dwarf easily dealt with the beast with his axe.
The Bree-lands
It was nearing dusk as the sun sank low in the clear autumn sky when the dwarf came at last to the Green-way crossing and drew near to the town of Bree. He came to the West-gate which stood open and passed through the opening only to come to a halt as a man jumped to attention at the appearance of the dwarf.
The West-Gate at Bree
Núri bowed low to the gate-keeper, knowing well the suspicious nature of Bree-folk to strangers, be it dwarf or Man. ‘Hail and well-met. I am Núri of Thorin’s Hall, at your service.’
The gate-keeper stared darkly at the dwarf for a moment and then his expression changed at hearing Núri’s name.
‘Begging your pardon, master dwarf, Núri yes?’ replied the man somewhat relieved. ‘The Watch has been awaiting your arrival. News of what you have done travels quickly, and in this time of need, every ray of hope is necessary. Our mayor, Graeme Tenderlarch, wished to speak with you. You will find him within the Town Hall.’
The dwarf groaned at the request and first shook his head. But seeing that the guard would not be denied, Núri nodded. ‘Very well, I will Seek your mayor, but it has been a long journey today and I wish nothing more than the warmth of an inn fire and a good meal. I will pay this Graeme Tenderlarch a visit tomorrow.’
I hpoe to quickly catch up with posts to the current point of my game over the next several days. As in The Shire, I am not completing most of the quests, and focusing on those that blend well with the overall story (or that would make good telling). I am now resting in Bree at the Prancing Pony while preparing to enter the Barrow Downs for the first time.
I am still only 17th level, so I hope to gather a group of other players together to accompany me there. So, if anyone is interested in joining me into the Downs, send me a message in-game!
Just a quick note to say that I'm enjoying your story. Looking forward to more.
Zitat von Determination
+Reputation
I enjoy this story as well, thank you for taking the time to post these 'chapters' for all of us to read.
Thank you very much for the praise and the continued support! I must admit of late I have not posted any new stories, but summer seems to continually occupy a great deal of time. However, I am have several posts prepared for Núri's travels.
As of the last post, Núri had finally reached Bree and was prepared to begin his adventures therin, so enjoy and I promise more posts will soon follow!
Núri had arrived at the Prancing Pony late last evening well after dusk and was thankful to be able to secure a room at the inn. This was much appreciated after the landlord informed him of the large crowd of strangers and travelers which filled the tavern room and most of the guest rooms. The dwarf declined the repeated offers of the landlord to join the company in the tavern room and instead requested food to be sent to his room. After a hasty meal, Núri threw himself upon the small bed and fell at once into a dreamless sleep.
In the morning, Núri woke more refreshed than ever since departing from Ered Luin. He was comfortably tucked away in a simple but inviting bed, and the sun was shining through the partially open window of the small but cozy inn room. The scent of old wood and smoke mingled with the fresh fragrance of grass and flowers from outside. Somewhere off in the distance he could hear the sounds of the town as it slowly awoke for a new day of business.
The dwarf roused from his slumber and sat up, blinking at the bright sunshine that streams through the window. Presently, there was a light rap upon the door and a hobbit servant appeared.
‘Begging your pardon, master, but would you be wanting anything this fine morning?’
Núri nodded and grumbled deeply about breakfast. The hobbit cheerfully bowed and pointed out a wash basin and hot water already laid out on the table before disappearing through the door as fast as he had appeared. By the time the dwarf had washed, the hobbit bustled in again, this time bearing a tray of seed-cakes, raspberry jam, mince pie and cheese, a few cooked eggs and even cold chicken.
After the meal, the dwarf’s mood was much improved to the extent that he now decided not to delay speaking with Barliman Butterbur, the landlord of the Prancing Pony. He pushed himself away from the table and stood, throwing his faded and worn blue cloak and hood about his shoulders and made his way down to the tavern room.
The inn was understandably quiet when the dwarf made his way downstairs. One or two hobbits or Men-folk sat at scattered tables and benches here or there about the large but darkened room. The crackling of a fire could be heard, but partially masked by the sound of music from some corner of the room.
Núri spotted the tall rotund landlord behind the bar and approached him, bowing low as he drew up to the counter.
‘Hail and well met,’ he said sternly. ‘I am Núri, son of Brodli, at your service. I have come recently from Ered Luin seeking a man whose name is said to Strider. I am to seek for him and was told he at times can be found at your inn.’
The landlord poured a mug of ale and placed it on the counter then scratched his head as if thinking deeply to himself.
'Who was that you were looking for?’ he answered after a pause. ‘Oh Strider, yes. Well, not that it's my business, but I wouldn't go near that Ranger out of the wild. He's a strange one, not that he can't tell a rousing tale when he's of a mind!’
‘To be sure,’ answered the dwarf impatiently. ‘But I am in great haste to find this Strider. Can you help me?’
'Well, it's clear you've no mind to listen to me. Strider keeps to himself mostly. From the common room turn left down the hall and keep on until you can only go right. Follow straight down that hall until you're at the foot of the stairs. Strider is in the room to the right of the stairs.’
The landlord turned to take down a tray of empty mugs before turned back to the dwarf.
'Now, I've got paying guests to attend to, and no time to be chatting, if you know what I mean. It's just that busy!'
Núri looked about the quiet tavern room in amazement.’ What guests?’ he thought to himself but remained silent and simply turned towards the hall Barliman had pointed to just a moment before. The dwarf briskly made his way down the hall as instructed and turned down the only hallway to his right. Ahead he could see the stairs that lead back up to the room where he had rested the night earlier and came to a stop at the door just at the bottom of the stairs.
He rapped heavily upon the door and then pushed it open. There he found a strange man standing beside the fireplace within. He was a lean man, tall and dark, with shaggy dark hair flecked with grey, and a stern face from which shined deep grey eyes.
The Ranger Strider
Núri bowed low before the strange man and then spoke solemnly. ‘Hail, I am Núri of Ered Luin, at your service. I had traveled many a day seeking man named Strider on behalf of Langlas, of whom had bade me to seek out his captain, a ranger.’
The stranger did not speak but instead gazed down on the dwarf grimly.
Feeling somewhat uncomfortable under the stranger’s hard gaze, the dwarf stared down onto the floor and stammered. ‘Ur, well, I have been tasked to find you and inform you that Skorgrim, leader of the Dourhands is on the move and had fled Ered Luin.’ The dwarf quickly related his tale and then grew silent.
The man was silent for a time before speaking. ‘Your tidings are grim,’ said the man slowly and carefully. ‘If Skorgrím escaped then we can assume that he'll want vengeance. Given time, he and the Dourhands will regroup. You were brave to stand against him but I'm afraid we'll need use of your courage once again.'
Núri looked up to gaze into the ranger’s eyes at this. ‘How do you mean? You have a task for me?’
The ranger nodded. 'The Dourhands' lord fled to Bree-land after his defeat, and not by mere chance. I see the hand of the Captain of the Nine in all of these affairs, in the west, in the Shire, and in Bree-land. We must unravel the thread of his plans, and I believe I know how.‘
The dwarf did not speak but rather listened closely to the ranger.
'To the east of Bree, there is a Blackwold camp which my men have been watching closely. A shadow has recently spread across the camp...I believe it is here that Amdir has gone, and this dwarf-lord as well. There we must go, and there we must end Amdir's life, if he can still be called living. We will wait for night-fall and then make our move against the Blackwolds. Speak with me again when you are ready to depart.'
The dwarf nodded and replied. ‘I will return at dusk. Farewell until then, Strider.’
With that Núri turned to walk back out the door and back to his room, for he had much to ponder after hearing the words of the ranger. Most of all was the news that Skrogrim had fled to Bree-land after his defeat at the assault on Rath Teraig. From the guarded words of the ranger, the dwarf could only conclude that the Dourhand leader had now conspired with brigands in the region. The treachery of the Dourhand could only bring about misery with the Bree-folk should the story be true, thought Núri, and the ranger’s grim words filled his heart with dread and fear.
The Ruins of Ost Baranor - 21 Harvestmath, TA 3018
The gathering gloom of nightfall was fast approaching as Strider and his kinsmen, Torthann and Lenglinn, led Núri and a small party of rangers to the outskirts of the brigand camp of Ost Baranor deep within the Southern Chetwood forest. The ruins of Ost Baranor marked the place where yet another tower of the North Kingdom once stood, but had now faded from memory of the Bree folk. The fortress had long since fallen into ruin, and its crumbling walls were now taken over by Blackwold brigands.
Standing silently in the darkness, Strider beckoned to the dwarf as he approached.
'Can you feel the chill in the air?’ whispered the ranger with dread. ‘It is no natural cold, but the chill of fear, of evil. I doubt not that Amdir is here, but there is a greater evil as well.’
Núri could see nothing in the gloom but he too felt the same evilness in the night air.
'We should split our strength,’ continued the ranger with a grimness in his voice. ‘For the good of Middle-earth, none can be allowed to escape. Lenglinn and I will look for another way inside, while you and Torthann search for Amdir. We must be quick now, before the evil bursts forth from here and threatens all of Bree-land. Torthann, take Núri with you and head to the main gate. Lenglinn and I shall look for another entrance and press the attack from there.’
Torthann bows low before the ranger then replied. ‘Yes, sir.’
Núri said nothing but nodded, a strange fiery gleam burning deep within his eyes.
The pair turned and sprinted off into the gloom, leading the small party of rangers with them. As they did, Torthann turned to look down at the dwarf.
'Come with me. It is time to deal with Amdir and these brigands. If Amdir escapes, it could spell doom for Middle-earth.'
The ranger sprang forward towards the crumbling archway that led into the bowels of Ost Baranor, with the dwarf closely behind him. Beyond the archway there now came into view a large courtyard of sorts, surrounded by vast but crumbling walls of ancient stone. The area was lit by several small campfires and here or there could be seen pitched tents.
Suddenly, the ranger halted and drew low to the ground and hissed in a low voice.
‘Wait! Someone is coming. Let us see who it is!’
From the shadows of the crumbling courtyard there came into view several swarthy Men clutching weapons in their hands.
Torthann cried aloud with alarm, ‘Brigands! Get them!’ The ranger swept forward to meet the first Blackwold brigand, his sword held above his head.
Núri had not taken a step forward when his attention was drawn to a tall swarthy Man wielding a wicked-looking spear. With a snarl, the Man leapt at the dwarf, crying aloud. ‘Die, in the name of the Blackwold!’
Diving straight at the dwarf, the Man turned Núri’s axe with a thurst of his spear and bore him backwards. In desperation, Núri lashed out with his axe but the brigand dove under the swing with great speed. Thrusting his spear forward, the brigand caught the dwarf in the shoulder. The dwarf’s rugged leather shirt turned the thrust but Núri cried out in pain nonetheless from the brunt of the blow.
His breath labored from the blow, Núri hacked at the spear-shaft and then raised his axe high above his head. The brigand tried to fling up his spear to ward off the blow, but the axe came down onto his helm, cleaving it in two.
The dwarf leaned heavily on his axe and groaned as his fingers probed his bruised shoulder. The ranger ran to his side and spoke swiftly, ignoring the dwarf’s obvious discomfort.
‘Onwards! We must find Amdir!’ The ranger ran forward through the courtyard and the dwarf stumbled after him. Presently, the ranger came to a halt and beyond there came the unmistakable sound of fighting ahead in the gloom. Núri could plainly hear the ringing of steel upon steel, the clang of sword on shield; men were yelling and crying aloud, and one loud voice drew above all others. It was the voice of a Dourhand.
The pair crept towards a pair of towering pillars of stone on the edge of a large courtyard. In its center there rose a small dais lit by torches atop wooden poles. Bodies of many Blackwold lay unmoving about the courtyard and a short figure stood above the cringing form of a Man atop the dais.
Núri choked back a cry as recognition came to him and he began to spring forward towards his hated foe, Skorgrim. But the ranger hissed for silence, thrusting the dwarf back sternly.
The Dourhand Skorgrim
Standing over the wounded Man, the Dourhand snickered with cruel delight. ‘Why are you so worried, Blackwold?’
Groaning in pain and shaking with terror, the man pleaded desperately. ‘What do you want with me? I don't know anything!'
Skorgrím patted the Man’s shoulder with cruel malice. ‘There, there now. There's no need for concern...yet.’
The Man cried aloud once more and tried to crawl from under the Dourhand’s touch. ‘No, no, no! Stay away!’
Skorgrím frowned with displeasure and spat at the Man. ‘Did you think service to Angmar came without a cost?’ Suddenly the Dourhand looked up to spot the ranger and dwarf at the edge of the courtyard.
‘Ah! I have found them after all.’ He cried with evil delight. ‘You are relieved of your obligations, Blackwold.’ The Dourhand raised his axe and with a swipe the Man grew silent.
Skorgrím turned back to the ranger, hatred gleaming in his dark eyes. ‘Now, to deal with you, Ranger!’ The Dourhand made a motion with his hand and cried aloud in a dreadful voice some strange word of power and terror.
Núri was suddenly aware that the night air had become dreadfully cold and a shredded and tattered mist blew swiftly into the courtyard. His breath came visible into the air with each exhale and the very colours of everything seemed to drain away into a dreamy but fearful grayish blur.
‘I have other business to deal with...my servant shall deal with you!’ cried out the Dourhand.
From the surrounding greyish gloom there now came harsh, cruel words and a pale light began to grow in the darkness. The pale light quickly coalesced into a figure that suddenly leapt into the courtyard even as the Dourhand rushed from the dais and through an open archway. As Skorgrim fled from the courtyard, a heavy iron gate slammed shut behind him.
A Dreaded Barrow-wight
Everything slowed to a crawl, as if time itself were of no consequence. The dwarf sprang towards the Barrow-wight and raised his axe high above his head in agonizing languidness. He swung his axe in a wide but awkwardly slow arc, but the barrow-wight lifted its ancient-looking blade to meet it. The two weapons clashed together and Núri’s axe sprang back.
The dwarf’s heart was chilled to the marrow at the sight of the barrow-wight but he desperately swept up his axe once more to hew at the outstretched skeletal hand that reached out towards him. There was a horrible shriek as his axe severed the hand about the elbow.
Hesitating to look up at the horrible figure, the dwarf lashed out again with his axe in a wide arc and back again. A long snarling cry rent through the night air and when he opened his eyes once more, the strange light was no more and only a notched and ancient sword lay upon the stone at the dwarf’s feet.
Torthann strode up to the dwarf, glaring into the shadows for the appearance of more foes.
'Who was that dwarf and what power has he to command wights?’ asked the ranger in dismay and fear.
Núri said nothing but walked up to the gate through which Skorgrim had fled.
‘That the Blackwolds were in terror of that creature is certain,’ added Torthann, passing is hand over his eyes as if to ward off some unseen evil. ‘But I still sense something greater still in these ruins.’
‘Indeed, it seems to be true. Something terrible is afoot here I am afraid,’ said the dwarf grimly.
Torthann strode up to the gate to stand next to the dwarf. 'And where is Amdir? Perhaps beyond that gate?’ He grasped the gate and swung it upwards. ‘Come friend, this is not the end of our business here! I fear that foul dwarf is not the end of the evil here and the greatest evils may be behind this gate. Do not lose your nerve!’
Through the open gate the pair swiftly passed through. On the far side there rose a long flight of stone stairs; they could see little upwards except far above there came a faint and unnatural glimmer of strange radiance far above.
Thick mist and fog hugged the stone floor of the courtyard at the top of the flight of steps and in its center the rose a darkened slab of stone. On all sides of the stone slab shadows rose from out of the mist – four tall black figures looked down upon a lone form lying atop the slab. So dark was these figures that they seemed as if holes of blackness in the very darkness itself. Faint hisses of venomous breath and thin piercing cried filled the air.
These voices of evil and malice rent the air and the ranger was overcome with terror and threw himself flat upon the stone, unable to move. Even the stout-heart of Núri gave way and he do little more than stand there motionless, as his axe fell from his nervous hand.
Nazgûl come to Ost Baranor
Looking up at the intruders, one of the black figures cried aloud in a harsh, merciless voice. ‘You shall not interfere! Amdir is now a servant of the Great Eye!’
The black figure turned to loom down at the figure atop the stone slab and raised its arms high into the air. ‘Now, Amdir! Take on the robes of the Cargûl -- the Foresworn!’
A Mannish figure to one side of the courtyard cried out in alarm and pointed to a gated archway on the far side. ‘My Lords! The Rangers approach with fire!’
One of the Nazgûl snarled with contempt. ‘The fools are too late. Amdir's change is nearly complete! Come, brethren, we must leave. Now is not the time for such a fight. We leave Amdir and these fools in your care, Éogan!’
The Man grinned with pleasure. ‘Yes, my lord!’
Suddenly several figures rushed into the courtyard, each bearing torches of bright flame and naked swords in their hands. It was Strider and the other rangers.
‘You do not belong here, Nazgûl!’ cried Strider as he charged the black figure who gave ground and then turned to flee from the courtyard.
Lenglinn rushed forward after them crying out. ‘Do not let them escape!’ With great speed the rangers flew after the fleeing black figures.
Torthann and the dwarf, now free from the terror of the servants of the Eye, sprang forward as well, only to pull up abruptly before the stone slab. The figure that had lain upon the slab now rose up tall and threatening above them.
‘You are too late! I am Cargûl! I serve the Great Eye!’ screamed the crimson-robed horror, its very malice filling the air. A sword of cruel steel it held in its gloved hand but only a deadly gleam of eyes could be seen within the folds of the darkened hood. With a cry of hatred and malice the shadow of despair raised its blade, its cruel eyes glittering with hatefulness.
The Rise of Cargûl
But suddenly, the shadow faltered backwards with a stinging cry of pain as Núri swept forward with a cry. His axe swung forward, shearing through the thick robes and Cargûl’s stroke went wide. Torthann too cried aloud and drove his sword up into the bowels of the wraith and Cargûl fell backwards under the onslaught.
With no respite, the pair leapt after the wraith, first stabbing from one side then another as Cargûl swung desperately side to side to ward off the many blows. With a great shout, Núri swept onto the slab and brought his axe down upon the hood of the wraith and the shroud fell away to the ground as if empty of naught but air. Shapeless the robes tumbled down and a heartless cry swept up into the air high above the courtyard. There it lingered for a moment and then faded away into a wailing that passed away into the night wind.
Torthann lowered his sword and a dark shadow passed over his face. ‘I am sorry, Amdir...be at peace....’ he murmured quietly and for some time said nothing more. Then he looked up and beckoned the dwarf to his side.
‘It is a day both dreary and joyous. It grieves me that we were forced to slay Amdir, but a relief that he should now know peace. Let us return to my camp, and we can talk further there while we rest from battle.’
The Generosity of Strangers – 22nd Harvestmath, TA 3018
Following the encounter with the Nazgûl at the ruins of Ost Baranor, Núri returned to the Inn of the Prancing Pony. He did not seek out the ranger Strider right away the next morning but instead went about Bree to settle various business with several Mannish merchants in town.
In the merchant square, the dwarf was haggling with the smith, Cooper Basilleaf, about the price of a small pouch of uncut agate gemstones. The Mannish merchant was a shrewd bargainer and the two went back and forth for some time without agreement.
After a time, Basilleaf’s firm price was four silver and 84 copper pennies; the dwarf thought that was indeed at least a half the proper price of the stones’ value, but he accepted the price nonetheless. The dwarf handed over the small pouch of stones and watched silently as the merchant carefully and slowly counted out the small coins, which Núri then stuffed into his bag.
The dwarf bade the merchant a good day and turned to walk away. Then he noticed a strange dark-skinned man clad in strange clothes watching him from not too far off from the merchant’s stall. The man’s face was hooded and masked with black, except for his eyes that shone dark from beneath the hood. The dwarf eyed the stranger suspiciously as he approached and saluted the dwarf.
