Annúminas

Finally we left Bree on our way to the North downs, passing through Trestlebridge.

Upon reaching the city, we saw that there was a great fire and several houses were in ruins. All this produced by the last assault of orcs that they suffered a few weeks ago.

Belenir wanted to focus his attention on Fornost, the ancient city of the Dunedains. According to his historian, there are artifacts, relics, that are still asleep and hidden from the eyes of evil. Our duty to Gondor involves keeping these relics safe.

Sindalea leans back against the mossy rocks and stares into the distance. The sun has started to set, illuminating the Twilight Lake with a dim, violet glow. The woman sighs, having longed for this moment of solitude for a while now. For the first time since leaving Bree, she lights up her thin wooden pipe. Sweet, intoxicating smoke fills her lungs. The voices and sounds coming from the Rangers' camp are slowly drowned out of her mind, leaving her to her own thoughts. 

It seems a lot has transpired since I last made an entry. This is probably going to be quite a long one, but where do I even begin?

I must say, I am surprised at myself. Venturing into the tombs of kings, I figured that I would feel a little more irreverent, but I felt nothing of the sort. Only the cord pulling me and Catalinna deeper and deeper into the king's space. Of course, I did my best to collect more academic information for Sin, but my curiosity apparently could not be quenched.

A hawk soars above the Twilight Lake and heads southeastwards in a determined pace. Attached to his leg is a folded up piece of paper, sealed with bright blue wax, bearing the signet of a dagger.

“Tinnudir, August 17th.

Master,