[Himaran]

Many of the company had gone to bed. Only a few remained awake, sitting and talking, laughing at the better times of old. The night became chilly, and the company huddled near the fire for warmth.

"Does anyone have a good story," inquired Arlome. "We have not heard a tale since we stopped at Rivendell."

"I believe that I have a tale. I have told it before, inside the Green Dragon, but most of you have not heard it before. It is one that will show you the brutality of the hordes that we face.

"I'll have you know, good friends, that few dwarves ever venture through Mirkwood. It is a dangerous forest, with only one true road leading through it. If you stray off the path but a little, you will never find it again.

I was lucky, however, in the fact that I was a friend of King Thranduil, and the Wood elves living there. I was given safe passage through those dark woods. But that means little, as the tale has no adventure or excitement in it, and thus makes no kind of story. But after I left the edges of Mirkwood, I traveled alone, passing over hill and dale, through many strange places.

"As I left Mirkwood I came to a strange wasteland, where few live and known travel by night. It is a dangerous road, through Wilderland, which which is the name I gave it. Wolves prowl the forest; orcs from the --- mountains patrol the northern border, and goblins from Moria and the Misty Mountains creep through the western parts, making the narrow paths all the more deadly to the unwary traveler.

Here it was that the elves of Mirkwood left me. But not all; for Halonir, long a friend of mine, vowed to continue with me and see for himself the great forest of Lothlorien, which lay near my chosen route. I accepted his company with great pleasure, for I was sad to see the elves go and be left alone on my journey.

When we entered to Wilderland, Halonir felt a great disturbance in the air. Something great was amiss in the land. After a days travel we found several huts, the first sign of life. But they were burnt, hacked apart and crumbling in ash and ruin. Bodies there were also, of men, women, and children. Halonir looked around at the ground, and soon his keen eyes picked up a set of tracks; they were strange, and matched nothing he or I had seen before. The tracks were not of man, orc, or goblin, nor of troll or warg.

Astonished, and angered, we continued our travels. Soon we came to another village, in the same state as the first.

Burned buildings.

Burned Bodies.

And tracks... Always more tracks.

It was several days later, as we came to a large hill, that we found the answer to the riddle. Arriving at the top, we saw smoke rising from a clearing not far south of where we stood. Not only smoke, but orange flame. From the clearing there came shouts, screams, snarls and the ring of steel.

Dashing from our vantage poing we raced through the forest; heading in the rough direction of the sound (which was all we had to guide us. Soon we reached the conflict.

Arriving at the clearing first, Halodir found himself standing amidst the caos of a Uruk Hai raid on a large village. The mutant orcs weilding long swords, spears and broad axes swarmed the area, slaying the villigers and pillaging houses. Suddenly noticing the new arrival, three Uruk Hai charged him. But Halodir was not a King's bodyguard for nought. Slaying two with arrows, he whipped out his long knife and would have slain the remaining Uruk had not a hatcher - mine, that is - have taken it in the throat. Charging into the village, we attacked the force together.

Slaying an Uruk Hai who was beating a villiger, I turned to another, ducking as his sword whistled over my head. Catching him in the midriff with a hefty axe-blow, I slew several more with my remaining hatchets. I turned to see my friend slay his twelth Uruk Hai, using his skill with a bow to easy kill the poorly armored Uruks. Being no match for the ferocity of two able-bodied and ambushing warriors, the survivors fled, leaving the village in peace.

But after helping the villigers rebuild their dwellings, we with ten good fighting men left to track down the attackers. Those who were wounded we caught and dispatched with, but around seven had run north, and were far out of our reach. Thus, not a match for the tireless Uruk Hai, we returned to the village. We sent word of this to King Thranduil, who sent a large force of elves to patrol the area of Wilderland, cleaning it of the scum of orcs and goblins. And so Halodir and I continued on our way, and when I came to Moria, we parted and he went away south to seek his own kind the the great forest of Lothlorien.

It was my goal to pass to the other side, somehow. But there was no known way. I could not pass over them, alone and with the gear I had brought.

And so I resolved to pass through the Mines of Moria. I had heard rumors of what it was like, but had never been there before. And had never heard of the evil that awaited me.

As I past through the eastern passage, and descended the first level of steps, what awaited me there but a small group of orcs. They being as surprised as me, but I recovering from it quicker, the fight was brief. But as I continued down several more rows of steps, my heart slumping lower with each, I found what could not be imagined. The bridge, the Bridge of Kazad Dum, which I had longed to see since I had heard stories of it as a child, was in ruin. The eastern half jutted out part-way over the chasm, but the western half was gone!