The dwarf bowed deeply before the stranger but before he could speak, the stranger spoke aloud.
'Let’s take a walk,' he said simply.
Núri glared at the stranger with much suspicion. ‘Why may I ask,’ he said the distrust thick in his voice.
'No reason,’ said the stranger matter-of-factly. ‘Just seeking to enjoy the sights of this fair city. 'Shall we?'
Núri still suspected some form of treachery but motioned for the stranger to lead the way. 'Fair enough stranger, but where to?' he asked sternly.
The stranger pointed across the merchant square towards the Three Farrow Crafting Hall 'Let’s say the crafting hall. I have some business there….I may craft you something as well, If you require it.'
As they walked, the stranger looked straight ahead and fell silent. Finally, the dwarf broke the silence and spoke.
‘What is your name stranger?'
The Man did not look down but kept looking ahead as he answered. 'My name is Thomas of the Dale Lands, nice to make your acquaintance.' After a pause, he added, 'And yourself?'
‘I am Núri,’ replied the dwarf, ‘of Ered Luin, at your service. Strange garb you wear….’ The dwarf’s voice trailed off.
The stranger chuckled and then replied. 'Yes, I am not from around these parts. I come from a distant land in the south.'
‘Oh, from where then?' asked the dwarf with interest.
'Far southern regions of Arda,' answered the stranger curtly.
The dwarf thought for a moment then asked. ‘Hmm south of the lands of Gondor then?'
'Far south,' replied the mysterious man.
The unlikely pair approached the crafting hall and the dwarf halted to turn to the stranger. ‘Well we are here, stranger. Why have you brought me here?’
Thomas swung the front door open and from within there came the clanging of hammer on anvil and the hot hiss of water into forge.
'So not only can I make you jewelry to use, but you shall be wearing exquisite jewelry.'
'You are a smith then?' replied the dwarf with interest.
'A master expert jeweler,' answered the stranger. 'I learned the trade in Dale from the age of 15. My father was an artisan jeweler, the best in the western regions some believe.’
The dwarf scoffed at the notion that a Man could even match the crafting of his people but instead replied, ‘I myself am a craftsman, from the mountain halls of Ered Luin, but I often work the road from Thorin’s Hall to Bree.'
'I say that's quite a long road to travel,' replied Thomas.
The dwarf nodded. 'I am an armourer by trade but it often takes me far from home.'
It was the stranger’s turn to nod. 'To have come so far is a testament to your adventurous traits. Understandable my friend.'
Núri shook his head. 'No adventurer, I am afraid, just a smith.'
The stranger walked over to an open crafting table and began to draw forth from his bag tools and such and then set himself to work.
Thomas of the Dale lands
'You work with gems then?' asked the dwarf as he peered round to watch the stranger with interest.
'Indeed I do,' replied Thomas, ‘Due to lack of silver however, I needed to make jewelry without gems.'
For some time, the stranger worked on several items, turning them over in his hands until he was satisfied. He then turned to the dwarf and bade him to take the items. It was a pair of silver rings and bracelets the stranger held out before him.
Amazed, the dwarf shook his head. 'I must refuse my friend; I have little to offer in return for such items.’ He then remembered something and reached into his own bag. ‘I do have some uncut stones I might trade for such items.'
Thomas smiled. 'If you would be so kind, I will accept any gems are certainly appreciated.'
‘Let’s see what else I might have,' added the dwarf and he scoured deeper into his pack.
‘Ah, here we are…’ said the dwarf after some time. He withdrew a small pouch of uncut amethysts stones and handed them to the stranger then drew out a scroll of parchment as well.
'How does that sound?' asked the dwarf after a moment.
'Ahhhhh, I haven’t learned that recipe yet. Sounds simply divine!'
‘Good,’ replied the dwarf. ‘A fair trade then, my friend?'
'Fair indeed,’ answered the stranger with delight. ‘Having asked for nothing in return, I am humbled at what you give me.'
Núri bowed low before the stranger and spoke. ‘Thomas, thank you and fair well on your journey.'
'Same to you my friend,’ replied Thomas. ‘May the good spirits keep you safe.'
‘The same to you as well,' added Núri. The dwarf bowed low once more before turned round and exiting the crafting hall.
Some time ago (with my new story) a Lotro player asked me in-game how I write my story as far as the dialogue between both computer characters and players in the game.
Simply put, I record every conversation verbatim; when speaking with NPC's, the dialogue is exactly what the game characters say (well, except for some embellishments during boring periods). I try to respond in-game through emotes and speak to them in-chat as if I was speaking with another player. A great help with the write-ups is the lotro-wiki.com page. This site lists all the quests in the game as well as all the conversation the NPC's say during a particular quest.
Conversations with other players is also completely verbatim, except for editing. I chat-log all role-playing with other characters so that the write-ups are completely accurate. I also try to keep notes in battle as far as how did I do. Was a particular battle hard? Did I miss a great deal? Did I slay the opponent swiftly? All of this is included in my posts as best that I can. Suffice to say, I do not chat-log every person that waves at me as I walk down a street, but I because I do not include that does not mean any sort of slight or disdain on my part.
At most, I leave out the mundane things when I can that have no bearing to the story. Ad I progress in the game, a great deal of time must be allotted to leveling, which makes for very dry reading, considering when one must kill 50 to 100+ mobs to level, since I am not completing a good number of quests in the regions I pass through.
I hope everyone can continue to enjoy the story, and please forgive me if I meet you on line and walk right past your character - I am trying to remain in total immersion so speaking with a complete stranger would unrealistic. Well, unless the stranger approaches me first.....
As good as always and I am glad to see you have arrived in Bree - a hub of many adventures and plagued by Evils from all around (pretending I didn't already know you had).
These mannish people - as you call them - tall annoying whatnots (as I call them) will provide you with many distractions from your own quest, but in return many rewards and laughs (at their expense).
Keep up the good work and I once again apologize for been unable to assist you with your deeds - my work take me all over these lands and seems to involve a great deal of nighttime escapades [OOC: Meaning both the time difference and I do seem to be always logging at night - Middle Earth time - log in, look up, star filled sky again, oh well].
There is a mistaken belief that there wasn't a Woman in the Fellowship. It is just that when she got to Rivendell. "You want to climb over the Misty Mountains - You want to go down through Moria - Are you all mad." So she moved in with the Elves instead.
Núri lifted his head to glimpse the distant forest beyond to the east. As the sun turned west, there came a gleam of yellow upon its far roof as the light caught the autumn leaves. The end of autumn was fast approaching, he thought to himself as he gazed out over the golden leaves of the forest. The threshold of winter was known to Durin’s Folk as Durin’s Day, when the last moon of autumn and the sun shared the sky together. But of the particulars of this date was unknown to Durin’s Folk, for it had long passed his peoples’ skills in these latter days to guess when such a time would come each year.
He wiped his brow and reached for his pick once more and set about the harvesting of the copper ore he had uncovered from the hillside. Despite the mundane nature of the task at hand, the dwarf was content, as he always was when it came to such work. As he raised his pick, he thought once more about his meeting with the dwarven smith, Osur Stouthammer, in Bree the day before.
It was while he was at the Three-farrow Crafting Hall in Bree when he had met the fellow dwarf. Being both kin of Durin’s Folk, the two naturally fell into conversation as if old friends. The smith, an armourer in the employment of the Bree town guard, had a dilemma.
'Have you ever seen such a disappointment, friend?’ exclaimed the dwarven smith with disgust. ‘The Men of this town are wearing armour of such low quality; I'm surprised they can come out in the daylight without embarrassment!’
Núri chuckled at this and then looked side-long at the other dwarf.
‘Truly, Men are not the best of smiths, and certainly not in such a small settlement such as this,’ replied Núri.
Osur nodded in agreement. 'If Bree-town is attacked, these guards could not hope to prevail. They are badly in need of better armour.’
‘Perhaps I can help, for I am an armourer, though not of great skill, but certainly there is something I can do to aid a fellow dwarf?’ answered Núri.
‘Yes!’ exclaimed the other dwarf. ‘Perhaps the forging of some bronze armour and bucklers? It might not be much, but it's a start. Bring them to me and perhaps we will be able to turn these guards into a fighting force after all!'
Núri was more than happy to oblige the smith, for his hands had longed to grip a hammer and his eyes missed the sight of an anvil since departing from Thorin’s Hall. He readily agreed to aid the smith, but first he knew he must secure the necessary copper and tin ore to begin the forging.
The dwarf has spent much of the early morning scouring the fields and slopes around the southern shores of the Big Staddlemere looking for signs of copper ore veins. At first, he had little luck, but as the morning melted away, his search finally proved fruitful, and along the slopes that flanked the placid lake, he found ore aplenty.
Long into the afternoon the dwarf toiled under the warm autumn sun. With sufficient copper and tin ore, he could smelt bronze ingots which in turn could be beaten and hammered into armour and bucklers for the Bree town guard.
Several times over the afternoon, Núri had been forced to throw down his pick and swiftly reach for his axe when wild boars wandered in to the area, drawn to the sounds of the dwarf’s work. They proved no match for the dwarf, but it did lengthen the day’s work so that it was late in the afternoon by the time he had harvested what he hoped would enough ore for the task at hand.
The sun had sunken far beyond the village of Staddle to the west by the time the dwarf halted his work for the evening. Weary from his toils, Núri did not turn to make his way back to Staddle, but instead found a nice spot along the shores of the lake, beneath a large oak, and set camp for the evening. He threw his pack, axe and pick onto the ground and rested.
That evening, the dwarf was miserable and hardly slept. Though he had set about building a large campfire to ward off anything that wished to molest him as he slept, it seemed to do little in this respect. Several times during the evening, he was roused from slumber by the unmistakable grunting of wild boars and on more than one occasion the dwarf was forced to deal with a boar that wandered into the camp light.
The next morning Núri roused himself from sleep and broke camp, intent on returning to Staddle where he hoped to begin smelting the copper and tin ore into ingots. With the ingots, the dwarf then would begin forging the bronze armour and bucklers.
Long into the morning the dwarf toiled, bent for long hours over the forge and anvil. The sun climbed high into the sky and then fell away into the west by the time the dwarf had completed his task. And yet, by the drawing of afternoon, there now lay several bronze tunics of armour and bronze buckler shields fresh from the forge.
The dwarf eyed his craftsmanship and was greatly pleased with himself and his skill.
The Workmanship Of Núri
The armour was far superior to that worn by the town guard of Bree. With the hour of dusk fast approaching, Núri loaded the armour onto a small cart and left instructions for the items to be delivered to Osur at the crafting hall in Bree.
As for the dwarf, he now thought it was best that he return to the ranger Strider to speak with him about the appearance of the Dourhand, Skorgrim at Ost baranor. The dwarf feared that the Dourhand held great mischief in store in the Bree-lands and wished to speak with the ranger about his suspicions.
Núri found the mysterious ranger back at his room at the Prancing Pony. Swiftly, the dwarf detailed the battle with Skorgrim and of the wraith that once was Amdir he and Torthann had fought.
'It grieves my heart that the Enemy was able to turn Amdir thus,’ exclaimed the ranger, his voice heavy with grief. ‘He was my friend and kinsman. My people will remember him as the man he once was, good and noble. It troubled me that the Nazgûl had crossed the River and moved into Bree-land at just this time. There are events in motion that could determine the fate of Middle-earth.’
The ranger fell silent in deep thought for a moment and then spoke again.
‘But much has happened since you departed from Ost Baranor, but I have little time to relate it. The tidings you have brought me will be of great use to my men here in Bree-land, but there is a more immediate threat we must deal with now.’
The very somberness of the ranger chilled the dwarf, but he remained silent, waiting for Strider to continue.
'While you were away, those same Nazgûl you saw with Amdir attacked the Pony. They were in search of the travelers I had been awaiting, four hobbits of the Shire. I cannot tell you what they had such interest in my companions, but I can tell you that I will have need of your help again.'
‘Of course,’ replied the dwarf grimly. ‘Any aid I can offer is yours.’
The ranger nodded in thanks. 'While both you and I have seen five Nazgûl, their true number is nine. Before I can take my charges beyond Bree, I must know where the other four are hiding. Would you travel to the west and speak to Lenglinn? I sent him to Buckland to watch over a particular hobbit, but it seems that Mr. Underhill and his friends decided to take a different path and are now here under my protection. Still, Lenglinn may know the whereabouts of the remaining Nazgûl.'
The very thought of facing one of those terrible wraiths chilled the dwarf’s very blood, and he quickly pushed away thoughts of that terrible encounter within Ost Baranor. He had little desire to meet them once more but he hardened his heart and resolve and stammered, ‘I am at your service, Strider,’ replied the dwarf as he bowed low. ‘And where might I find this man?’
'He camps on a rise just north of the Buckland Gate and may have seen something that will aid me. You must hurry. I cannot afford to delay here overly long.'
‘Very well, I will do as you ask. But I am weary from the day’s work and fear that I will not be able to depart until tomorrow. I will depart at first light.’
The dwarf bowed low once more and turned to leave the room to seek out lodging for the evening. There was much the dwarf had to contemplate and a journey to prepare for. What lay ahead was unknown to him but he feared that he had not seen the last of those terrible shadows of Mordor.
As good as always and I am glad to see you have arrived in Bree - a hub of many adventures and plagued by Evils from all around (pretending I didn't already know you had).
These mannish people - as you call them - tall annoying whatnots (as I call them) will provide you with many distractions from your own quest, but in return many rewards and laughs (at their expense).
Keep up the good work and I once again apologize for been unable to assist you with your deeds - my work take me all over these lands and seems to involve a great deal of nighttime escapades [OOC: Meaning both the time difference and I do seem to be always logging at night - Middle Earth time - log in, look up, star filled sky again, oh well].
Zitat von Goodyear2007
I'm very glad to see you're keeping this story going! +rep for you sir.
Thank you very much for the continued interest! I have been extremely lax in posting new spots for the story - summer tends to do that. However, I am striving very hard to update the story to the fullest this week. I noticed today that I am up to 20 chapters already! And that is just my travels from Ered Luin to Bree!
In the Black Riders’ Wake – 24 Harvestmath, TA 3018
Núri had traveled throughout the morning since before the sunrise to reach the rise north of the Buckland gate along the Great East Road. The dwarf had come here seeking the encampment of a ranger named Lenglinn on behalf of Strider. The ranger was desperate to learn if other Nazgûl had passed out of the Shire in the wake of the attack on the Prancing Pony.
Núri's Travels
The dwarf cautiously climbed the slope leading up from the road and soon spied a small encampment at the summit, sheltered by a few trees. Lying beside a small campfire was a Man; he was clad in a cloak of forest green and his hood was cast over his head, obscuring dark strands of hair except for his eyes that shone keen and bright. The man instinctively gripped his sword even as the dwarf held up his hand, palm up, in token of peace. Núri halted some distance away and then his clear voice rang out.
‘Hail, friend. I am Núri, son of Brodli, I seek a ranger named Lenglinn, for I have been sent by Strider from Bree to seek him out. Are you he?’
The man breathed a sigh of relief and lowered his sword but remained prone on the ground.
Lenglinn's Encampment
'Aragorn has sent aid!’ he exclaimed.
‘Yes,’ answered the dwarf. ‘But I am the only the aid he has seen fit to send.’ The dwarf swiftly related the attack on the Prancing Pony by the Black Riders.
‘Nazgûl, four more, were in Buckland,’ replied the ranger grimly. ‘They rode swiftly to the east, upon black steeds. I was foolish enough to stand in their way, and they ran me down.’
The man shifted his position on the ground and groaned with discomfort and pain.
'I will heal in time, but the Riders have left a threat in their wake that must be dealt with. I must ask for your help.'
The dwarf came forward to sit beside the small campfire. ‘I am at your disposal, for I am sure that Strider would wish for me to lend you any aid that I can. What do you ask of me?’
'In the Black Riders' wake, crebain have taken roost,’ replied Lenglinn. ‘They are not the common strain from Dunland, but a breed I have not seen before. Likely these foul creatures keep watch on Buckland and Shire...or at the very least me, since they have taken to staring at me in the night. While the crebain may see nothing of interest, the fact that the Enemy has eyes here is dangerous. If we were to blind these eyes, the Enemy would not be as sure in directing its efforts. If you would, dispose of the crebain that roost to the south-west, just beyond my camp.’
The dwarf climbed to his feet and looked up into the bright sky. ‘I will seek these birds out as you ask. Look for my return, Lenglinn ere the sun sets.’
Núri bowed low and turned to depart. He walked back down the slope towards the road but before reaching it he stopped and knelt to the ground. Away to the west and down a rocky slope the dwarf could see movement in the air and among a number of trees and the bottom of the hill. It was flocks of dark birds, like crows of large size. And even from this distance the dwarf could easily hear their harsh croaking.
Hefting his axe, the dwarf stealthily made his way down the slope, passing once or twice to watch the evil-looking birds. Despite his caution, one bird turned its dark head and its tiny eyes fell upon the dwarf from its perch in a nearby tree.
The bird let out a piercing cry that was swiftly answered by many more. Startled, the dwarf fell back even as a number of the crebain took to the air and flew straight at him. But then the dwarf leapt forward to meet the oncoming creatures, his axe held before him.
The Crebain
Despite their great numbers, Núri swept through the crebain, smiting the air with wide arcs of his axe. The birds screeched and beat the air with their wings in furious anger, tearing at the dwarf’s cloak and hood. He swung his axe high and felled a crebain then smashed another to the ground. Within moments, the air went silent and the ground was littered with ten or so of the dark birds.
The dwarf’s cloak and hood was rent and tattered and blood flowed from the crebain’s claws but he was still standing. Cautiously, he turned to climb back up the slope towards the ranger’s camp.
‘Hail, Lenglinn, it is I, Núri. I have returned.’ The dwarf set his axe upon the ground and sat beside the campfire.
‘I have done as you asked of me. The Enemy will have fewer eyes watching Buckland after this day. I found the roost of the birds you spoke of and have dealt with them.’
'Good, you have slain those foul birds!’ answered the ranger. ‘The Enemy will not be nearly as sure in their efforts now! However, I still have need of your aid. I must ask that you do something in Buckland, as it was their Horn-call that alerted me to the presence of the Nazgûl.'
The ranger shifted uncomfortably and then spoke again.
'You have said that Underhill is with Aragorn? I know of no Underhills...I was sent to watch over a hobbit named Baggins. I must assume that is whom Aragorn spoke of. That he is safe is welcome news, for my fears are somewhat allayed. It was late in the night when I heard the Horn-call of Buckland. Running to the road, I saw the Nazgûl leaving Buckland at a gallop. I tried to stop them, but they ran me down. I feared they had already found Baggins.’
'The four Riders passed eastward towards Bree, but we may discover what they learned, if anything, at Baggins' home in Crickhollow. It is a cottage surrounded by a high hedge almost directly south-east of the Buckland Gate. If you learn anything there, return to me. What news you can bring me may help determine the movements of the Nazgûl.'
The dwarf rose from the campfire and bowed before the ranger. ‘I will do as you ask, Lenglinn. I will return here swiftly with what news I can uncover.’
Núri bade the ranger goodbye for now and turned to make his way back down the hillock and onto the Great East Road once more. It was noon as he met the road and turned to the north to trek the short distance to Crickhollow.
It was becoming quite warm as the morning sun climbed high into the sky with the approach of noon-time; but clouds were beginning to come up from the east. The dwarf prodded down the lane towards the Brandywine Bridge and he reckoned that he would reach Crickhollow just about noon.
Soon, Núri was standing before the hedge gate leading into the sleepy Buckland village of Newbury and Crickhollow. A bored-looking hobbit Bounder stood at the gate, and looked curiously at the dwarf as he approached.
