(A letter written in almost child-like Sindarin...the equivalent of block print in English. Several parts are scribbled out, and much of the lower part of the letter is scorched and blood stained.)
Dear Xanderian,
I have been trying to contact you for weeks now but you must still be in the Dwarven Tombs with the Shieldstrumpet, or you are just refusing to answer me.
If the former is the case then do not die down there because I will not crawl back into Khazad DUMB to drag your skinny bones home.
If the latter is true, then feck off I don't want to talk to you either, you flimsy, useless little ranger hag.
Anyway, I will have this letter delivered to old Butterball in Bree with instructions to pass it on to you, so I figure you will get it eventually assuming the old lardgut doesn't eat it or wear it as a bib.
So...ummm...how are you Monk?
You still with the Shieldstrumpet or did you drive her away like you did that cute little Gondorian forge-follower?
Too soon? Well that is just too damn bad. Get over it, Rian.
Anyway...
I'm fine.
After weeks spent sitting around camp awaiting our order while we watched Swan Knights polishing their lances (both of em), we finally hit Morannon hard, in response Morannon giggled, or at least snorted. Truly Rian, it was looking to be a rout..SilverWand was babbling my death song as I spent most of the battle trying to convince a damn Troll that I was not delicious. He finally got the point (SilverWand's point that is) and I still have one of his teeth in my fecking shoulder. Still not sure why we aren't dead, we should have been, but we are not..well..some of us aren't. See, all at once things started falling down and the nasties hightailed back into the depths of the Black Land. Some of em are still running. Mithrandir was there and seemed to know what was up, as did the King...however nobody told me much of anything beyond CHARGE! Story of our lives, Monk, story of our lives.
So anyway, I've been in Mordor a few weeks now.
It's nice.
Well, at least it ain't nearly as bad as we have been told. Much nicer than Angmar...sort of. Udun is actually kind of pleasant when the wind is from the west..when the wind is from the east the entire place smells like burnt dog, or a dwarf with an inflamed colon. Food is mainly broiled orc but we've had worse, ain't we sister dear? At least we don't know the entree by name, like we did at Lorin's Grange. And best of all, by Elbereth's Halfling Lover there is plenty of work to keep a soul busy around here. Lots of things that need doing...or killing...or both. Lots and lots of both actually. Never get bored in Mordor, I say.
I have been mainly spending time lately mapping Barad-Dur (very impressive place..a bit dark but solid) and convincing the current inhabitants politely to move on in a spirit of brotherhood and peace.
HeHeHe
As if...245 orc scalps to date in the damn Tower ALONE, Rian. Truly, this place is fun for the ENTIRE DAMN FAMILY.
Anyway, I must go...things to get on with and I am running out of clean paper. Send me word if you aren't dead...and the Host keeps asking when you are going to make your way here and get to work. I told the Captain you were on your way but you are busy with love and grief in the meantime because you are a simpering wretch that way. He just rolled his eyes and didn't look surprised. People know all about you, Rian.
Stay safe, Monk...I imagine you'll see me soon, if I don't see you first.
Your sister,
Lif
