The land that sits between the Trollshaws forest, bordered by the Hoarwell River, and the Midgewater Marshes, which mark the beginning of the lands called Bree-lands, is called the Lone-lands by most. This is technically both correct and a misnomer, because the term Lone-lands refers to any of the many mostly uninhabited lands of Eriador, not specifically this dry land that spans the Great East Road beyond Bree-town. But to most of the folks of Bree and its surrounding communities, the only Lone-lands they ever hear of is this unwelcoming land, because of the presence of the major trade and travel thoroughfare that passes through it; so throughout this work, we will refer solely to the homeland of the Eglain when we speak of the Lone-lands.
It is a harsh and dry land, in which survival is difficult. Few crops grow and there is little to hunt and less to forage, particularly for those who do not know the land and its secrets well. Goblins regularly set up camps, crossing over (or under) the hills to invade for purposes known only to them (or perhaps not even to them). Winds sweeping the plains can be severe, particularly in winter, sapping the life of the unprepared traveler before they realize the danger. But far more challenging than any of these is the lack of drinkable water; indeed, save for a few small ponds and springs, mostly hidden out of view, there are no sources of clear, safe drinking water between the marshes and the Hoarwell.
Most travelers pass through these lands as quickly as possible to avoid these perils and minimize their discomfort, learning little about the land they cross on the way to somewhere else. This is perhaps for the best. They see crumbled ruins and care not for the rich history of ancient empires that can be read in their stones, nor the valuable relics sometimes amongst them. They see the dried remains of forgotten rivers covered with flowering gorse, humble and unassuming, and have moved on too quickly to see those tiny flowers painted by a vivid crimson sunset silhouetting the majestic rise of Weathertop. They tread the weary stones of the Great East Road and hear not the silent footsteps of the Eglain, the forsaken people who choose this harsh land for their home.
This volume hopes to provide, from the viewpoint of a scout of the Eglain, both some information of use to the traveler who needs to survive a journey through the Lone-lands, and a glimpse of the reasons why one might choose, during that journey, to take a look around.
Some from the Soft Lands may sing of their forests,
Their rivers and plains, their cities and farmlands.
Their lives may be easy, warm fires and full bellies,
But my feet will always come back to the Lone-lands.
The wind in the gorse is the song of my homeland:
The shelter of blue skies, as far as the eye sees,
As open as freedom, as wide as hope's promise,
Its welcome reserved for only some few, like me.
Land rumpled and rolling, hard, unforgiving,
Hungry and dry, sweaty hot, freezing cold,
To survive is a challenge, to prosper a wonder,
None make it a home save the strong and the bold.