The dwarf passed through the gate, nodding at the Bounder as he did so. He followed the narrow lane past a couple of broken-down wagons and turned from the lane to climb a track to the left up a gentle slope. Ahead he spotted a high hedge surrounding a dwelling further along the track and he turned straight for it.
Núri stepped through the open gate in the hedge and into the courtyard of the dwelling. A broad, plump hobbit stood on the porch of the house; he spotted the figure of the dwarf and cried aloud with fright.
'What? Who? I...I don't have it!’ Then realization set in and the hobbit’s demeanor changed from one of fright to relief. ‘Oh, wait, you aren't one of those Black Riders.’
‘No, my friend, I am not one of them,’ replied the dwarf. “But tell me, what transpired here of late? I am in great haste but am need of news of the Black Riders.’
‘I must tell you that I haven't been so frightened in my life,’ stammered the hobbit recalling the encounter. ‘Did they learn anything from me? Well, those Riders came busting into the house, but I had already slipped out the back way. Not a thing did they get from me. When the Shirriffs came, they made me tell them about Frodo and the others going off into the Old Forest, but I didn't say a thing about the Enemy's Ring... ‘
The hobbit trailed off as he cocked his head as if listening to something. He then raised his hand to his brow and looked through the trees and over the hedge to the north-east. He squinted and then cried out in alarm.
'Oh, dear! I mean...I...what is that? It sounds like crows....'
Startled, the dwarf unslung his axe as the sounds or hoarse croaking came to his ears as well. From the trees there now came into view a trio of black crebain, squawking as they flew through the branches. He leapt forward, calling out as he did so.
‘Get behind me!’ he bellowed, and pulled back his axe above his head. The first black bird swooped down on the dwarf with great speed, only to be swatted out of the air with a swipe of the dwarf’s axe. The other two screeched aloud in anger and swarmed over the dwarf.
The Spies of the Enemy
Coolly, the dwarf planted his feet broadly on the ground and swept forward with his axe in a wide arc. Both birds dropped out the air at his feet.
‘Oh no! More are coming!’ cried out the hobbit once more, and he pointed over the hedge in the direction of the first crebain.
Again, Núri stood his ground and met the oncoming birds. The first dove straight at him, but he pummeled it to the ground with his axe even as the other two swung round to dive at him as well. Deftly, the dwarf struck forward with his axe, swatting another from the air, and then lashed out again to beat the last one to the ground.
‘You did it!’ exclaimed Fredegar Bolger with joy. You didn't get all of them though. Some flew off into the Old Forest! I hope they don't come back!’
Núri peering into the sky to watch the last of the evil birds disappear over the eaves of the nearby forest. The hobbit was correct, he thought, I should return to the ranger with all haste.'
The dwarf said nothing to the hobbit but turned and sprinted out the gate with great haste. Dwon the lane he sped and through the Crickhollow gate and onto the Great East Road once more.
Soon, the dwarf was seated beside the ranger’s campfire, relating what had occurred at Baggin’s home in Crickhollow.
Once the dwarf had completed his tale, the ranger blurted out, 'The Enemy's Ring! It is no wonder Aragorn was as secretive as to why the Enemy was seeking Baggins! If the crebain heard Fredegar's words, the Enemy will know for certain that the Ring is no longer in the Shire, and all will be lost! Finding those birds in the Old Forest will not be a simple task. I would ask that you return to Aragorn in Bree and seek his counsel on how to find these foul birds.'
‘Indeed,’ replied the dwarf with concern. ‘Strider must be made aware of this turn of events. I shall seek him immediately in Bree at the Prancing Pony.’
The dwarf clambered to his feet and bowed low before the ranger. ‘Pray that your wounds heal swiftly, Lenglinn. Until our paths cross once more, good bye and good luck!’
The afternoon sun was low in the western sky and dusk was fast approaching when the dwarf returned to the Prancing Pony. He was weary from his journey back from Lenglinn’s camp, but he sped through the inn door and made his way from the tavern room to Strider’s room in the inn.
He knocked loudly on the door, pushing it open briskly and steeped through the doorway. The ranger was standing beside the hearth as Núri entered and turned to face the dwarf with a grim look upon his worn face.
The dwarf bowed low and then spoke. ‘I have returned with all haste, Strider, bearing unsettling news!’ Quickly he related Lenglinn’s words and that of Fatty Bolger, leaving out no detail. Once he was finished, the ranger stoked the fire with an iron poker, as if in deep thought. After some time, the ranger spoke.
'This is dire news, he declared grimly. ‘While the four hobbits I was awaiting are safe for the moment, the protection Bree offers is fleeting, at best. We must leave soon, and if the Enemy's suspicions were confirmed by these crebain, that what they seek is no longer in the Shire, our trip may be all the more perilous. Yet the Old Forest is a twisting labyrinth that can lead even the most experienced tracker astray. Finding these crebain will not be easy...'
The dwarf bowed his weary head but then turned up to look at the ranger coldly. ‘What is that you ask of me, Strider?’
'There is one who could find these crebain for us, if we were to ask him for such aid,’ replied the ranger. ‘However, he may not see our worries as his. He is known by many peoples by many names. Of old, he was known as Orald to Men, while to the Dwarves he was simply Forn. The Elves called him Iarwain Ben-adar, oldest and fatherless. However, in these days, he is known as Tom Bombadil by those few who are aware of him.’
'Look for Old Bombadil's house, which lies at the far eastern end of the Withywindle, the river that flows through the Old Forest. He may help you if you ask him in my name, Aragorn. If you discover anything, I would ask that you address it as best you can. I wish I could help you in this task, but the safety of my charges comes before all else.'
The dawn was still breaking over the Bree-lands when Núri drew to Adso’s Camp along the Great East Road, some distance west of the town of Bree. To the south, not far from the camp, there was the beginning of a broad path leading off the road, and then up a gentle slope and through a cleft in the high cliffs.
Núri left the main road and walked up the dusty lane. On the far side of Adso’s Camp was a faint path leading through the cleft in the rock and more to the forest beyond. At the cleft, the dwarf halted and glanced back at the camp and then turned to continue down the path.
Ahead, the dwarf could glimpse tree-trunks of many sizes and shapes; some were straight while others cruelly bent and misshapen, or twisted and gnarled, and all were green or grey with thick moss and slimly, shaggy growths.
The East Forest Road
He picked his way cautiously along the track, trying to avoid the many writhing and entangling roots that littered the wide expanse. As he did so, his thoughts lingered on what little he had heard of the Old Forest.
Many of the folk of Buckland thought the forest queer and spoke that it did not like strangers much. Only the bravest of hobbit would dare the forest, and only during the day, for the forest became particularly alarming after the sun went down.
The track rose steadily ahead and the trees now appeared taller, darker and thicker flanking the faint path. Much to his dislike, the dwarf entertained the uncomfortable feeling that he was being watched with a sense of enmity. The feeling grew more so as he ventured deeper down the path, until he began to instinctively looked constantly around him as if half-expecting an attack from some unseen foe.
Núri had not gone far went there came without warning a fierce howl from the gloom of the path ahead. Into view there now crept up a great grey wolf-shape. The wolf halted some distance from the lone dwarf, gazing at him silently. Then with a snarl, it sprang forward with a great leap.
The Forest Hunter
The dwarf stood his ground, planting his feet wide and hefted his axe as the wolf sprang forward. As it snapped its jaws towards him, Núri stepped to the side and swung his axe in a great sweep. With a cry, he hewed the head off and the wolf thudded to the ground.
The dwarf crept forward cautiously, expecting another attack from any direction. Soon, the path he had been following disappeared and the trees drew close so as the wide expanse was flanked by a solid wall of trees to either side. He had little choice but to press forward.
Further ahead, the canopy that had been partially open to the sky above now closed overhead and the air became hot and oppressive. The wall of trees drew even closer as he went and some seemed to sway unnaturally in the still forest air. Here or there, Núri could glimpse the grey, shadowy form of a wolf or two and he did his best to avoid them.
After some time, the dwarf came to a large widening of the forest path and there were two paths leading of the opposite direction on the far side. He hurriedly crosses the clearing and turned west then south again until the path began to climb gently and wound round from the south to the east.
Suddenly, the forest gave and a hillock rose before the dwarf. The canopy gave way and opened to the clear sky high above the forest. Seated atop the hillock was a house of wood and stone and somewhere up the slope he could hear a deep and gladdened voice singing carelessly and happily.
The House of Tom Bombadil
‘Hey dol merry dol wither are you going? Tramping in the forest lands and through the rivers flowing!’
There now came into view along the path to the house a man, or so he seemed. Atop his head he bore an old battered hat with a tall crown and a long blue feather stuck in the band. He wore great yellow boots, a blue coat and a long brown beard. His face was as red as an apple and his eyes shone blue and bright.
The man looks down upon the dwarf with much mirth and then tramped off singing another song of nonsense.
‘Wait!’ cried the dwarf. ‘Just a moment, if you please!’
The strange whimsical man seemed not to notice and he hopped and bounded back up the hill in song. The dwarf gave chase, huffing as he jogged after the fellow. Drawing close, the dwarf grasped the man’s arm and turned him round.
‘Half a moment of your time,’ he said, out of breath.
The man smiled and spoke rapidly. 'Hoy now! Hey now! What's all this fussing? We've not had so many guests since our wedding! There is time enough for bird-watching, but perhaps first a song or two, my hearty? Let you heart fly free and put aside your worries. You are in the house of Tom Bombadil!'
‘You are Tom Bmbadil?’ exclaimed the dwarf rather shocked. ‘That is good, for I have been sent to seek you out by the ranger Strider of Bree.’
Núri quickly spat out his story before the man could waltz away once more. When he was finished, the man laughed aloud.
'My Goldberry is away at her spring, and I was going lily-hunting! I've no time for chasing birds. But hoy now! Strider's a name I know, and a friend of Old Tom's! Hear then my offer: While Old Tom Bombadil looks for sour crows, you'll gather lilies for my lovely. I saw some along the river, just a hop and a jump away. Just follow along until, ring a ding dillo, you find Old Man Willow! You watch that old Grey Willow-man. He's a mighty singer. He'll sing you down to sleep and drown you, if you don't be careful.'
Núri balked at first, unsure if the man was genuine. Then, with a sigh, he bowed low.
‘I will fetch these lilies you ask for and I shall return shortly.’
The dwarf turned from the hill and made his way down the southern slope. At the bottom he came onto a winding and lazy river of brown water, bordered with ancient willows. He assumed this was the river the strange man spoke of. He peered upstream and spotted a small waterfall to the east.
Hitching his pack higher onto his back, the dwarf turned and trudged through the shallow water along the bank to the west. Some distance ahead, the forest gave way to a large clearing where there loomed a huge willow-tree. Old and hoary it appeared; its snaking branches seemed as great long-fingered hands. Here or there in the shallow water, he could make out white lilies growing in infrequent patches.
Old Man Willow
Núri moved forward, slinging his axe over one shoulder and bent down to pluck one of the nearby lilies. Here it was hot and oppressive and his head began to swim. The dwarf half-entertained that he could just barely make out a gentle noise in the glade, a soft fluttering it seemed as of a song half-whispered from far off.
The dwarf dragged his legs forward, a sleepiness washing over him with every step and his eyes drooped with fatigue. He stumbled and fell forward onto his knees, blinking stupidly with hypnotic lethargy. ‘Get up, you old dwarf!’ he cried aloud. ‘It’s not time for a nap!’
He lifted his heavy eyes and gazed upon the willow tree as it swayed and creaked despite the absence of wind. The yellow leaves moved softly against the filtered light from above and it seemed that the song came from the tree itself.
For some time, the dwarf fought the overpowering desire of sleep and then struggled to his feet once more. Dreamily, Núri stumbled away from the tree, clutching the lilies in his hand, once or twice collapsing into the water until by sheer willpower alone, he forced himself to his feet and continued on.
He finally left the hoary willow-tree behind and the sleepiness soon wavered and withered away. After a short while, he reached the slope below Tom Bombadil’s house and climbed the hillock where he once again found the strange man.
‘I have returned Tom Bombadil with the lilies you asked for,’ called out the dwarf wearily. I have done as you asked….how about your part of the bargain?’
white for the River-daughter!’ sang the man. ‘Stronger than hobbit-folk are you if you outsang Willow-man! Not a lily crushed, nor leaf bent!’
Tom danced about with abandon and then stopped to face the dwarf.
'Old Tom's a merry fellow, but he knows when it's time for dancing or to go a-wighting. He's found your birds and none to soon. If you seek them out, then seek them now, unless you wish to sleep beneath green grass!'
‘What?’ replied the dwarf, confusion spreading across his face. ‘You speak in riddles?’
The man laughed and continued with his rhyme. 'Black birds flittered and fluttered, skipping among the branches. They came to rest where the restless walk. Beware the old barrows, they stir when they should be a-sleeping! Go north up the path and follow the Old Barrows Road, then south within the barrows wall along the forest eaves. Hey dol! Merry dol! And there you'll find them! Watch for the lady dreary.’
With that the man bounded off up the hill and away from the dwarf, his voice trailing off into the air.
'Now hop along, my hearty! Tom's a-going leaping!'
Whew, well that's six updated posts since Saturday! I am nearly caught up to my current position in the game. I believe that with 2-3 posts I should be updated fully.
I am almost to the end of Vol. 1, Book 1: Stirrings in the Darkness of the epic quests. I have decided to head for the Lone Lands after Bree - however, I am unsure as how far I should continue with the epic quests.
Well, I hope everyone is still enoying the story overall and are still following Núri's travels!
The Barrow Downs – 26 Harvestmath to 3 Wintring, TA 3018
Núri did not set out immediately for the Barrow Downs in pursuit of the crebain, despite the urgency of the task at hand. He was very troubled of the events of late since he had departed from Ered Luin and heavy was his mind upon his return to Bree. Skrogrim had fled from the mountains in an attempt to stir up mischief in the Bree-lands among the Blackwold brigands. Rumours were many that the Dark Lord had arisen once more and the foul servants of Mordor were once more abroad in the land.
Map of Núri's Travels
The dwarf sent forth messages back to Ered Luin to his companions, informing them of his plight and of the road that lay ahead. He begged for them to come to Bree with all haste with aid. And so he waited as the last days of autumn slipped away. Each day dawned bright and warm but each evening was cool and cold. A wind began to blow chill air from the far-off Misty Mountains and the sun rose lower each dawn in the morning sky.
It was the evening of 1 Wintring that found the dwarf in the common room of the Prancing Pony. The company of patrons was large and mixed that night; Butterburr, the landlord, was minding the bar while talking to a couple of dwarves. Seated at the many benches and table throughout the dimly-lit room was a collection of dwarves, men and hobbits. Somewhere near the fireplace there stood a minstrel singing in a loud blustering voice.
Núri took a seat at a table near the back wall and set down his flagon of white wine. He drew out his wooden pipe from his pouch and leaned back in his chair. He had not been sitting long when from out of the busy crowd there came into view a short hobbit, dressed in simple trousers and fur-lined tunic. Slung over the hobbit’s back was a well-used lute.
Pushing back his chair, Núri climbed to his feet and called out to the new arrival. The hobbit turned to spot the dwarf and smiled broadly as she skipped up to the table with glee.
‘Well met Gildafern,’ exclaimed the dwarf, wonder filling his voice. ‘It has been some time since I saw you last. I had sent no summons of you and yet in my time of need should you care to arrive! What brings you all the way to the Bree-lands?'
‘Hello Nuri, my friend!’ exclaimed the hobbit cheerfully as she curtseyed politely before the older dwarf. 'I was drawn to Bree with stories of the town and its lively folk,' explained the hobbit. ‘I’m also here recovering from a rather nasty fight from some dourhand dwarves, miserable creatures!'
The dwarf nodded. 'Yes Bree is quite a lively town. Many a traveler comes up from the south as well as from the east, from the lands across the Misty Mountains. One may find all manner of strange folk in Bree. But what is this about dourhands?’
‘Ah yes,’ answered the hobbit. ‘A rather unfortunate battle trying to defend Ulfar from north of the Shire. A most unfortunate ending but I will return to avenge Ulfar.'
At this the dwarf’s interest was piqued and he set down his flagon of wine to listen intensely to the hobbit’s tale.
‘Who is this Ulfar you speak of?' asked the dwarf curiously.
'Ulfar is from north of the Shire, beyond the Rushock Bog.’
'I know of that place, my friend, and unkind memories do I have of it. But I am glad to see a friendly face in Bree since my journey from The Shire.’ Núri then hesitated before continuing. 'I might be in need of your aid, my friend.'
Gildafern grinned and prodded the dwarf. ‘Don't hold your tongue, what help do you need?'
‘I soon must make a dangerous and terrible journey into a region known as the Barrow Downs,’ explained the dwarf solemnly. ‘I have a dark task at hand that I must see to its bitter end. It is a journey fraught with danger, so I am reluctant to ask for your aid, my friend.’
The hobbit grinned. 'Ah, well, it’s nice to see a familiar face in strange surroundings...of course I will help you!'
‘In my hour of need you have come, my dear friend!’ cried the dwarf. ‘Come, come there is much we must discuss,’ exclaimed the dwarf as he clapped he hobbit’s shoulder with joy. ‘Let us retire to a more quiet room, my friend, for our business does not need prying eyes and listening ears.’
Long into the night, the companions talked and discussed; Núri related to Gildafern the events in Bree and of his discovery of the hated Skorgrim in league with the Blackwold brigands. And then the talk turned to the task before them. He told the young hobbit of the evil crebain that had snuck into the Bree-lands and of being driven out only to roost anew in the Barrow Downs. The sky far to the east was glowing red by the time the pair headed off to bed. The dwarf fell asleep with thoughts of Skorgrim and of the crebain and it was long into the morning when finally awoke the next day.
The next day found the dwarf seated back in the common room of the Prancing Pony at a small table near the hearth. He had awoken early in morning to begin preparation for the journey into the Barrow Downs and instructed Gildafern to do the same.
Núri lit his wooden pipe from an ember out of the fire and inspected a worn and faded map rolled out over the table. His finger rested momentarily on one portion of the map where written in a bold hand were the words, Barrow Downs.
As the dwarf poured over the map in silence, a slender woman approached the hearth. The stranger glanced about, sighing slightly as she held her hands out to warm them in the glow of the fire.
The dwarf set down his flagon of white wine and looked up at the stranger. The woman glanced down at the dwarf and spoke, a curious expression adorning her face.
‘Morning,’ she said simply. ‘It’s rather strange to see one of your folk here in Bree. I hope you don’t think it’s rude if I ask what you are here for?’
Núri rose from his seat and bowed. ‘Welcome and well met, stranger,’ he replied, bowing still lower. ‘Núri, son of Brodli, at your service.’
‘Cynuise,’ answered the stranger as she bowed in return. ‘Pleased to meet your acquaintance.’
‘And I yours,’ replied the dwarf briskly, peering curiously at the woman. ‘A strange speech you have…I have I met many a person in my travels but none garbed as yourself.’
‘My apologies,’ smiled the woman slightly. ‘I am not from around these parts. I hail from Rohan. I am here for reasons best kept secret.’
The dwarf frowned. 'Rohan…. that word is unknown to me. Where does that land lie?'
Cynuise paused for a moment. ‘Far to the east. Near what some would call Moria.’
The dwarf stared at the stranger suspiciously. ‘Moria you say? Very strange indeed.’
Cunuise looked down at the map laid across the table and then tilted her head. ‘Are you….,’ she paused a moment. ‘…in need of any assistance? I will be here for quite some time, I think, for there is much here that might aid my cause. Perhaps your goals may benefit mine.’