Futher more, as I cried out in horror, a multitude of orcs appeared uppon the western side, and launched a volley of what I presumed were poisened shafts (they usually are). I am not proud of the fact, but seeing as they were too far away to hit with an axe, I fled from the mines.

I still wished to go across the mountains, but it seemed all passes through it which I knew were blocked. Thus, I decided that if nothing else, I would go south, and see what lands lay near the sea.

As I went south, following the eastern side of the mountains, I eventually came to a great forest. Having only ever seen it on maps, I came to believe it to be Lorien. Not knowing that most of its people had left for the grey havens, I was "uncomfortable" with passing through it, and thus went around the eastern side.

When I got back to the mountains, I found that not many days after I had passed around Lorien, I had arrived at yet another large forest. Fangorn. Not only "uncomfortable" but more so "terrified" of that forest, I once again went around it.

As finally found the mountains beyond it, I came to a lake, which was surrounded by an emmense ring of broken stone. In the center of that lake, was a huge tower. It seemed as high as the very peak of the largest mountain in the earth. Black it was, like its name: Orthanc, on time home of the wizard Saruman. It is now controlled by men of the king, clearing the stone and building a causeway over the lake to the tower. Having no reason to stop there, I continued past it, coming at last to a break in the mountains. I have been told it was called the Gap of Rohan.

From there I traveled north, at last finding the Old South Road. Following it It lead to me at last to a split. One side went Northeast, the other side went Northwest. I took the west path, not wanting to go back to the mountains. And one fine day following that road, I came to this happy land called the Shire, and found my way along the dusty road to Green Dragon Inn.

And now, as for the attack of the Uruks, I know that these are part of the army now attacking Erebor. This here is a letter my father sent to me while I was at the Green Dragon Inn.

My dear son Bali,

I am writing you to let you know that war has begun. A large army of Uruk Hai has massed and is threatening Erebor. King Thranduil has sent elvish units to aid us, but our border gaurds are on watch around the day and night, and we expect war to break out soon.

I hope that your journey has gone well, but I plead that you will return home soon. You are needed here.

Your friend, Eruantalon, left here a month before the army was reported. You may meet him on your way. If you do, give him this letter, and ask him if he will return home with you. Any dwarf, man or elf that can fight is needed.

Best wishes on your journey home.

Your father,

Dwalin Longbeard.

This, friends, is why we are on the road to Erebor. I have been summoned by my father, and you have come with me. We will fight to their deaths, or ours, and free Erebor and its people. Remember, if Erebor were to fall, Mirkwood would be the next target of the invaders. If that fell also, then enemies of the north could pass into middle earth as freely as I throw this rock."

Grasping a rock, Bali hurled it into the darkness. There was a dull 'thunk' and a groan, then the sound of a body collapsing.

Eruantalon and Arlome jumped up and hurried off into the darkness. When they returned, they weredragging a struggling man behind them. He had a large lump on his head.

"This one was spying on our campsite, probably listening in on our conversations for some idea of the paths we are now taking. Your rock temporarily stunned him."

Bali looked the man over. He was fairly young, a few years over Kaldon (he guessed), and from the objects in the hands of the other two men he had been carrying several knives and a bow with a shaft notched in it. "We there any others?"

"Not that we saw. But they could be out there. We should have a double guard duty tonight and from now on."

The man was struggling harder now. "I won't tell you anything, you might as well kill me right now."

Then he saw Belfalod. "And you! Your a dirty traitor, and you know it, too! Kaldon will have your head for this!"

All eyes were on the ranger. When he spoke, it was slow and steady. "I turned from that path a long while back. I don't want to follow him anymore. This is where I belong, with my friends and companions."

But even as he said this, the man slipped from the grasp of the two men. He rolled over, jumped up (now holding a concealed knife) and sent the deadly weapon spinning into the neck of Belfalod. As he dashed away into the darkness, Arlome's arrow took him in the back...


Burzdol's Post

Burzdol sat quietly, smoking shire weed. All in the company were mourning the deaths of their companions, and Burzdol also was depressed. For the knife used to kill Belafold was one like Kaldon's. The elf remembered the fight at the Prancing Pony, and saw the knife Kaldon threw at him several times. Then the elf walked to inspect the knife. A simple poison resided on the blade.

"Guess that wasn't needed," Burzdol said, exasperated. "Bali, how 'bout a short story, then to bed. The both of us need it."

The dwarf and man talked for a bit about tales of old, and of their journeys throughout middle earth. Slowly, the two fell asleep. Dreaming of the old stories they had just heard.

[ April 04, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]