Núri gazed cautiously at the stranger then spoke. ‘Indeed I am. I am in need to journeying to what the Bree-folk name the Barrow Downs. But little do I wish to speak of it openly here.’
Cynuise nodded in understanding. ‘There are rooms in the back that offers more privacy, if you would be more comfortable to speak there?’
‘Perhaps,’ answered the dwarf guardedly. ‘But first, to whom do you serve?’
Cynuise looked down on the dwarf with eyes that seemed almost cold. ‘Myself,’ she replied sternly. ‘And the memory of one who is no longer among us.’
The dwarf frowned. ‘Yourself, you say? And of the other?’
‘To me he was simply Eventine, a most trusted mentor.’
‘Hmmm,’ replied the dwarf. ‘That name is unfamiliar to me.’
‘I would think his name would be unfamiliar to most,’ answered Cynuise. “Who do you serve, then, if you do not mind my asking?’
The dwarf stood tall and spoke proudly. ‘I serve the Master of the Halls of Ered Liun and of my people, Durin’s Folk.’
‘Ahh,’ answered Cynuise, ‘I have heard some mention of Ered Luin, though I have never seen it myself.’
Núri fell silent for a moment as his mind went back to the halls of Ered Luin. ‘Yes, it has been some time since my eyes looked upon the halls of my fathers. However, I have a task that requires my attention. I could use a strong sword-arm at my back such as yours.’
‘I would be pleased to be at your assistance,’ declared Cynuise. ‘What is it you require?’
‘I am awaiting the return of a companion, a hobbit from the Shire. She has agreed to accompany me into the Barrow Downs. A dark and forbidding place, if the tales be true.’
The dwarf looked about and then added in a hushed voice. ‘I am in need of traveling there to seek out a certain woman who is said to be hiding there. This person is said to be in league with the Enemy of old, the Lord of the Dark Tower of Mordor.’
Cynuise’s expression turned grim at the mention of Mordor and leaned in to speak in a guarded and low tone. ‘You are seeking to bring her to justice, I assume? If you are in need of my aid, I will lend assistance…though I warn you that this may not be the wisest course of action.’
‘Perhaps,’ added the dwarf. ‘But a task I have sworn to see to the end. However justice is not a requirement that has been asked of me.’
Cynuise furrowed her brow. ‘You are only to find her, then?’
The dwarf paused and then spoke again, picking his words carefully. ‘I wish to speak with her, but I fear she will not much like what I have to say. I fear there will be trouble, hence my desire to gather trustworthy companions to journey with me.’
Cynuise folded her arms across her chest as she considered the dwarf’s words. ‘I doubt you will be able to bring such a person to reason.’
Nuri shrugged. ‘Perhaps not, but I must nonetheless try.’
Cynuise fell silent in thought before speaking. ‘My own curiosities have been piqued by the Barrow-downs, and I suppose it may be wiser to travel in a group. I will defend you as best I can if your... negotiations... do not go as planned.'
Núri looked sternly at the woman. ‘Is that an agreement? Will you aid me?’
‘Yes,’ answered Cynuise. ‘In exchange for safety in numbers, I will lend my aid.’
‘I thank you,’ replied the dwarf as he bowed low. ‘I must depart to speak with some merchants, but we will depart at dawn tomorrow.’
‘So be it. I shall remain here until I am needed.’
The bright sun had already risen when Núri awoke in his room from his deep slumber. He quickly ate a small breakfast and gathered his pack and gear and made his way down to the common room of the inn. The common room was quiet and mostly empty as he entered, but he immediately spotted the familiar face of his friend, Gildafern, seated alone at a table.
The dwarf strode up to the table and bowed deeply before the hobbit.
‘Well met again, Gildafern. It is good to see you once more. ‘I am gladdened that you agreed to accompany me on the task before me. I am awaiting a third companion to arrive….her name is Cynuise of Rohan. She had agreed to journey with us into the haunted Barrow Downs.'
The hobbit stood up from the table and grinned. 'I look forward to making her acquaintance.'
The dwarf nodded and then added. ‘I will wait for Cynuise to arrive then I will explain the full nature of my task at hand.'
Presently a voice rang on in the muted room and the dwarf turned to spot Cynuise. He bowed low and then spoke.
'Greetings Cynuise, I am glad to see you once more.' The dwarf motioned to the hobbit and continued. ‘This is my companion Gildafern of The Shire.'
'I am Gildafern of the the Fallohides,’ said the hobbit as she curtseyed.
Cynuise nodded politely and replied. ‘And I am Cynuise of Rohan. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.’
Núri glanced out a nearby window to the brightening morning sky and then turned to his companions. ‘There is much I must explain before we depart. I suppose you both wonder as to why I requested your aid?'
His companions turned to look at the dwarf but said nothing, waiting for him to continue.
'I seek the roost of crebain, evil black birds from out of Dunland. They are said to be roosting in the Barrow Downs not far from Bree. I seek to deal with the foul birds and with luck, drive them out. However, I am told that they are reputed to have a master, though the name of the woman is unknown to me.'
‘In what direction shall we travel?’ asked the hobbit eagerly.
‘Not far,’ replied the dwarf. ‘The Barrow Downs lies just west of the town of Bree.’
Cynuise stayed silent for a moment and then looked at the dwarf. ‘I am familiar with such creatures.’
'Good Cynuise. I hoped for that,’ answered the dwarf. ‘I know little of the Barrow Downs than what the folk of Bree have told me. And much of that have been half-whispered legends and stories of some ancient terror dwelling there. It is said that beneath the grass-covered barrow mounds lurk fell spirits that have stirred the bones of the dead to evil purposes.'
'At what time shall we leave?' asked the hobbit uneasily.
‘We can depart immediately unless there is anything either of you require for the journey.'
Cynuise coughed politely and the spoke. ‘My apologies for the interruption--but how do you intend to deal with said master?'
The dwarf thought for a moment and then answered. ‘I am unsure. I do not know to what extent this woman has in the evil designs of the crebain or their ultimate purpose.’
The dwarf lifted his pack over his shoulder and slid his axe into his belt. ‘Let us be off,’ he exclaimed. ‘We will exit by the west gate and head down the road from there before coming to the entrance to the Barrow Downs.'
The company made their way down the hill from the inn and along the wide lane toward the west gate of Bree. They passed through the gate and struck a path along the Great East Road. Some distance from the gate, the company passed over a stone bridge and then held a course due west along the road for some time.
After some time, the dwarf held up his hand and paused, pointing in the distance ahead.
‘What is it?’ asked the hobbit curiously.
Ahead and off the road to the left, there appeared a faded and narrow path that wound up the rocky slope and bore south towards a line of rising ridges and cliffs. The road climbed the slope and disappeared into a cleft in the vaulted ridge-side.
Cynuise stared up the path, her arms folded. ‘This, I believe, is the entrance,’ she replied.
‘Indeed,’ answered the dwarf quietly. ’This is the northern entrance of the Barrow Downs, called the Northern Barrows Pass. Beyond that cleft in the rocks is where we must tread.'
Cynuise shivered slightly and looked up towards the cleft with dread. ‘Beyond here, we must stay close,’ she warned.
Núri nodded grimly. ‘Come, Gilderfern, we must not tarry here.’
Cautiously, the companion turned from the road and began to climb along the faded path. Slowly, they picked their way upwards and through the cleft to follow a narrow vale flanked by high cliff walls to either side.
Suddenly, the dwarf halted and pointed ahead at a dark patch on the path ahead. ‘Hmm, what’s this?’
An Unfortunate Traveler
The hobbit shivered and looked about with uneasiness.
‘A travelling merchant from Bree-town perhaps?’ replied Cynuise ‘A most unfortunate fate….’
‘Yes it does seem so,’ answered the dwarf quietly. ‘But beware; here the dead truly walk if the tales of this place are true…’
Ahead, the narrow vale gave way to a deep and broad valley; there were no trees in sight for it was an expanse of grass and short, springy turf. Far to the west could be glimpsed a distant forest while to the south they could see hills rising from the floor of the valley. The hills loomed silently in the gloom ahead and were crowned with green mounds and on some rose standing stones pointing upwards like jagged teeth.
Cynuise gazed over the wide expanse and spoke in a low voice. ‘Any idea where we should start searching?’
Núri pondered the question in silence for a moment before replying. 'I am unsure as to where to find the location of the crebain’s roost I am afraid.'
All of a sudden, there came a long, shuddering howl away down the path and a wolf-shape trotted into view, its dark red eyes blazing with malice at the companions. It patted forward and then loosened a great howling before springing forward with a great leap.
Núri cried aloud and fell back, lifting his axe before him. The barghest snapped its jaws forward at his cloak, tearing off a portion of it with one lunge. The dwarf hewed at the barghest with his axe as the hobbit’s voice was raised in song behind him. The great wolf howled in pain as the dwarf’s axe smote it and snapped its large jaws, just missing by an inch. The dwarf beat it back, feeling its hot breath on his face and swung his axe wide, hewing the beast’s head off.
‘This is a vile and evil place,’ murmured the dwarf as he gazed down upon the still form of the barghest.
Cnuise frowned. ‘This place is far too vast. We may not be able to cover it all in a single day.’
‘Very true my friend,’ replied the dwarf nodding grimly. ‘Let us continue.’
The companions made their way down from the path and along the floor of the valley with caution. The sun overhead gleamed pale and watery yellow through the hazy mist and ahead the mist gathered like thick, cold fog. The air was silent, and hung heavy and chilled.
The Barrow Downs
Walking single file, the companions strode forward round the slope of a hill along a southerly direction. The fog soon closed all about them and darkness loomed on all sides. Somewhere in the gloom ahead, the dwarf fancied there came a voice, deep and cold, as if from deep within the earth and it was filled with malice and cruelty.
Suddenly, from out of the fog and darkness there loomed a tall dark figure, like a shadow against the stars. It rose to a great height and two cold eyes, lit with a pale light, stared down upon the company with hatred and wickedness.
The dwarf fell back in horror as the figure stepped forward. He swept his axe above his head, but he trembled in fear as it reached forward to grip his forearm in an icy, iron-like vise. Terror filled his heart and he shrank before what he knew could only be a dreaded barrow-wight.
Suddenly, there rose a clear, high hobbit voice in song that seemed to push back the darkness and the dwarf’s heart was filled with light in a sea of twilight and gloom. The figure shrieked with hatred and released the dwarf. Suddenly free from the dreadful spell, Núri drew up and hewed at the dark figure before him. The figure gave out a shriek and along snarling as the dwarf’s axe smote it.
The hobbit’s voice rose to a crescendo of song as Núri leapt forward to strike the barrow-wight once more. Without hesitation, the dwarf smote the dreadful thing again and it faltered backwards like a wounded spider to collapse in a heap onto the ground. A long trailing shriek rose up from the heap and then all went silent.
And as swift as the darkness had descended, it parted. The mist flowed around them in tatters and to their surprise, overhead amid the strands of hurrying fog, faint stars appeared through the haze. It seemed that the companions had climbed to the height of a hill crowned with a number of stones that thrust up like fingers of warning and cast no shadow in the watery sunlight.
‘What is this horrible place?’ whispered Núri with a shiver.
Cynuise looked up at the great stone edifice in both curiosity and revulsion. ‘Some sort of monument, perhaps...’ she replied hesitantly.
‘Indeed,’ answered the dwarf slowly. ‘But corrupted somehow…’
Next to him Gildafern stood silent, quivering with a feeling of dread.
Núri gazed over the bleak and forbidding landscape. ‘This place is much more vast than I had anticipated.'
Cynuise strode forward to stand next to the dwarf and hobbit, shading hers eyes with one hand as she peered out over the stone-crowned hills in the distance.
‘It is too foggy here--I cannot see much...,’ she replied.
The dwarf nodded grimly and looked up at the sun as it passed into afternoon.
‘I do not wish to be found here after dusk,’ he said.
‘We must hasten then, if at all possible,’ agreed Cynuise.
He led his companions down the hill and along a meandering path. For some time they walked in silence and surrounded by gloom until the dwarf halted once more.
‘We are getting nowhere,’ retorted the dwarf. ‘Perhaps I was too hasty in coming here.’
‘We may have to camp here,’ stated Cynuise with a frown. ‘If we do not find this Master soon…’
‘Here?’ asked the dwarf nervously. “Is that even safe?’
‘ I certainly hope it will not come to that,’ answered Cynuise.
‘Nor I,' added Gildafern worriedly.
‘Perhaps we should try to find the way we came in and try tomorrow?' asked the dwarf.
‘That might be wisest...,’ sighed Cynuise in defeat. She looked once more over the valley. ‘Though I have no idea where we came in from.’
Núri looked about, not certain himself which direction they had traveled. Finally, after some thought, he hefted his axe and pointed off in one direction. ‘This way is as good as any. Come let us make haste.’
For some time, they marched and met no danger and saw little as the fog closed about them once more. Then they came to the base of a low hill before them and Núri halted abruptly.
‘I must admit that I am unsure where to go from here,’ he said frowning.
‘As am I,’ added Cynuise.
Núri lifted his hands up in defeat. ‘I believe that I have gotten us lost,’ he exclaimed helplessly.
For a time, the dwarf peered vainly through the fog and mist, hoping for some familiar sight. Suddenly, Cynuise cried out and pointed off in the distance to the northeast.
‘Isn’t that where we entered?’ she exclaimed.
The dwarf gazed in the distance and cheered aloud with joy. 'Yes! Here is where we entered!'
Cynuise sighed with relief. ‘I am glad to be free of this wretched place.’
‘And I as well, my friend; this is a far too a dark and forbidding place. Let us return to Bree for I believe that I need to discover more information before returning.'
‘Yes... ‘, replied Cynuise slowly. ‘We should get back to Bree.’
The company crossed the floor of the valley and began to climb the slope leading into the Northern Barrows Pass once again. As they climbed, the hobbit felt her heart grow more lightly, grateful they did not choose to camp in that dreadful place.
I actually did remain in Bree for several days. Since coming to Bree, I had not been involved in much role-playing and had hoped to do so with the journey into the Barrow Downs. I send mail to several dwarven companions back in Ered Luin and the Shire, hoping to convince some of them to coming to Bree, but they were indisposed during that time and could not journey to Bree to help me.
Instead, I ran into Gildafern, whom I had met some time ago in the Shire, and then met Cynuise in the inn. I was glad about these chance encounters and allowed me to undertake the trip with some traveling companions.
I also did have a hard time finding the crebain roost in the Downs. The reason for this is that I do not set my quest focus on the radar map (which makes it much easier to navigate around when you do so). I have to use landmarks and such to navigate on journeys. Since I had no clues as to the location I sought, I could do little but wander around hoping to find it - which we, in the end, did not do.
I hope I apologized to you by In-game mail at the time, but I think that I should apologize again for been unable to assist you with your Quest into the Barrow-down, a combination of Real Life factors made joining you very difficult.
Maybe at some future date I will be able to assist you in another matter and as always well done, keep up the good work and good luck with your future adventures.
There is a mistaken belief that there wasn't a Woman in the Fellowship. It is just that when she got to Rivendell. "You want to climb over the Misty Mountains - You want to go down through Moria - Are you all mad." So she moved in with the Elves instead.
This thread was a very lucky find indeed! I spent two lazy days at work reading through your adventure and I hope you keep on going all the way to Moria and beyond.
And also on a sidenote, I never knew Lotro could look so beautiful and vivid! You're screencaps look like postcards from Middle-Earth.
First, let me thank all of you for the comments. I appreciate all feedback - good or bad - as it lets me know that people are still following the story!
Zitat von Gildafern
Glad tidings, Nuri! I so enjoy reading about your escapades, especially those where your traveling companion is from the Shire! <eyes twinkling>
At least I did not get your character killed! Gildafern was only a 16th level minstrel going into the Barrow Downs for the first time.
Zitat von f.i.t.c.
I hope I apologized to you by In-game mail at the time, but I think that I should apologize again for been unable to assist you with your Quest into the Barrow-down, a combination of Real Life factors made joining you very difficult.
Maybe at some future date I will be able to assist you in another matter and as always well done, keep up the good work and good luck with your future adventures.
No apologies necessary, RL is exactly why I had not posted for about a month. Hopefully we can meet up along the road one day, but I am about to depart from Bree for good on the road to the Lone Lands soon.
Zitat von Jellyparty
This thread was a very lucky find indeed! I spent two lazy days at work reading through your adventure and I hope you keep on going all the way to Moria and beyond.
And also on a sidenote, I never knew Lotro could look so beautiful and vivid! You're screencaps look like postcards from Middle-Earth.
Keep up the fun!
Thank you, Jellyparty! I am glad you stumbled onto the thread - how did you find the thread, if I may ask?
I tend to take alot of screenshots as I play, then try to select the best ones for posting. However, I somehow seemed to have lost almost all the pics from the trip into the Barrow Downs!
I actually use Paint.net to tweek the screenshots to make them look different (basically different lighting and shading) - I also try to take screenshots with the HUD down as well.
I have absolutely no plans in stopping the story - however, it will be a very long story by the time Nuri reaches Moria. I am almost finished in Bree and already I have 20+ chapters! I can foresee at least 100 chapters by the time he reaches Moria.
Great to see this is back. I haven't been around recently due to real life problems, and its nice that one of my favourite parts of these boards is seeing a revival. I haven't caught up quite yet, but I can't wait to do so!
Núri glanced about the Prancing Pony at the large gathering of guests that filled the dimly-lit room, despite the early hour. Outside, the first roosters had yet to signal the coming dawn and the sky above was still dark in a pre-dawn gloom.
Seated beside the dwarf was his companion, Gildafern, gleefully enjoying her flagon of white wine and chatting merrily about this or that. It seemed to the dwarf that the young hobbit had all but forgotten the terrible trip into the Barrow Downs that had filled them with such dread only two days before. And yet the pair was to return once more to that haunted place this day.
Núri had remained in Bree for the day following their return and he was now more desperate to continue his search for the crebain. He had hoped to wait long enough for Cynuise to return so that the trio could once more enter the downs but over the past day, there were no signs of the woman. Dejected, and wishing no more delays, the dwarf and hobbit had prepared to set out once again.
As the two sat, Núri rolled out his faded map and peered over the area marked upon it as the Barrow Downs. The hobbit grasped her flagon and sat up to eagerly glance over the map.
‘We must return,’ said the dwarf grimly. ‘I must find the crebain’s roost in the Barrow Downs swiftly, for I have wasted enough time already.’
‘Yes, and I will accompany you, my friend,’ added the hobbit with a grin. ‘Don’t you worry, we made it out once, and we shall do so again.’
The dwarf did not share the hobbit’s confidence but said nothing of the matter. Rather, he turned the conversation to the trip ahead.
‘There is little choice but to make for the Northern Barrow Pass as before to renew our search,’ he said grimly. ‘Though I am moved in haste, we must tread lightly, my friend.’
As the dwarf spoke, a tall hobbit walked out of the growing crowd and up to the nearby hearth to warm his hands in the glow of the fire. Núri eyed the hobbit and leaned in to whisper to Gildafern in a low voice.
‘What say you, my old friend?’ he said softly. ‘Do you dare venture back into the Barrow Downs with me once more?’
‘Ah, the crebain are foul creatures,’ replied the hobbit solemnly, her jest now dissipated. Then she smiled broadly at the dwarf. ‘Of course, my friend. Where you go I shall follow.’
As the pair spoke in low whispers, the tall hobbit at the hearth turned to them and looked on Gildafern with a smile. ‘Oh, it is good to see another Shire face at the Pony!’ he exclaimed loudly and with some flair, adding, ‘And you as well, Master Dwarf!’
Gildafern giggled and stood up from her chair to gracefully bow before the hobbit. Núri eyed the hobbit side-long and slowly climbed to his feet before bowing low as well.
‘I am Núri, of Ered Luin, at your service,’ said the dwarf gruffly to the hobbit. ‘And this is my companion, Gildafern.’
The hobbit chuckled at the dwarf’s brisk formality and replied, ‘Well met! Enjoy some needed rest. You two look as though you've been dragged from the Brandywine to the Greenway!'
The dwarf looked down on his mud-stained and worn cloak and hood with some displeasure but said nothing.
'I am pleased to meet you both!’ continued the hobbit. ‘I am Thimwise, originally from Michel Delving.’
As he spoke the hobbit turned to beckon someone from the crowd. Out of the crowd there presently came a tall Elf woman, her hair shimmering down upon her shoulders.
‘My good Dessy!’ exclaimed the hobbit as he bowed deeply before the elf-woman. ‘Come meet Gildafern and Núri!’
The elf returned the bow and then spoke aloud in a clear voice. ‘Hail Master Dwarf and Mistress Gildafern. A pleasure.’
Thimwise chuckled softly before turned back to the dwarf. 'Could I invite the two of you to some merry making we have planned this evening? It will be right here in the Prancing Pony!' He leaned in close and then added, chuckling, 'There's always time to dig about in graves another time...'
Núri frowned and then spoke, ‘Thank you but no. I must be departing soon, at the sunrise.’ The dwarf peered at the hobbit curiously. ‘But graves you say…?’
‘Did I not overhear the mention of the Barrow Downs?’ Thimwise replied as he nodded.
‘Yes, indeed, I am on my way to that terrible place,’ nodded the dwarf grimly in return.
‘Our band will be playing some tonight, and there will be others here as well!' laughed the hobbit. ‘You should stay.’
‘Oh,’ replied the dwarf. ‘A festival of sorts?’
‘Well, perhaps not quite that much, but entertainment for certain. It is ourselves entertaining, and of course any others.'
Núri shrugged and then answered the jovial hobbit. ‘If my task in the Barrow Downs fares well, then perhaps we can meet again here.’ The dwarf bowed deeply and then added. ‘I thank you for your hospitality.’
Thimwise chuckled aloud and then bent to whisper to Gildafern, snickering in a humorous tone, ‘Dwarves. All work, no play!’
Núri ignored the hobbit’s jest and turned to his companion. 'Gildafern, the sun has begun to rise. Shall we depart?’
'Be safe, the both of you!' cried Thimwise as the dwarf bowed low before him.
‘And you as well,’ replied the dwarf. ‘Perhaps when we return we can speak more openly.'
‘That would be most excellent!'
‘Fare well until then, Master Thimwise.'
The early morning was passing swiftly when the pair was once more looking out upon the Barrow Downs. The clear morning air had slowly given way as they climbed the Northern Barrows Pass and the land before them lay deep in a shadowy mist and the sky was obscured by a dark, dreary and heavy haze.
‘This place fills my heart with dread,’ shivered the dwarf as he looked out onto the dismal landscape. ‘Only desperation draws me here once again.’
Gildafern remained silent and looked ahead into the gloom with apprehension.
‘Come, Gildafern,’ said the dwarf cautiously as he gazed ahead. ‘We should make haste. We should make for that rise in the distance.’
The Return to the Barrow Downs
The pair struck a south-westerly path, winding round the feet of a large hill and the deeper into the Downs. Occasionally, the cry of some strange and unseen beast would be heard in the blanket of mist and fog, and each time the companions halted and gripped their weapons, fearing an attack. Soon their path led them to the far western edge of the Barrow Downs where a high cliff wall flanked the valley. Glancing eastwards, Núri could see hills rising in the distance, all crowned with towering and silent standing stones.
‘We have come all the way to the western edge of the Downs,’ answered the dwarf after a pause. ‘Beyond lay The Old Forest, but I see no path that leads there from here.’ Núri looked up at the high cliffs and then southwards for a time.
‘Let us be off,’ said the dwarf quietly.
Not wishing to climb the slopes of the nearby hills, the dwarf pushed ahead, following the cliff wall as it wandered southwards for some time. As they went, the sun overhead became lost in the haze above and only a little watery light flickering down upon the darkened land.
Suddenly, the fog about them parted and they now found themselves looking down into a glen of sorts. A small hill rose from its center and towering ominously out of the side of the hill, and leaning slightly towards one another like the pillars of a headless door, was two great standing stones that rose cold into the air. Above the hill there also rose a tall tree, its limbs grasping into the sky like tortured and clawing limbs. Dark birds clung to its branches and they called out in dark voices at the sight of the pair.
Then a figure loomed out of the dark shadows cast by the great stones and called out in a fell voice.
The Crebain Roost
‘Fool! Did you think that my pets would not learn that the Ring now travels east in the hands of a hobbit named Frodo Baggins?’
Núri gripped his bow tightly and started forward only to stand still as stone, his legs unwilling to move.
‘You have failed utterly!’ mocked Andraste, the crebain master with distain. ‘When the master of the Nine returns, he shall learn of this - and of your untimely death!’
The woman cried aloud in a strange tongue and raised her arms above her head. ‘Now, come my pets!’
As the fell woman cried out, the birds rose from their perches in the great tree and took to flight. Straight as an arrow, the dark birds flew from the tree, beating their long dark wings in the gloom.
Suddenly, the dwarf was released from the invisible shackles and raised his bow to loosen an arrow into the darkness ahead before throwing it down to reach for his axe.
Rising up to a height, the foul birds swooped down upon the dwarf, harrying him from all sides. He felt the sweep of their talons all about him and fiercely he parried and struck, fighting them off with great sweeps of his axe. Behind him, Gildafern raised her voice aloud in song, blotting out the dreadful cries of the crebain.
With ferocious determination, Núri scattered the crebain until his axe was stained with their blood. All at once the gloom fell silent for a moment. And then the silence was broken.
‘No...,’ cried out Andraste, her voice full of hate and malice. ‘My beautiful birds! You shall die for this!’
Núri did not pause, but leapt forward, swinging his axe in a wipe arc. The woman fell back before the dwarf, and he raised his axe again, throwing the crebain master to the ground. She fell and was silent.
The Fall of Andraste
The dwarf leaned upon his axe and did not speak for some time. The hobbit slowly made her way forward to stand next to him but said nothing. After a time, the dwarf spoke.
‘The crebain master is no more. Let us depart from this foul place with all haste.'
‘You have done well Núri,’ replied the hobbit with glee. ‘Yes, now we can leave behind this sorrowful place.'
Soon, the companions were standing on the path leading back into the Northern Barrow Pass, The sun had returned and shone brightly in the afternoon sky overhead. The dwarf stopped to glance back up the path and then turned to bow deeply before the hobbit.
‘I am in your debt, my friend,’ he said after a moment. ‘Your aid has truly come at the most needed time.’
The hobbit grinned and looked up at the old dwarf. ‘Anything for you, fair friend.’
Núri laid his hand on the hobbit’s shoulder. ‘The crebain have been dealt with and their master is no more. I must depart now for the Old Forest and speak with Master Bombadil.’
Núri bowed low before Gildafern and then spoke anew. ‘May your travels bring you home safe, my friend. Stick to the road until you see the bridge and you should be fine. Beyond the bridge lies the western gate of Bree. We shall meet again before my time has drawn to an end here.’
‘Do not be so hastily to ask of that place, my friend,’ said Núri hesitantly, a dread filling his voice. ‘Dark are my memories and I have little wish to relate them, even here in the light of day.’
The dwarf was seated a t a table in a back room of the Prancing Pony, and with him sat his companion, Gildafern, the hobbit. She was eager to learn of the dwarf’s journey after the encounter with the Crebain Master, but something in the dwarf’s voice held her tongue.
A shadow passed over the dwarf and he raised his hand to his eyes for a moment and did not speak for some time.
‘It was a path I took unwillingly and with much trepidation,’ said the dwarf finally. ‘It was only at the urging of Master Bombadil that I sought that dark path, and one I wish never to take again!’
‘It was the evening of the day ere we returned from the Barrow Downs that I sought out Master Bombadil with news of the defeat of the Crebain Master and her flock.’
‘A strange fellow he is,’ the dwarf continued after a pause. ‘As old as stone he seems and yet as young as the new fallen snow as well.’
Núri fell silent once more and then slowly told of his journey back to the Old Forest to bring word to the Master of the Wood.
‘The Crebain Master had revealed that the Lord of the Nine had gone to a place called Othrongroth, but I was unable to discern little else from her in her last moments. I thought perhaps Master Bombadil would know more.’
‘He listened to my tale and then sang: “Othrongroth, you say? That's a dark place, full of dark wights, and you've no need of going.”
“I have little desire to venture into that forbidding place,” I answered. “But go I must it seems.”
“If you must, you must, and I'll not be staying you. Very well, come closer, and I'll be telling you. The Great Barrow is not a place for weak hearts or frail limbs. Wicked wights and evil lords make merry in their terror. They've never caught Old Tom and never will they. He's the Master! If you be a-going, Tom will take you!”
‘With the coming of night we went until I found ourselves at the entrance of Othrongroth, the Great Barrow. There he turned and spoke, “Come now, me hearties! Between those stones is what you look for, the Great Barrow of the Downs. Careful now, or there your bones will lie, until the wights have you dancing!"
“You are not coming with?” I cried and fell into despair. But he said nothing and turned from the dark barrow, leaving me alone in silence.”
Othrongroth
‘Dejected, I climbed the path towards the dark barrow but soon froze at the sight of dourhands guarding the entrance. Not wishing to tarry in the shadows of the dark place, I fell upon the unsuspecting dourhands and scattered them with ease.’
‘The appearance of the dourhands filled my heart with dread and yet I knew I must enter that dark place. Somewhere ahead I would find Skorgrim and that was enough to move me to action.’
‘I passed through the entrance and into the forbidding tomb and had not gone far when I was beset by more dourhands.’
“Come on boys, let's cleave 'em in twain!" they cried as they rushed me from further down the tunnel "They ain't getting past us!" cried another with malice in his voice. “You heard Lord Skorgrím! No one gets past us! Kill him! For the Dourhands!"
‘I was beset on all sides by my enemies and long we fought and I was wounded grievously by their blows.’
The dwarf paused and a cloud of pain passed over his face and he grew silence for a time.
‘Their wrath was great and they did not fall before me willingly or easily. When the last of my enemies fell silent, my axe was notched and I was not without harm.’
The Dourhands of Othrongroth
‘Burdened thus with pain, I strode ahead nonetheless, for now foreboding drove me forth and I recklessly delved deeper into the barrow, fear ever growing in my heart.’
‘I did not go far when the dourhand captain came forth. He laughed and let forth a great shout.
“All right! You've killed my men, but you won't kill me!"
I did not pause but leapt across the chamber at my foe. But I was weary from battle and pained with many wounds while the dourhand captain was fresh and foul and filled with hatred. We hewed at one another relentlessly, and the chamber rang out with the sounds of our struggle. But slowly I drove my enemy back and his delight died in his throat. I swung a great stroke with all the strength I had remaining and threw him down before me.’
“I...I can't be defeated!" he cried aloud, his axe notched and cast aside upon the stone floor. "Stay back! Skorgrím promised...he said we couldn't be defeated...." But I did not pause and leapt forward to slay him, hewing off his head with a single stroke.
‘For a time, I did not move and I fought away the desire to lie down and let all slip away into a deep slumber. It was only desperation that forced me to my feet and continued as I pursued Skorgrim and the Lord of the Nine through that abominable place.’
‘I roused myself painfully from the ground and pushed back the despair that welled up in my heart. Far ahead, I could hear faint but fell voices and I strode forward to scramble down the tunnel. I had not gone far when the voices came anew. Through a dark gateway I spied my prey and gave chase down the passage with all haste.’
‘Rushing ahead, I found the fell Witch-king and Skorgrim in a large chamber. Scornfully, the dwimmerlaik strode through a large portal, seemingly mindless of my very presence.’
"Come, Ivar awaits us,” he said in a cold voice. “Once your tasks are complete, Mordirith awaits you both in the north. Pay no heed to the twice fool, Saruman. Our plans in the south are reaching fruition."
‘It was only then that the Black Captain turn to me. Terror overcame me and I shrank back in fear from the terrible captain, and my axe fell useless from my grasp to clatter upon the stone floor.’
The Dead Rise
"Fool!” he cried aloud, his voice filled with venom. “I shall suffer your presence no longer! You have hounded my steps for too long! And now the Dead shall take you."
‘I cried aloud and swept up my axe even as the two passed through the gate and it closed behind them with a crash. Then an awful sound began to fill the chamber, a mournful weeping that seemed to come from the very depths of the earth and my blood ran chilled.’
‘From all about me there now rose terrible shadows, dim and dark and the gate were once more thrown open before me. Their faces burned with bright and malevolent points of light and they were clad in mantles of grey. In their grey, haggard hands there were grasped swords of ancient visage and which glowed with a pale light. Their eyes fell upon me and they murmured aloud in voices cold as stone.
"As the great king commands....Only the Dead...shall pass....Kill him....Arise...arise, my brothers...."
‘Desperate, I flung down my bow and drew forth my axe and it shone crimson like a firebrand in the flickering torchlight. Now, in silence, they sprang forward and bore down upon me from all sides. Their swords bit at me with a sting colder than iron and their icy gaze froze my heart.’
‘Even as their fell voices surrounded me, I cleaved them with my axe. Dark is my heart even now as I recall those terrible spirits and my heart still quails at the memory of their touch. But the sight of that foul Skorgrim drew forth strength to my weary limbs and forced back the darkness. I cast the fell spirits down and drove them back into the bowels of the earth.’
‘I stumbled forward to pursue my enemy but each step grew heavier than the next and my spirits faltered and fell away. Soon, a new dread fell upon me as I entered a large chamber and my blood ran cold. There before me, rising from the stone floor, was a throne of stone surrounded by pillars carved with strange and foreboding runes. A dark figure sat upon the great seat and fear flowed from it like vapour.’
‘Then there came a distance voice. “Thou may come forward....If thou seek an audience, thou may approach."
‘In fear, I stumbled forward even as the gaunt figure rose from the throne to stand before me.’
“My Master sends thee greetings. I grant thee the boon of an audience before I kill thee. Thou seemed desirous of certain knowledge, so I will give it thee. For the Dead speak not!” The fell revenant cackled with glee.
Sambrog the Wight-Lord
“'My Master seeks a great a power for the Dark Lord, but the Dark Lord has more designs than this. The Pale Dwarf shall go to the north and gather an army in the name of Angmar and the Witch-king! The gaunt one, a great power himself and to whom I owe this form, goes to the east. There, in Agamaur, he shall awaken a Power that lies sleeping in the waters. With her under his command, the skies will turn to blood and all shall despair!”
“Now thy audience comes to an end. Thy death awaits thee.” The fell spirit’s voice cried out with malice and my heart was rent with terror. "Arise, my warriors!"
‘There came an answer to the wight-lord’s call and a chill blast flooded the room like the breath of ghosts. All about me there was raised a groping horror of fell shadows and I could make out fell voices answering the wight-lord as if from far away.’
‘Straight at the fell spirit I flew and he at me. All about I was hewed by chilling claws even as I smote the wight-lord with all my strength. But little did it do me for he shrugged off my blows no less than a giant ignores gnats.’
"Thou cannot defeat me!" he cried aloud and drove me back. Fear fell upon me and I saw the truth in his words. I faltered and fell to one knee, my axe falling weakly from my hands.’
‘Then there came a joyous voice unseen that seemed to drive back the darkness about me.’
"Hey dol! Merry dol!" sang the voice, filled my heart with light. "What be you a-thinking? Dead men should not be waking! Vanish into sunlight, leave your barrows empty!"
‘With these words, there came a cry and a long trailing shriek and the shadows fell back and the wight-lord shrank down into the earth from whence he had come.’
‘There was a loud crash and the doors to the far side of the chamber were flung open and in strode Master Bombadil, his voice rising like the new dawn sun. He looked down upon me and in a fair voice he called out.’
“Was it worth the trouble?’ he laughed merrily. “Did you learn your lesson? Leave the Dead to sleep their dreamless sleep and walk yourself upon the green grass under the sun!”
‘He grasped my hand and began to bound out of the tomb and into the awaiting sunlight, laughing as he danced. "Come now, my merry friend, warm fire is awaiting... We'll make our way back into the light and feel the sun on our faces one more!”
‘The sun shone bright and clear overhead as Master Bombadil led me from that terrible tomb. “The darkness is behind us in that dank and dreary tomb.”
‘And so he sang as he danced towards the awaiting forest beyond the downs. Climbing up from the haunted downs, I stopped to look back over the valley as the mist and darkness claimed it once more. Then, I shuddered and turned to follow Bombadil. Soon we were back at his home in the Old Forest and he turned to me with great mirth.’
“Old barrow-wights from Angmar came. They disturb the peace and trouble folk who wander through their mounds. Let the Dead sleep and leave their troubles in the earth. Unless of course you wake them, dancing on their rooftops! Hey, come, my friend. Linger here no longer. To Bree you should be a-going. You've a friend there who awaits you!”
I had forgotten just how difficult this instance was - if I would had remembered, I would have grabbed some companions to complete it, since it is a fellowship instance. I was almost defeated numerous times and it was only the continued use of heals that saved me.
Even so, I managed to complete it at last and escaped - sort of a deus ex machina at the end, but it was great, since I do not remember much of this quest.
So it seems that Núri's time in the Bree-lands has drawn to an end. After a short trip to Bree, I should be heading out for the Lone Lands and it might be quite some time before Núri lays eyes on this region again...
Paths Seldom Trodden: Part One – 8 to 9 Wintring, TA 3018
Núri ended his tale, fell silent for some time and did not speak. Gildafern fidgeted in her chair as the sounds of the crowd in the common room of the inn floated in from down the hall. She was eager to hear the rest of her old friend’s tale, but the dwarf’s silence disturbed her and she too became hushed and quiet.
After a long and uncomfortable stretch of silence, the dwarf spoke anew.
‘Alas,’ he muttered. ‘Skorgrim escaped me once again I fear and who knows what evil intent he has planned. I was eager to depart and return to Bree bearing the news to Strider, but I was weary from my trials in the Great Barrow. I laid down in Master Bombadil’s home and sleep overcame me and did not stir until the following morning.’
‘On the morrow, I awoke, and much of the dread from that terrible night seemed to have left me, though the memory of it will haunt me forever, I think. I bade Master Bombadil goodbye and made off into the growing dawn bound for Bree, for I was in haste to return to Bree with my tale.’
‘I was surprised thus, when I discovered upon my return that Strider was not to be found at the Prancing Pony. Fear had grown within me at the words of the Fell Captain, and of the perils in the north he spoke of, and this fear drove me towards Bree with all haste. And now Strider had gone missing.’
‘By chance, I bumped into old Butterbur downstairs of the inn and he came to me straight away in a rush.’
“Oh, hello there, again!’ he said to me in a fluster. “I was so busy that I didn't see you, but there's never a moment's peace here, if I may say so. I was so worried that he'd sour my beer for letting Mr., uh, Underhill and his friends go off with that Ranger!”
“Whatever are you talking about?” I barked, taken aback by the landlord’s enigmatic words. “And who will sour your beer?”
“He who?” stammered the landlord at my anger. “Oh! Why that would be Mr. Gandalf, of course! They say he's a Wizard or some such, and I'll say there must be something to those tales, for my beer's never been better! He was so pleased....”
‘I grew weary with his rambling and pressed him, and perhaps too harshly I am afraid but I was eager for news of Strider.’
“Begging your pardon,” he sputtered as I pressed him further. “But I do run on sometimes. Gandalf said to send anyone looking for Strider up to his room! It's up the stairs just beyond Strider's room.”
“Well why did you not say so?” I cried, “Your prattling be bothered!” and then turned to make my way back up the stairs. I found the Wizard in a private room at the top of the stairs. I knocked politely and then swung the door open and stepped in.’
‘There I found him, standing near the hearth. He had a tall pointed blue hat, a long grey cloak and a white beard that hung down below his waist. His black boots were stained with mud as if he had just arrived from a long journey. He turned to me with a gaze of solemnness and spoke in a deep slow voice.
“You are lost or seek me with intent. By the look in your eye, I gather the latter, though I also sense you sought another...Strider perhaps? Then we have both come too late. Our mutual friend has left, bearing with him a terrible burden.”
“Yes, Strider,” I replied hastily. “I have come with all haste bearing news.”
“I am Gandalf the Grey, a friend of Strider's. If he set you to a task, it could not be much less urgent that his own. Tell me your tale, and I will deliver it to him.... “
‘Quickly I related my tale to the old Wizard, of Othrongroth and of the Lord of the Nine and his fell words. For a time, Gandalf went quiet, contemplating my tale. After a pause, he spoke again.’
“So Angmar arises? It is grim news, but I am not surprised. Nevertheless, I cannot turn aside from my own task, for the fate of all Middle-earth hangs upon it.”
“You have done much good for the people of Bree-land, but the Shadow out of Angmar spreads far and wide. I have learned from Gwaihir the Windlord that another of my order has found corruption in the Lone-lands, east of Bree. It may even be related to the dangers you encountered in the Great Barrow. Unfortunately, Radagast is given to wandering and will be difficult to find. I would ask that you enlist the assistance of the Rangers in finding his location. There is one here in Bree-land, Saeradan, who will be able to aid you. Head out of Bree through the West-gate and turn north along the Greenway. Seek Saeradan at his cabin on the east side of the Greenway across from Thornley's Work Site.”
‘The Wizard’s words chilled my heart, for even Durin’s Folk know of the ancient realm of Agnmar and of the Witch-King of old that once dwelt there. And his words chilled my heart, for if that realm rose once more, there would be little peace for the good people of Eriador. And so I relented to seek out the ranger, Saeradan on behest of Gandalf.’
‘I made with great speed to his cabin in the north along the Greenway. And yet, little comfort did the ranger’s word bring to me upon my arrival.'
“Gandalf the Grey, whom the Elves call Mithrandir?” he replied after hearing my tale. “My lord, Strider, often deals with him. If he seeks a member of his order that has gone to the Lone-lands, then he is right to have sent you to me. Seek out The ranger Candaith in the Lone Lands, for will know where this Wizard has gone.”
Gildafern fell silent for a moment and then spoke.
‘And so, my old friend, where will you go now?’
The dwarf thought about the question for some time before speaking.
‘I shall make for the Lone Lands to seek out this ranger who might aid me. I know little of that desolate land and fear it might be a fool’s folly to journey there, for those lands are bleak and home to little except those who might wish one harm.’
‘How soon must you leave,’ inquired the hobbit thoughtfully. ‘I must return to the Shire briefly for I have business to attend to, but perhaps you can delay your departure until I return. You may need my assistance…’
‘No,’ replied the dwarf slowly. ‘I dare not delay, though the thought of you at my side would bring me much comfort, my friend.’
Núri spoke lightly but his tone was deep with uneasiness. ‘I will make for the Forsaken Inn, along the Great East Road. If you decide to follow after me upon your return, look for me there my friend.’
Núri's Travels - 9 Wintring, TA 3018
Núri awoke before the dawn the next day to prepare for the journey that lay ahead. He called for Nob, the hobbit servant, to fetch him breakfast and began to pack. He did not know what awaited him on the road to the Lone lands, and the path before him seemed most uncertain.
Long into the evening he had gone over the journey back at his room. In the end, the dwarf had decided to depart from Bree as quietly as he could. He feared that his departure might be watched by those in league with the Dourhands and Blackwolds, for they had many eyes in Bree. The path he chose was to make his way from Bree to Staddle. From there, he would set out across the forbidding Midgewater Marshes, where he hoped any pursuers would be lost behind him in those tangled and fetid lowlands.
The sun was breaking over the distant horizon to the east when he at last set off. He bade goodbye to Butterbur, the landlord, entrusting the man with several letters to give to his companions should they arrive at the inn following his departure.
Leaving the inn, Núri made his way down the lane, through the Market Gate and into the Market Square. From there, the dwarf turned to march up to the east and through the Combe Gate leading to Staddle.
The dawn was slowly passing as he made his way down into the sleepy village of Staddle. Though Bree was the chief village of the Bree-lands, there was Staddle to the east, Combe to the north on the edge of the Chetwood, and far beyond that, the village of Archet. He did not stop but pressed on through the quiet village and soon left it behind.
The dwarf followed the hedge-lined lane to the east for some time, passing by several houses and hobbit-holes to one side or the other, until these too were in the distance behind him. By mid-morning, he had passed the last of the farm-fields and now began to climb down from the hilly Bree-lands towards the western-most edge of the Midgewater Marshes.
The Midgewater Marshes
There he halted and looked out over the bleak and misted landscape before him. Stretching east and south and north was a wide expanse of damp bogs and pools and reeds. Memories of the Rushlock Marshes of the Shire came unwanted into the dwarf’s mind, but he pushed those thought from his mind and set out across the morass of lowlands before him.
Núri soon found his progress slowly greatly, for the marsh was bewildering and was forced many times to turn aside to go round the many pools that stood in his way. Thus he marched on, tormented by the many clouds of gnats that plagued him at every turn. Yet he did not pause and noon had already passed when the ground began to rise and he reached the eastern edge of the marshes at least. Away in distance there rose a line of hills and the heavy mists that had blanketed the marsh behind him gave way and the sun shone bright and warm overhead.
The Lone Lands
The land that lay before him was bleak and treeless, except for a few scattered and stunted trees here or there. As he strode on, the hills in the distance began to draw near and the largest rose above all others, and atop it could be seen ruins of green-grown walls and other works of stone. Here, Núri stopped under the thin branches of a fur tree and ate a cold and cheerless lunch, for he did not dare risk a fire in that open and desolate land.
Suddenly, there came a furtive sound from behind a nearby rock-outcropping. Scrambling to his feet, Núri hefted his axe and crouched low, peering towards the rock.
Presently, there stepped into view a lone figure. It was a short, crook-legged creature, very thin and with long arms that hung almost to the ground. In its hand it clutched a wickedly-barbed spear and emblazoned upon its shield was the image of a white hand.
Golbin of the White Hand
The goblin froze when it had spotted the dwarf, but Núri did not hesitate. Instead, he sprang forward with a great leap, cried aloud as he did. The goblin, much startled to find a dwarf bearing down upon it, seemingly out of nowhere, fell back in dismay.
Núri struck out with his axe, turning the goblin’s spear aside and then raised his axe to cleave its head from its shoulders. He shrank down, glancing about for more enemies but saw nothing. Cautiously, the dwarf bent over the fallen goblin.
‘What manner of riddle is this,’ he said muttering to himself, intrigued by the strange white hand marking. Then something glinting caught the dwarf’s eye and he reached down to grasp a rose-colored pendant from around the goblin’s neck.
The pendant sparkled in the bright sunlight and even as the dwarf turned the jewel over in his worn hands, he could tell that this was no goblin-make, for the craft was too symmetrical and clean to have been made by such brutal folk. Someone had lost this item, he thought quietly….likely an unfortunate soul who fell victim to the foul creature. But there was little more that could answer the riddle, so he placed it in his pocket. Perhaps the ranger he sought would know something of this mystery.
Paths Seldom Trodden: Part Two – 8 to 9 Wintring, TA 3018
One day’s journey east of Bree along the Great East Road, a weary travel will come to the Forsaken Inn, the last occupied structure east of Bree for a great distance in either direction. The inn had stood there for many a year, but it long fallen into disrepair, a collection of cobble-repaired walls and partially collapsed roof. And yet, to a wary traveler in the desolate Lone Lands, one would find any structure (even one with only half a roof) a welcome sight in those lawless and wandering lands.
The Forsaken Inn
The ramshackle inn lay in the shadow of Weathertop and was a respite of sorts for travelers daring to pass through those empty wilds. It was a refuge for travelers and merchants alike, though never in great numbers, and was also home to many of the Eglain who had been displaced from Minas Eriol in the strife that was slowly spreading across Eriador like a wild fire. An estranged people, the Eglain shunned the bonds of typical folk and preferred to scratch out a simple life in the harsh abodes of this forgotten stretch of land. The Eglain normally shunned contact with men or Elves but desperation now drove them to live among the few Men that dwelt there.
It was late in the afternoon and the shadows were growing long when Núri came at last to the doorstep of the Forsaken Inn. His first thought was that the place was abandoned by the state it was in, but presently, the door opened and a short man clad in traveling clothes emerged. Through the door could be heard low voices and shouts, and so the dwarf strode forward and climbed the steps as he passed within.
Surprisingly to the dwarf, there seemed to be a fair gathering of folk inside the inn. Though the common room appeared as ramshackle as the outside, he was glad to be inside and out of the wilds of the Lone Lands for now. A great but worn hearth blazed with a crackling fire and a collection of Men occupied various tables about the room or stood in small groups here or there.
Tap Room of the Forsaken Inn
The folk eyed the dwarf curiously as he made his way to the bar towards the back, but did not hinder him. There stood Anlaf the Forlorn, proprietor of the inn, who watched the dwarf approached with veiled eyes.
‘Beer, if you please, landlord,’ said the dwarf quietly. Anlaf pulled down a well-used mug and turned to a large keg and began to pour. He set it down onto the bar and turned to help another guest. The dwarf sipped the drink and sputtered abruptly. The drink held the taste of mouldy barley and spoiled hops and he did not dare ponder where the water had come from. He set it down in disgust and pushed it away, calling the landlord over once more.
Núri drew the strange pendant from his pocket and held it up to the landlord. ‘I found this by chance just today on the body of a goblin not far from here. ‘Tis not goblin-make, or I am a dourhand,’ exclaimed the dwarf matter-of-factly. ‘I hoped to find the owner of this trinket and return it if I could.’
‘Ah,’ remarked the man plainly, ‘I’ve seen that before…it belongs to Pengail. It looks like he got himself caught.’
Surprised by his frankness, Núri pressed Anlaf for more, but the man only shrugged and then turned aside to speak to another guest, leaving the dwarf alone to ponder his strange words.
The night drew on and as it did, so grew the crowd in the inn. The dwarf pulled up a seat near the warm hearth and drew his cloak and hood about him, enjoying the deep glow of the fire.
Presently, a tall man strode up to the hearth to stand before the fire in silence. He wore a stout hauberk of mail and slung over his shoulder was a great shield. His raiment was deep green and his long red hair flowed down around his shoulders.
Glaedwine, Goblin-Hewer of Rohan
After a moment, the man turned to the dwarf and spoke.
‘Hail, friend,’ said the man, using the Common Tongue but in a manner quite unlike the dwarf was accustomed.
Núri stood up before the stranger and bowed low before him. ‘Well met. I am Núri of Ered Luin, at your service.’
The man returned the bow, smiling, and then added, 'I am Glaedwine Goblin-Hewer of Rohan.'
The dwarf looked at the man for a moment then spoke. 'Hmmm....Rohan you say? I have heard of that place of late.'
'Oh?’ replied the man curiously. ‘What have you heard of my land as of late?'
Núri shrugged. 'Little I am afraid. But I met someone in Bree that hailed from Rohan. Or so she said. Her name was Cynuise, if my memory is correct.'
'Ha,ha!' laughed the man aloud. 'Cynuise is a good woman, a fine example of Rohirric pride.'
‘You know of her?' replied the dwarf with growing interest.
'Aye. A fine warrior.'
'Indeed,’ answered the dwarf thoughtfully. ‘She came to my call for aid while in Bree and journeyed with me into the Barrow Downs. We parted company after that though and I have not seen her since.'
'Ah yes....’ said Glaedwine. ‘Bree is indeed a land in turmoil of late.'
‘As is the road ahead it seems,' nodded the dwarf grimly.
'Oh yes. I've been stationed at Ost Guruth for some time 'Tis a land without hope.'
'Ost Guruth?’ pondered the dwarf aloud. ‘That name is unfamiliar to me. Are you a guard?'
'Aye, I am,’ answered Glaedwine. ‘Tis a fort of Men, several days journey along the road towards Imladris.'
'Imladris? You speak of many strange places, Glaedwine'
'We call Imladris Rivendell.'
‘Ah, Rivendell,’ replied Núri. ‘I understand, though I have never seen that place myself.'
'Nor have I,’ added Glaedwine. ‘Though Ost Guruth is only a few weeks journey from there.'
The dwarf looked back at the fire for a moment and then spoke.
‘What brings you so far from your post, if I may ask?'
'Word has it the Goblin presence here threatens to spill over into Bree land,’ said Glaedwine sternly. 'Ost Guruth is heavily defended, but there is no defense here.'
'Goblins you say?’ remarked the dwarf with surprise. ‘I have had cause to deal with them since leaving Thorin's Hall.'
'As have I,’ replied the man. ‘Ered Luin was one of my first posts 'Though.....these Goblins are different.'
'How do you mean?' answered the dwarf but he thought back to the lone goblin he encountered during his journey to the Lone Lands. Yet he remained silent on the matter.
'They have Wargs with them, and they are better armed.'
The dwarf frowned. 'You carry with you bitter news, Glaedwine. 'Where may these goblins be found?'
Glaedwine hesitated and then answered. 'Everywhere.'
'Do you mean everywhere around these parts?' scowled the dwarf.
'Aye. They seem to spring up from the ground.'
'That is not comforting news,’ answered the dwarf.
'Actually, I was just preparing to raid a large encampment not too far from here. Care to come along?'
'Perhaps, replied Núri. ‘But I am seeking a person that is said to make camp nearby, and I hoped that at dawn I could find him.'
'Oh? You seek someone? I know this area well. Perhaps I can help.'
Núri pondered the man’s words for a moment before answering. 'The man is said to a ranger and I was informed that his camp is near Weathertop.'
Glaedwine nodded. 'Candaith is the man you seek. I know where he makes camp.'
‘Yes that is his name. You know of him then?'
'I have fought alongside him a few times.'
The dwarf glanced up at Glaedwine with a look of respect. 'You carry with you a strange tale my friend. But tell me more about these goblins.'
'There is a large encampment not far from here,’ replied Glaedwine wearily. ‘And many goblins infest the area. I've thinned them out countless times, and yet they always come back.'
‘Strange,’ answered the dwarf. ‘A vanguard for an invasion perhaps?'
'Perhaps,’ answered Glaedwine thoughtfully. ‘But it doesn't feel right....'
‘Hmmm, that is strange then, but I have heard many a strange tale of late since departing Thorins Hall.'
'If I were the enemy....,’ countered Glaedwine slowly. ‘I would not station such a large force here. There is little here to threaten his plans.'
'I am unsure about that,’ replied the dwarf. ‘My kin and I thwarted blow of the Enemy in Ered Luin of late and destroyed a major goblin force that threatened the region.'
Glaedwine smiled at the dwarf, 'Ered Luin is the home of many Elves and Dwarves. There is good reason to invade it. The Lone Lands though? There is naught here to threaten him.'
Núri pondered his words before answering. 'True. I suppose there is little for the Enemy to gain here. When do you depart for the goblin camp?'
'I'd prefer to attack at night,’ answered Glaedwine carefully. 'They will not expect it.'
'I am weary from the journey from Bree and have little chance for rest of late, replied the dwarf wearily. 'But I will accompany you to see to these goblins, Glaedwine. And in return perhaps you can show me to this ranger I seek.'
'This sounds like a very fair deal to me,’ smiled Glaedwine. ‘We will attack at dawn.'
Núri bowed deeply before Glaedwien once more and then spoke.
'Then tomorrow it is my friend.’
Glaewine drew his sword and saluted the dwarf, saying, 'Many goblins shall die by our hands! Sleep eludes me, friend. You can find me at the bar when you awaken.'
Firstly, out of character, I would like to congratulate you on your devotion to RP-ing. You're the kind of person who makes Crickhollow such a great server to play and RP in.
Secondly, a have a message for you from a certain grizzled old dwarf.
Núri -
I have heard of your quest to seek out the halls of our fathers. It is a noble purpose, but not one to be undertaken lightly. If you be truly strong of heart and will, and are determined to enter Khazad-Dum, I will give to you words of wisdom - and a warning.
Beware! Many who enter never return. The Black Pit is not for the weak - but it is deadlier yet to the arrogant. Do not overestimate your own abilities, nor underestimate an opponent's. There is no shame in fleeing from one who is stronger than you. Only a fool fights when he cannot win. Do not undertake hardships for the sole purpose of testing thyself. But beware also the easy path, for it leads to death. Such are the words of one who has entered the halls of our fathers and lived to tell the tale.
I wish you well and hope our paths cross in the future.
-Hundvir
Hundvir - Lvl 75 RK | Periadoc - Lvl 41 Burglar | Estelriel - Lvl 75 Warden
Proud member of Daro A Maetho, Elven RP Kinship, Crickhollow
Well done friend Brucha! I look forward to our next meeting!
Zitat von TheAC
Firstly, out of character, I would like to congratulate you on your devotion to RP-ing. You're the kind of person who makes Crickhollow such a great server to play and RP in.
Secondly, a have a message for you from a certain grizzled old dwarf.
Núri -
I have heard of your quest to seek out the halls of our fathers. It is a noble purpose, but not one to be undertaken lightly. If you be truly strong of heart and will, and are determined to enter Khazad-Dum, I will give to you words of wisdom - and a warning.
Beware! Many who enter never return. The Black Pit is not for the weak - but it is deadlier yet to the arrogant. Do not overestimate your own abilities, nor underestimate an opponent's. There is no shame in fleeing from one who is stronger than you. Only a fool fights when he cannot win. Do not undertake hardships for the sole purpose of testing thyself. But beware also the easy path, for it leads to death. Such are the words of one who has entered the halls of our fathers and lived to tell the tale.
I wish you well and hope our paths cross in the future.
-Hundvir
First thank you both for the kind words - and especially to The AC! The encouragement is much appreciated. I do rather enjoy roleplaying the game, even if talking to merchants or npcs at times will raise an eyebrow or two from other players!
Playing total immersion has allowed me to really savour the game as I have never been able to do so before. Of late, I have been lucky enough to be able to participate in some very good roleplaying sessions with some great players of late.
I have also made a mjor decision in my total immersion rules particular to the telling of this story. In the grand tradition of Balin, the short-lived Lord of Moria, I have decided that, should Nuri fall while in Moria, that will be the end of this story as he will have been killed there. I am going to use everything in my arsenal to prevent this from happening, but it seems fitting to the tale should it happen.
Because of this, I do not think I will be venturing into Moria alone, and instead I hope to organize an expedition to accompany me therein. I have yet to declare Nuri's intentions to visit Moria yet, but soon I must do that while role-playing. After that, I do believe I will begin to try to organize a company of kinsmen and others to travel with me. It would be great to venture deep within Moria only to run in complete fear and terror after encountering Durin's Bane for the first time.......
Just gotta chime in...really digging this thread and the story thus far. Really reminds you how wonderful and big Middle Earth is. My character, Armaius, may send Nuri a small gift for his travels. So keep an eye out.
Moria is full of dangers, as I have seen first-hand... as a captain leading my faithful dwarven herald, in addition to a longtime loremaster (man) friend, his lynx, and a minstrel (hobbit), it is through my experience that Nuri will need to be geared as best as possible... death is certain to grab hold of any good fellow, if he/she does not travel through Moria with all senses on full alert, whether by a final stand against a crowd of orcs and golbins, or an innocent fall to a mis-calculated depth...
my small fellowship was once a group of four companions, but our dwarven guardian fell long before we even reached Moria... the loss of our once stalwart companion made it more difficult to journey along on our own road to Moria, and difficulty multiplied itself upon traveling through the dark tunnels ourselves... I had to face down fear, and take my place at the head of our formation, protecting my remaining companions with my life, in our former companion's place...
but alas, have no fear, Nuri... for even if you should fall in Moria, know that your travels will be well-rememberd among those who have heard of you... this is what I, as a man of Gondorian descent, admire of the dwarves... unwavering dedication to go through to the end, be it bitter or glorious...
if you find yourself travelling to and from the lonelands and bree, for whatever reason, consider my home a place for you to rest, if needed... 6 Chestnut Road, Branway neighborhood... the chests are full of mostly surplus resources gathered from my travels, and some food... let me know if you have need of these, and I shall send them...
best wishes to you on your travels...
-Malthendor, Executioner of the Wicked
Geändert von Aztec_Soul (Aug 23 2011 um 02:03 PM Uhr)
Just gotta chime in...really digging this thread and the story thus far. Really reminds you how wonderful and big Middle Earth is. My character, Armaius, may send Nuri a small gift for his travels. So keep an eye out.
Ah, presents, I love presents! Seriously though, I am happy to know that you are enjoying the story thus far.
Zitat von Aztec_Soul
....if you find yourself travelling to and from the lonelands and bree, for whatever reason, consider my home a place for you to rest, if needed... 6 Chestnut Road, Branway neighborhood... the chests are full of mostly surplus resources gathered from my travels, and some food... let me know if you have need of these, and I shall send them...
best wishes to you on your travels...
-Malthendor, Executioner of the Wicked
Thank you so very much for the offer, Malthendor! I do dearly hope that a defeat does not happen once Moria is reached, but it would be most befitting to the story should it occur. However, as I mentioned, I do not plan on the trip alone - hopefully, I will have been able to gather a company of companions together to enter Moria when the time comes.
It was just past the break of dawn when Núri was roused from his deep slumber and the first light of the sunrise was beginning to filter in through the grimy window of the inn room. He sat up and groaned; his neck was stiff and cramped from the hard and unpleasant bed.
‘Oh why did I ever leave my beloved halls?’ he said quietly.
Grumbling, he pushed back the filthy blankets and rose to walk to the table and splashed cold water from the basin on the nearby table onto his face. Sputtering and cursing, he turned to begin gathering his pack and gear.
In the quiet common room, the dwarf found Glaedwine standing near the hearth. It seemed to the dwarf that the Man of Rohan had not slept the night and his face was marked by deep lines of care and sleeplessness.
‘Sleep well friend?' sighed Glaedwine as the dwarf approached.
‘As well as I could in this flea-bitten inn,’ muttered the dwarf with much irritation. ‘Forsaken Inn indeed!' he added after a pause.
'Haha!’ laughed the Rohirrim aloud. ‘Best comb thy beard friend.'
Núri growled as he looked up at the man, but said nothing. He walked to the fire, put down his pack and looked about the deserted room.
'I've good news,’ said Glaedwine after a pause. 'I received a letter from Cynuise. She will meet us here.'
‘Truly?’ replied the dwarf with some surprise. 'I will be glad to see Cynuise once more. I hope all has been well for her since last we parted.'
'She has been well I assume,’ answered Glaedwine.
The pair sat before the hearth in silence for some time. As they did, a slow trickle of merchants and travelers began to fill the common room and prepared for the day’s business. After a time, Gladwine spoke.
'She is late,’ he said, looking about the gathering crowd for Cynuise.'She should have been here.'
The dwarf glanced out the nearby window to the brightening morning sun. ‘Indeed, friend. I hope nothing unforetold has happened to her.’ Núri glanced up at Glaedwine, but the man had fallen silent once more.
After some time, Glaedwine looked up to peer through the crowd as a smile broke across his face. ‘Cynuise!’ he cried and stood up from his chair with a start. Through a part in the crowd there now stepped the familiar form of the Rohirric shield-maiden. Glaedwine drew forth his sword and saluted her as she made her way over to the hearth.
‘Well met again, Cynuise,’ said Núri as he bowed low before her. ‘It has been too long, my friend.’
The Companions Gather
'Indeed!’ added Glaedwine with a cry. ‘Far too long since your beauty has graced this soldier's presence.'
‘I see we now have a mutual friend, Cynuise,’ said the dwarf as he glanced amusingly at Glaedwine.
'It is most pleasant to meet you again, Núri,’ replied Cynuise.
Núri grinned wide. ‘And you as well, Cynuise. I hope you have been well since we late met.’
Glaedwine coughed politely, looking at both of them with some humour. ‘On to business…?’ he added mirthfully.
Cynuise laughed aloud in a clear voice. 'Nice to see you too as well, Glaedwine.'
Despite the humor of his companions, the dwarf’s demeanor turned somber. ‘Yes,’ he uttered in a deep voice. ‘To the business at hand.’
Glaedwine’s humour also faded and his voice became graven. 'That letter I sent was delivered just in time,’ he exclaimed to Cynuise. ‘It was good fortune that I met Núri here.’
‘Rather good fortune, I’d say,’ answered the dwarf.’ The dwarf paused and then added, ‘I believe you had spoken of goblins last night, Glaedwine?’
'Aye,’ replied Glaedwine, 'I was afraid I'd have to assault the encampment alone. I have the entire area scouted out.'
'Where one may fail, three may succeed,’ answered the dwarf.
Glaedwine looked down at the dwarf with some gravity. 'Their pickets are spread out quite well, so I suggest we abandon subtlety.'
'Very true,’ nodded Cynuise in agreement.
The dwarf pondered the man’s words for a moment and then spoke again. ‘How many goblins are there do you think?'
Glaedwine scratched his chin. 'I'm not sure. I don't think I can count that high.'
‘Dozens, I’m sure,’ chuckled Cynuise.
‘Let us not tarry then, let us be off,' announced the dwarf with all seriousness.
'Agreed,’ answered Glaedwine. ‘Follow me friends.'
The small company made their way out of the inn and out to the Great East Road, where they stood for a moment in silence. At last, they turned away from the inn and made their way eastwards down the road. The sun had already begun to climb clear and bright in the cloudless skies overhead.
After some distance, they climbed down the steep embankments of a dry gulley where there stood the crumbling remains of an ancient-looking bridge. They wound up the far slope and up a long, steep bank that led away from the road to the northeast. At length, the company came to the rise of a low hill that overlooked a high moor at the feet of the towering hills of Weathertop in the distance.
There, the dwarf came to a sudden halt and looked ahead in the distance where a collection of rough-hide tents could be seen. They were gathered round a smoky campfire and several goblins could be spied inside the camp. They were a smaller breed it seemed, clad in ragged brown but each bore a strange design of a white hand upon their shields.
‘Goblins indeed!’ hissed the dwarf quietly. ‘Here of all places!’
Glaedwine nodded somberly. ‘That is not all of it,’ he added and pointed to a large wolf-form in the distance.
‘Wolves?’ asked the dwarf.
Glaedwine shook his head. ‘Wargs.’
‘I have faced such creatures before and won,’ exclaimed the dwarf, but his voice was filled with uncertainty at the sight of the large beast.
Without a word, Glaedwine motioned his companions forward and they began to creep towards the nearby encampment. Then, without a sound, he drew forth his axe and leapt forward to charge a lone goblin on the edge of the camp. With a wide sweep of his axe, he drove the startled goblin to the ground and then leapt over it to charge into the midst of the encampment.
Núri cried aloud and ran forward to follow him, with Cynuise in close pursuit. An answer to the dwarf’s cry was immediate. From the encampment there came the harsh cries of goblins as they leapt to their feet and reached for their weapons.
The goblins unleashed a storm of arrows onto the companions and then charged forward to meet them. The battle was sharp and fierce, but the goblins could not withstand the company’s onslaught. Within a minute, the ground was littered with many goblins bodies.
The company quickly glanced about the camp for more enemies, but the air had now grown silent. Suddenly, off to one side, Glaedwine called out.
‘Ha, ha!’ he exclaimed. ‘Need a hand, friend?’
The others came swiftly and found Glaedwine standing before a man bound securely to a post on the edge of the camp. He bore an ugly-looking bruise on his forehead but was conscious.
As she approached the man, Cynuise threw him a curious and guarded glance. ‘How did you end up in this place?’ she asked.
The man raised his head with a haggard look spread across his face.
'Oi! Lend a man a hand, won't you? These cursed goblins captured me after I made honest effort to trade. Oh, I know it's wrong, but a man's got needs, and one of those needs is eating, friend. I ain't had myself a square meal since heading north with those fellows what moved on the Bree-fields, and I'm not like them. I just want to get by and earn enough coin to purchase a patch of land to call my own. If you don't help me, I'll be lucky to last a night. These goblins keep saying that they want to trade me to Orcs at Midgewater Pass. If you take me south-west to The Forsaken Inn, I'll give you some coin and a pick from the treasures I found in the ruins. We have a deal?'
The dwarf threw the man a look of disgust and exclaimed, ‘Leave him, we should not tarry here for long.'
'We can't just leave him here,’ answered Glaedwine.
'Aye,’ added Cynuise in agreement. ‘The poor fellow needs help.'
The dwarf was unsure of that, and certainly untrusting of anyone who dealt with goblins. Yet he relented and cautiously approached the man, drawing his knife to begin to cut the man’s bonds.
Pengail staggered to his feet and rubbed his swollen wrists. He looked weakened and haggard, but very much still alive, despite the hospitality given to him by the goblins.
‘The goblins beat me hard,’ he exclaimed after a moment. ‘But I'll do my best to keep up.’
Suddenly, the man began glancing about the camp in earnest. ‘I'll need my sword. I'm useless without one.’
‘A sword?’ answered the dwarf in amazement.
The man nodded. ‘I must find my sword. Perhaps they hid it here.’
Before any of the companions could react, the man began tearing through the goblin camp, overturning everything within reach in a hasty and frantic search.
‘My sword's not here...,’ he cried out in despair. ‘Only this scrap. I must find my sword.’ With abandon, Pengail then sprinted out of the camp with speed that belayed his injuries. ‘The sword was given to me by my father. It's been in my family for a long time!’
‘Wait!’ cried out Núri in alarm.
Glaedwine smacked his forehead in disbelief as he watched the poor fool run off into the distance.
‘Crazy fool!’ cried out the dwarf as he sprinted off after the seemingly mad-man, with his companions not far behind.
The trio gave pursuit of the man as he ran across the moor for some distance until, suddenly, Pengail crashed headlong into the center of another goblin camp. The goblins were seated round the smoky campfire in the camp’s center and initially did not see him until he was almost upon them. Then, with harsh shouts, they leapt to their feet and raised their weapons, surrounding the startled man.
Pengail stumbled back with alarm at his predicament even as the goblins sprang forward to grasp him. Then, Núri came leaping forward, followed closely by Glaedwine and Cynuise. With a great swipe of his axe, the dwarf drove two of the goblins back, while Cynuise swarmed over another.
As the dwarf hurled an advancing goblin to the ground with a smote of his axe, there was arose a cry beside him. From out of the camp there leapt a great wolf-shape that bore down upon Glaedwine with much force. His axe flew from his hands under the weight of the warg and he was thrown to the ground. As he fell, the great beast sunk its massive jaws onto the man’s thigh. A painful and piercing cry escaped Glaedwine’s lips.
Núri threw down the last goblin standing before him and turned to throw himself at the warg. But his first swing of his axe went wide and it was nearly wrenched from his hands as the beast slammed into him with great force.
The Warg
To the other side of the great wolf came Cynuise, and the beast turned from the dwarf to face the new threat. The beast snapped its jaws first to one side and then another as the pair danced around it, drawing several wounds upon it. Finally, as the beast reared up, Cynuise thrust her spear through its throat and it fell to the ground unmoving.
Now unhindered, Pengail swept through the camp with great haste, riffling through the tents, crying aloud as he did so.
‘Nothing!’ he cried out with dismay. ‘How could I have been so stupid?’
As Cynuise turned to look upon the fallen form of Glaedwine, the dwarf approached Pengail with a cold look in his dark eyes.
‘I'm sorry...,’ Said Pengail as a look of pain crossed his face. ‘I must rest. My wounds are not fully healed.’
‘Rest?’ shouted the dwarf in anger. ‘You’ve almost got my companion killed with these antics!’
But the man paid the dwarf little head and collapsed to the ground with a groan and said nothing for a time.
Núri looked over to his two companions. Glaedwine was awake but sat upon the ground, his long legs stretched out before him, a look of great discomfort upon his ashen face. Cynuise was binding an ugly wound about his knee with clean linen to staunch the bleeding.
Suddenly, Pengail staggered wobbly to his feet once more. ‘I feel better. Let us move on,’ he exclaimed. ‘I’ll see these filthy goblins laid low! I want revenge against these goblins! Only one more place to check. Follow me.’
And with that, the man began striding out of the camp in a new direction, never bothering to see if the company was to follow him or not.
Glaedwine climbed slowly to his feet only to cry out in pain and collapsed to the ground once more. ‘My knee…..’
Cynuise knelt beside her friend and then looked up at the dwarf with concern. 'Nuri, go on with the man. I must stay with Glaedwine.'
Nuri nodded with frustration and concern and then took off in pursuit of Pengail, a dangerous gleam growing in his eyes. Out of the camp the dwarf flew but he had already lost sight of the man. Cautiously, he moved forward, peering this way and that for signs of Pengail.
Then suddenly there came to his ears a cry of alarm and fear through some trees ahead. Hefting his axe, the dwarf sped forward to crash through the trees. On the far side, he found Pengail confronted by a large warg, which he was desperately trying to fend off with a sword now held in his hands.
Without warning, the dwarf fell upon the unsuspecting wolf and drove it back with his axe. Snarling, the beast snapped its jaws forward, but Núri leapt to one side and then with a great sweep hewed its head off with a single stroke.
‘Ah,’ exclaimed the man with some pleasure as he held up the sword in his hands. ‘My father’s sword,’ he said as he turned to the dwarf, who was brimming with anger so much so that he could not speak.
‘I'll be fine from here on. Thanks for your help!’ And with that, the man began to depart, leaving the dwarf fuming in silence.
‘Be gone with you troublesome fool!’ the dwarf at once cried out after the fleeing man. Núri then turned to cautiously re-trace his steps. He soon came upon his companions under the canopy of a large tree. Glaedwine was seated with his back against the tree, applying a fresh bandage to his wound while Cynuise kept a lookout for goblins.
‘Where did you both run off to?’ he asked grimly as he approached.
'Ran into some old friends,’ replied Glaedwine humorously.
‘Hm,’ thought the dwarf for a moment. ‘Pengail has run off. Perhaps we should return to the inn. This stranger has much to answer to.’
‘If he is still there,’ countered Glaedwine as he staggered to his feet, favoring his good knee.
'That would be best,’ nodded Cynuise as she helped her companion to stand.
‘Then let us be swift,’ answered the dwarf.
The companions were soon back at the Forsaken Inn. Once inside, Cynuise helped Glaedwine to a table while the dwarf made his way over the bar to speak with Anlaf the Forlorn, the innkeeper. The innkeeper was speaking with a man standing at the bar as the dwarf approached.
‘Pray tell me, did Pengail return?' asked the dwarf as he pushed past the stranger with irritation. The landlord looked at the dwarf as Núri quickly related his tale of finding Pengail a captive among the goblins.
'He was captured by goblins. Ha!’ laughed Anlaf after hearing the dwarf’s tale. ‘Fools running off to make deals with goblins deserve what they get! You rescued him though, and that makes you a better man than I, I guess. I did empty his room when he didn't come back and that note appeared. I took what was owed me but you can have the rest. Such a good person as yourself ought to be given something for helping a fool like him.'
The dwarf thanked the innkeeper and turned to make his way over to his companions. He sat down heavily upon a chair and then spoke.
‘Pengail has already been here and left I am afraid,’ he said irritated.
Cynuise folded her arms as she leaned back in her chair. 'I would have liked to know what he was doing tied up in that camp.'
‘Damn fool shouldn't have been out there,’ retorted Glaedwine, still nursing his sore knee.
‘He was trading with the goblins it seems,’ answered the dwarf. ‘But they double crossed him. Perhaps we were too hasty in freeing him. Not all are opposed to aiding the Enemy it seems.'
'Trading with Goblins?’ thought Glaedwine aloud. ‘Things here have become dire indeed.'
‘Yes it does seem so,’ nodded Núri grimly.
‘Are we to go back there?’ asked Cynuise after a pause. ‘I don't think we fully scouted out the whole place.'
'Perhaps,’ answered Glaedwine, but I have some thoughts.’
Cynuise lifted a brow curiously. 'And what would those be?'
'Goblins would never be able to tame wargs...,’ he answered after moment. 'There must be orcs nearby. Did you notice the crest they bore? A white hand. Never have I seen such heraldry. They are not of Mordor.'
'Aye,’ added Cynuise in agreement. ‘It is said that where the warg howls, there also the orc prowls...'
‘The dwarf pondered Glaedwine’s word for a moment then spoke. ‘Indeed I saw that, but a white hand? That standard is unfamiliar to me as well. Are you to return to the goblin camp then?'
'Perhaps....,’ answered Glaedwine after a pause as he reached for his lute to mindlessly strum the instrument. 'Here then is the question, friends. If these goblins serve not Mordor, nor Angmar, whom then do they serve?'
Núri’s suspicions fell immediately on the dourhands and of Skorgrim but he said nothing.
'A white hand.......,' Glaedwine struck the lute’s cords absently then looked up in shock at his sudden revelation.
'Saruman!' he exclaimed.
‘Who?' countered the dwarf. ‘That name is unfamiliar to me.’
'Saruman the White, he is a wizard, an ally. Or so he was.....'
‘Wizards you say?’ answered the dwarf with distrust. ‘I have little business with their kind,' he spat.
'That’s because they don’t exist...' answered an unseen voice somewhere round the table.
Glaedwine glanced down beside the table to a small hobbit standing there, her hands stuck in her pockets and brimming at the man.
'Oh they exist, little one,’ he said amusingly.
Glaedwine looked back at his companions. 'Now that I think of it, I am not surprised he is behind this.'
'You truly believe someone can conjure elements from nothing?' The hobbit shook her head at such nonsense. 'I don’t believe it,’ she added matter-of-factly.
Nuri looked sidelong at the hobbit and glared.
'I have seen such with my own eyes. Tis a terrible power,’ argued Glaedwine.
‘As have I,’ added the dwarf.
Glaedwine nodded in agreement. 'And it is now arrayed against us.'
Cynuise looked down upon the hobbit, as if not having noticed her before.
Núri clambered to his feet and bowed deeply to the hobbit.
The Hobbit, Leara
‘Well me then, little one. I am Nuri or Ered Luin at your service. These are my companions, Cynuise and Glaedwine.'
'Glaedwine Goblin-Hewer of Rohan,’ said Glaedwine with a nod of his head, not bothering to stand from the table.
Cynuise stood up to bow to the hobbit but said nothing before sitting down once more.
'Nice to meet you all,’ beamed the hobbit with delight. ‘I am Leara. All this talk of wizards and white hands seems foolish though. It’s best to deal with the bandit and orc problems at hand, I say.'
Glaedwine smiled. 'Looks can be deceiving. I think the orcs and bandits are symptoms of a larger disease.'
‘What brings a lone hobbit so far from the shire?' asked the dwarf curiously.
Leara smiled. 'I’m a bit of a... thrill seeker,’ said the hobbit mischievously.
‘A thrill seeker, eh?' answered the dwarf. ‘Best be careful then. There is much danger lurking about these lands for one so small.’
Cynuise chuckled aloud. 'Thrill-seeker, indeed!'
'Green hills can only be so entertaining. How about you dwarf? I don’t see your kind much….and I don’t like to be called short…’
Núri turned to the hobbit and bowed deeply. ‘I meant no offence; pray forgive me, he said stiffly, though he meant it sincerely.
Glaedwine checked his pockets to insure everything was in their rightful place as he looked at the young hobbit.
Núri laughed at his companion and then added, ‘So what is your plan now, Glaedwine?'
'I suppose I must ride to Ost Guruth and warn them of this new threat.'
‘Perhaps we can meet up upon your return?' answered the dwarf.
'Perhaps, replied Glaedwine. ‘I might have to ride along the road to Rivendell.’ With that, he climbed to his feet, adding, 'I must be going. The road ahead is long. Fair weather and swift journeys to you.'
Núri bowed deeply before his friend. ‘Fare well, my friend, until our paths meet once again.’
'Farewell, Glaedwine, nodded Cynuise.
Glaedwine drew his sword in salute, waved goodbye to his companions and turned away for good.
I must apologize for the delay in updating the story of late. Never fear, though, for at times the frequency might drop off in regards to new posts, Núri's travels are far from over. I am in great need of posting several chapters this week to catch up with his current travels - it seems that as soon as I can manage to catch up with the story-telling, a week later I am behind once more!
I am struggling to get on with the Lone-lands - to which I am not a big fan when regions in the game are concerned - and I am looking forward to a breif respite in Bree before beginning the journey to the North Downs.
In the gloom before the dawn, Núri woke from a deep slumber by the sounds of the inn staff from somewhere as they prepared for another day of business at the Forsaken Inn. Grumbling, he climbed out of the hard and most uncomfortable bed and began to splash cold water onto his face that had, thankfully, been left out for him some time in the night. Shaking off the drowsiness as best he could, the dwarf collected his belongings and made his way up the stairs and into the tap room of the inn.
The tavern was quiet and empty except for the lone waitress and, of course, Anlaf the proprietor, both whom were washing tables or sweeping the uneven wooden floors with a crude broom. Neither paid the dwarf much heed until he had sat down at a table and called out for a bit of breakfast. To that, Anlaf said nothing, but simply put down his broom and disappeared into the kitchen behind the bar. Moments later, he had returned with a plate of (mostly) stale bread, a dreadfully inadequate pad of butter, a couple of hard-boiled eggs and a small pitcher of beer. Putting the plate down, the proprietor waited long enough for the dwarf to count out a number of copper coins before returning to his sweeping in silence once more.
After breakfast, Núri went through his pack once again and then spoke a few quiet words with Anlaf before departing from the inn. Outside, the first grey of dawn was just breaking across the clear skies overhead and already a warm wind was coming up from the south. And yet, despite the pleasant morning, the autumn was now getting far on, the leaves had already begun to fall and soon the cold, brisk winds out of the north would begin. He stood silent for a moment, thinking of his kin’s halls high up in the Ered Luin far off in the west, before tramping off down the road.
The night before, Núri had gone over in his mind of the journey that lay before him. His objective was quite clear; having spoken to Glaedwine, he was directed to search the western slopes of Weathertop for the campsite of Candaith the ranger. In truth, the dwarf was in search of the wizard, Radagast; however, he had no clue as to the whereabouts of this wizard and had been instructed by the ranger, Saeradan of Bree, to seek out Candaith for information. Though he had arrived at the Lone Lands three days before, he was only now on his way to seek out this person.
Through the morning, the dwarf plodded along, and as he did the sun climbed high in the clear, warm sky and the ground began to climb steadily upwards to the east. Ahead and to the north, the large hill had had seen only a few days before began to draw near, and at its summit there stood the ruins of old works of stone. Turning from the road, the dwarf struck a path to the north, giving a wide berth to the goblin encampment that lay sprawled across the wide expanse of moors at the foot of the towering hill.
Weathertop
After some time, Núri came on to a faded path along the western slopes of the great hill. Heartened by this, he struck up the path, quickening his pace as he did so. The path ran along the western side of the hill until reached a crest dotted with large outcroppings of rock and stone. From the ridge, the path dived down between several of the rocks into a sheltered dell hidden from view both by the hill above and copious amounts of boulders and trees along its edge.
Though the dwarf did not know of it (or perhaps he should have listened more carefully and attentively to Glaedwine), Weathertop was long ago known as Amon Sul and was once the home to one of the great palantír of the Northern Kingdom of the Dunedain; now nothing but bare ruins stood as witness where a mighty tower once stood at the heart of Arnor. Many a year had passed since the palantír of Arnor had been lost in the Ice-bay of Forochel and the tower itself was destroyed by the terrible Witch-king of Angmar long ago.
As the dwarf passed among the rocks along the path, there suddenly came a hoarse cry that rent the air. Núri had just enough sense to throw up his axe to ward a blow from a cruel-looking blade as a large Orc jumped out from behind a stone. Snarling at the dwarf, the Orc cried aloud again with delight and smote at him once more. The dwarf fell back under the heavy blows of the Orc, looking this way and that for more, but saw nothing. Heartened by this, the dwarf too cried out and lashed out with his axe. He drove the Orc’s blade aside and then swept his axe round to hew off its head.
The dwarf looked about for a moment in silence before making his way further along the path. Soon, he passed over the far crest of the dell to look down upon a sheltered hollow on the western flanks of Weathertop. A small copse of trees stood to the far side, and from there, the dwarf could clearly see the faint wisp of smoke rising from some unseen campfire.
Cautiously, the dwarf made his way forward, his axe in hand, expecting an attack from any direction. Slowly and quietly, he passed through the trees and came onto a small camp. A weathered tent was pitched near a high cliff-face to one side and in front of it there blazed a small and nearly smokeless camp fire. Tied to a nearby tree was a proud-looking chestnut-coloured steed, its harness and saddle slung over a low tree branch. More to the dwarf’s surprise was the sight of a man who was seated before the fire; he was tall and clad in hues of green and grey. A bow and quiver of long, green-feathered arrows lay next to him and a sword hung from round his belt.
At once, the man sprung to his feet and drew his sword, crying out in alarm as he did so. Núri cautiously raised his hand in front of him as a sign of peace, keeping the other far from the hilt of his axe. ‘Well met, stranger, I am Núri, son of Brodli,’ said the dwarf carefully. ‘Do not fear, I am not the enemy, though I have seen witness of them being about here.’
Candaith's Camp
The man lowered his sword slowly, glancing about the trees with caution. The dwarf too lowered his hand and spoke in a low voice. ‘I have come from Bree and was sent by the ranger Saeradan to seek out a man named Candaith, for I am in need of finding the wizard, Radagast. Are you he whom I seek?’
'Radagast the Brown?’ replied the tall man curiously as he sheathed his sword. ‘I have not seen him and know not of his passing, but there is a cold and shadow that has come to these lands of late.'
Though ill-pleased at the man’s declaration, Núri swiftly related the words of Saeradan to Candaith. The ranger listened in silence until the dwarf had told his tale and then spoke.
'Saeradan's word comes late to the Lone-lands. If Radagast the Brown passed into these lands then perhaps hope is not lost in this place. I have returned only recently from a journey in lands far to the east, lands held firmly in the grip of evil. When I returned from that journey, I learned to my dismay that evil does not stir in the East alone.’
‘Indeed,’ answered the dwarf grimly. ‘Just this day I was waylaid by an Orc during my search for you.’
'Goblins now roam to the south,’ nodded the ranger in agreement, ‘while their larger and more ferocious cousins among the Orcs have spread through the Weather Hills like a festering plague. I must find the main body of the Orcs. If you will assist me in driving back the Enemy in these hills, I will begin the search for Radagast the Brown. What say you?'
‘I am in great haste to find Radagast, but it seems I have little choice but to relent to your request,’ said the dwarf in defeat. Núri bowed low before the ranger and then turned to depart. ‘Fare well until my return, Candaith. Look for me ere the sun sets.’
As the dwarf made his way from the camp, he thought turned to the task at hand. As the ranger had spoken (and Núri had seen with his own eyes), goblins had indeed occupied the lands south and west of Weathertop. He had even confronted one of these Orcs prior to stumbling upon the ranger’s camp. But he had seen no evidence of just where the Orc encampment could be hidden. More to the point, he could see little chance what he, a lone dwarf, could do in driving back Orcs should they be great in numbers. And yet the dwarf had little choice, for he was in need of any information concerning the whereabouts of Radagast. So he had relented to the ranger’s wish.
Slowly and cautiously, the dwarf made his way out of the dell to follow a narrow path that wound up through a cleft in a pair of sheer hill-sides and away from the ranger’s camp. Far above, the sun had risen and began to sink near the west and the shadows drew long and deep all around.
At once, the dwarf halted and crouched low alert and tense for somewhere ahead there came the unmistakable cries and wild shouts of Orcs over the top of the slope where the path led. Núri scrambled further up the path to the crest and then halted in the deepening shadows.
Before him lay a deep dale flanked on the far side by sheer rocky cliffs and a path wound up and out to the west over a high ridge. The floor of the dale was occupied by a large encampment, surrounded by a crude hide and wood-posted enclosure. In its center there burned a large bonfire and unfurled at an opening in the enclosure there flew a strange standard: a large white hand in the center of a black field. The encampment was not vacant, for the dwarf could clearly make out over a dozen figures about the place. They were Orc-soldiers of great stature, swart, slant-eyed, with thick legs and large hands. Many were armed with short, broad-bladed swords and axes or powerful bows of yew.
The Orc Encampment
Núri studied the encampment for some time, and then cautiously made his way round the right flank of the hill. He did not trust the wisdom of a frontal assault upon the camp, for the Orcs were many and they could easily overwhelm the lone dwarf. Rather, the dwarf crept forward to dispatch several Orcs that foolishly wandered too far from their companions. In short time, Núri had reduced their numbers by fully two pair, and the main force within the encampment had yet to be alerted.
White Hand Orcs
Now, Núri changed his tactics, and he now crept down the slope to the very entrance of the enclosure, where several Orcs entries stood guard. Without warning, the dwarf sprang out of the shadows to hurl himself at the Orcs, giving a hoarse cry, "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd aimênu!” That echoed round the high cliffs. Dismayed, the Orcs turned to fight but he swept forward with his axe and the enarest Orc fell headless to the ground with a crash.
The other sentries cried aloud a call of alarm and within moments, the other Orcs sprang at him, surrounding the dwarf on all sides. The onset of the Orcs’ counter-attack was fierce and sudden, and yet they soon gave way before the dwarf’s wrath. Núri struck first to one side then another, hewing down two more Orcs and their companions fell back in panic, only to renew their assault. Núri called out again, and his axe rose and fell as they swarmed all about him. At last, he hewed a wide stroke of his axe and laid the last Orc at his feet.
The dwarf faltered back unsteadily on his feet. Blood flowed from multiple wounds and he bore a nasty slash across his brow, but he still stood. Exhausted, he bent over to swiftly search the Orc-bodies, and then turned to make his way back to the rangers’ camp with news of his victory.
The sun had fallen far over the towering hills when Núri had once more arrived at Candaith’s camp. His brow was now wrapped in a hurried bandage but a cold gleam shone in his bright eyes. He laid his axe upon the ground, and sat wearily down beside the fire. After a pause, the dwarf slowly related the attack upon the Orc encampment.
'I thank you, Núri,’ replied Candaith as the dwarf completed his tale. ‘But my thanks are tempered with concern; I have never seen a force of Orcs like this in Eriador before today: organized and well-provisioned. They hold an encampment in an outlet within the Midgewater Pass and bear a strange charge on their banners and shields...one that I have not seen before.’
‘Verily,’ muttered the dwarf, ‘that device is one that would not be known by many here. And yet this is not the first time I have been confronted by it.’ The words of Glaedwine came to his mind and of the wizard Saurman, but of this Núri said nothing.
The ranger fell silent as if in deep thought for a moment for continuing. 'Their numbers at this camp are great but the day may come when we can drive them howling from the Lone-lands. Not today, I fear, but perhaps not far off. There is another matter that demands out attention, an urgent matter; we will see to the destruction of their camp in the Midgewater Pass later.'
Núri camped under the stars at the ranger’s camp in the deep shadows of Weathertop following his return from the assault on the Orc camp. He slept uneasily despite that Candaith went sleepless while guarding the camp through the long hours of darkness.
Núri's Travels - 10 to 11 Wintring, TA 3018
The dwarf was roused from his fitful slumber by the ranger just as the sun broke over the skies. The dawn came with an autumn –like chill in the air that clung about the land. His back protested greatly to the night’s rest, and he felt as if he had just fallen asleep. His brow was still wrapped in bandages and the wound bore an ugly look to it and even now caused him much pain.
‘Confound it,’ moaned the dwarf as he awoke, rubbing his sleepy eyes. ‘This is not proper for a kin of Durin’s Folk such as myself.’ Candaith said nothing but sat beside the campfire deep in thought. Núri got up from his bedroll and sat opposite the ranger at the fire, gathering his travel-stained cloak about him in the chilled morning air but nothing more.
‘Last night, you spoke of a task for me, and urgent matter, I believe,’ said the dwarf after a long pause.
At first, the ranger only nodded and did not speak for some time. 'As I began my search for Radagast, near the Midgewater Pass, I witnessed an Orc-messenger depart in great haste. Quickly, I followed, trailing him eastwards along the shoulder of the hills and then south, but my search was interrupted. I could follow no further, for foul crebain circled above, and to be discovered would do greater injury to our work here than I can permit.’
'Once again, I must call upon your aid. The messenger likely carries with him orders to the outlying camps. If you can intercept the messenger, we may learn the nature of these orders. So armed, we will be better equipped to deal with the Orc-threat. Search among the Orc-camps in Glumhallow, to the west, and return to me with the orders this messenger surely possesses. I will seek sign of Radagast's passage elsewhere.'
‘Blast these foul Orcs,’ muttered the dwarf. ‘Yet, I cannot refuse your request if I hope to find this wizard it seems. I will return to the Orcs’ camps to the west once again as you ask.’
After a meager breakfast, the dwarf prepared to depart once more. Gathering his pack, Núri bid the ranger goodbye and began climbing out of the dell trotting along the path once more that lead towards the Orc encampment.
Much to his surprise, the dwarf discovered that the camp had been re-occupied by many Orcs since his attack upon it yesterday. He stood in the shadows of the high cliffs and looked down upon the camp in amazement and some apprehension. Núri had slain fully a dozen of their numbers and yet here were more of those foul creatures.
Núri stood dumbfounded for some time, not sure how to proceed. The Orcs were far greater in number than he (or even Candaith the ranger) had imagined. He had only barely defeated the Orcs the day before, and now the prospect of another attack seemed futile to him.
The dwarf made his way stealthily up the western slope of the dell to the ridge and there he found another surprise. The Orc encampment below in the dell was but one of many, for laid out on top of the ridge was an even larger encampment of Orcs.
The Orc Encampments
Núri sat down in abject defeat at the sight of the second and third encampment. Even at a glance, there was far too many for the lone dwarf to overcome by himself. He groaned and dug the haft of his axe into the ground with disgust and dismay. Finally, the dwarf turned from the ridge to climb a small knoll overlooking the encampment below and took shelter among a patch of thorny brush and sat deep in thought for some time.
There he waited, as the sun climbed higher into the clear sky and begun to pass quietly into the west. In the encampment below, Núri could see a great deal of coming and goings among the Orcs, like the mustering of a long-planned war. This was not mere camp of Orcs passing through to some lands beyond, but one of war.
When the sun had begun to sink low towards the distant horizon in the west, the dwarf had just begun to doze off slightly when there came the loud and harsh sounds of Orc-voices nearby. Quickly, he crouched low behind the brown and thorny bush just as the voices drew nearer. Presently, two Orcs came into view as they walked up the hillside towards the concealed dwarf. One was a big fighting-Orc, bearing the token of the white hand, and he carried a wicked spiked club in its large hand. The other was a shorter, crook-legged goblin, very broad and with long arms.
Without warning, the dwarf leapt forward from his hiding place and charged the Orcs. But his first swing went wild, and he stumbled forward, almost falling over. The large Orc leapt at him with glee and dove at him with malice, driving the dwarf back a step. The Orc raised his club and brought it down onto Núri’s shoulder. Crying aloud in pain, the dwarf swept up with his axe to smite the Orc with a heavy blow.
The Orc Messenger
Suddenly, Núri was struck on his head from one side and his ears began to ring; his helm had deflected the blow but now he stood dazed as the Orcs swarmed all about him, landing blow after blow upon the hapless dwarf. Desperately, the dwarf fell back, fending off first one blow then another. Then, the smaller Orc made a wild swing and stumbled forward with the momentum. With a swift stroke, Núri swung his axe wide and hewed off its head.
Now, the dwarf turned to the larger Orc, who glanced back over its shoulder towards the encampment below. Fearing the Orc might turn to flee back towards his companions, Núri dove forward under the Orc’s club and hewed at its legs. Then, he darted aside to slip past its club; Núri stood up and brought his axe down upon the Orc’s head and the Orc crashed to the ground dead.
Swiftly, Núri searched the bodies of the fallen Orcs and he soon found a rolled scrap of parchment it the larger Orc’s pockets. The parchment bore writing in a script that he could not decipher but he was certain that this was the very orders he had been seeking.
Placing the orders into his pack, the dwarf turned to make his way back to Candaith’s camp before the rest of the Orcs were alerted to their companions’ disappearance. After some time, Núri was once more seated beside the fire at the ranger’s camp. He handed the ranger the orders he had recovered and quickly told his tale.
'These orders are written in the Black Speech, Núri,’ said the ranger once he looked over the parchment for some time. ‘A tongue I have never desired to learn. I should have prepared for this, but I hoped that we would learn something useful immediately. While you were seeking these orders, I followed signs of Radagast through the hills. I was not alone in this pursuit as a patrol of Orcs soon happened upon my location! I was forced to break off my pursuit, and I lost my bow as I evaded the Orcs beneath the eaves of the wood. It was a close thing, Núri. A close encounter that yielded insight into the Orc's leadership.’
'I would have easily evaded the Orcs I pursued, Núri were it not for the War-master that travelled with them. "Uzorr," they called him and gave to him what respect that their kind reserve for their strongest and fiercest warriors. It is likely that Uzorr returned to Bleakrift within the Midgewater Pass, for that seemed to be his domain. He must be slain, and whatever orders were given him recovered.’
'Bleakrift is north-west of here, on the north-eastern edge of the Midgewater Pass, surrounded by a shallow body of water. Defeat War-master Uzorr and look for a letter of some kind near his person. Return to me victorious and we will discuss further what must be done. Bleakrift is likely to be a dangerous place, Núri, be careful. I will continue my search for Radagast.'
Senior Member Online status:
Reputation:
Londo Falls
Member Online status:
Senior Member Online status:
Re: Total Immersion – The Quest for Moria
Zitat von story21
Thank you very much for the praise and the continued support! I must admit of late I have not posted any new stories, but summer seems to continually occupy a great deal of time. However, I am have several posts prepared for Núri's travels.
Map of Núri's Travels, 21st Harvestmath, TA 3018
Senior Member Online status:
Senior Member Online status:
Junior Member Online status:
Re: Total Immersion – The Quest for Moria
Junior Member Online status:
Junior Member Online status:
The Crebain Roost
The Fall of Andraste
Junior Member Online status:
Senior Member Online status:
Grand Member Online status:
Poster of Note Online status:
Zitieren
Berechtigungen
