The Prancing Pony, Bree
Dear Mother,
Where to begin, when it feels like I have come to the end? After weeks of searching the Archives in Bree, I finally came across a reference to the brooch father gave me on his deathbed. It mentioned a town in Rohan, so there my steps were turned. Luck was with me, so I thought, for Cymaru, the friendly housekeeper at the Prancing Pony Inn, was able to inform me of a caravan that was headed to Rohan and would leave in just a few days. I quickly made arrangements for a place within the caravan and made preparations for another long journey.
It was with anticipation in my heart that we set out on a lovely sunny day. Donhelm Graymare being the man in charge, gave a short speech, entailing the possible dangers involved and encouraging those not prepared for such perils to stay behind. Ser Matheric Oakheart was put in charge of the rearguard, of which I became a part. The Mithril Guard, a company of dwarven soldiers, had sent several members to accompany and protect the caravan on it's travels. There were all kinds who joined, men, dwarves, hobbits, even an elf or two, of all professions and walks of life. All had their own reasons for joining. Some would leave us at the first stop, some would be with us for the entire journey.
I will not bore you with details of the travelling, suffice to say, we made good time at first. What was of note happened after we arrived in the Trollshaws, a beautiful, but fell place, full of... trolls. Luckily we did not see any while travelling with the caravan, the creatures being of nocturnal nature. Our camps were made in places trolls were not likely to frequent and so we reached Garbert's Cottage without incident.
It was not until nearly at Gwingris that we had our first troubles. A pair of dwarves were blocking the road. At first we believed them to be bandits when they demanded gold and hobbit slaves as payment for crossing. Then it became clear that they claimed that the huge treetrunk lying across the chasm had been felled by them and was the only way forward. After some negotiating, a payment of ale from one of the dwarven merchants was handed over and the caravan was able continue.
Then after arriving at Gwingris, it was discovered that Remis Locke, a man of dubious character, had disappeared. No one had seen him leave the caravan. Mr. Graymare decided to go looking for him and so a small party, comprised of himself, Ser Matheric Oakheart, Miss Kailey, Kosei Blackthorne and myself, set out to retrace the caravan's footsteps and search for him. Mr Blackthorne's impressive tracking skills finally led us to some caves. Miss Kailey decided to wait outside with the horses for the rest of us.
It was with no fear at all that I entered that fell place. But my courage was soon put to the test. Trolls attacked us and several of us were injured. Ser Matheric recieved the worst injuries, when upon losing his sword, he attacked one troll with his bare hands and was thrown clear across the tunnel! Brave, but foolhardy. Mr. Graymare was getting tired and I had injured my ankle. At one point, I felt I could not continue. It was only due to the encouraging words of Mr. Blackthorne that I felt new courage fill my heart and so we continued. Locke was inside the caves and we were determined to find him!
Finally we heard noises and came upon a deep cleft in the cavern floor. At the bottom lay a prone figure. Could it be Locke? In spite of my ankle injury, it was decided that I would be lowered to investigate. The figure turned out to be a badly injured elf by name of Merilineth. I cannot describe the difficulty we had in getting her out, but somehow we managed.
After assessing our injuries and the state of the group, we came to the conclusion that further investigation would quite likely be suicidal and decided to make our way out of the caves as best we could. It was pure luck that we came across a deep hole that contained the nefarious Locke. We got him out and left the caves, the rascal showing no gratitude whatsoever for his rescue, his only concern being an old wooden box that he had found. Outside the cave the box was opened. Inside was, to say the least, an unimpressive looking sword. However, Locke treated the thing as though it were worth it's weight in gold. To Locke's disappointment, Mr. Graymare took the sword into his custody.
We made our weary way to Thorenhad where Miss Kailey inspected the injured. Alas for Ser Oakheart, he had now fallen into a coma. It was impossible to take him with us, so we left him in the capable hands of the people at Thorenhad and made our way back to Gwingris.
From Gwingris, we travelled to Mirobel with members of the Warband of Imladris clearing a way for us. At Mirobel, fording a swiftly flowing river, the hobbit Rilla and her horse Acorn were taken by the current and nearly swept away. It was only due to the quick actions of Thorvall Horsemane that the hobbit and her horse were saved, though nearly to the cost of Thorvall's life; he was swept over a waterfall. While the rest of the caravan dried it's clothes on the opposite bank, Asulin, Mr. Graymare and one or two others went in search of Thorvall. It was with great relief that they brought him safely back.
Then, nearly at Echad Dagoras, we had our first death. Ollric, the brother of Cym, was killed in a battle with wolves. His funeral was held a day or two later, just a few attending; Cymaru, Mr. Graymare, Asulin, Kailey, Remis, Ethelceo and myself. In honour of his death, each person said a few words. Kailey played a lovely melody and I sang a Rohirric warsong that I had been learning during the trip. It was a poignant moment.
The caravan continued on from Echad Dagoras. The countryside was beautiful, though the caravan was attacked several times by fell creatures such as crebain, cathraul, wargs and others. At Lhanuch, another casualty fell. Hogrygg, that intrepid dwarf, was seized by a warg and injured so gravely that he was forced to stay behind.
The road was long and people were getting tired when suddenly, the road ended. There was no way forward. The bridge was broken. The disappointment was overwhelming. Some people insisted on trying a new way, but Mr. Graymare was firm in his decision to go back to Bree. For myself, my heart had sunk into my boots. How would I ever find my bloodfamily if I could not reach Rohan? Not caring what happened to me any more, I followed the majority and made camp.
It was a long and tiring trip back to Bree. People were disappointed and unhappy for the most part. Though finally arriving in Bree, we had a small celebration in a back room of the Pony for Mr. Graymare had proposed to Cymaru and she had accepted! So some good has come of the ill-fated trip at least.
Yesterday, I attended the funeral of Ser Matheric Oakheart. To our great sorrow, this brave and noble man succumbed to the wounds inflicted upon him by the trolls in that dreadful cave. I wonder how Remis feels about that.
For myself, I do not know what to do, I know not what the future holds. I am at the end of my means, my courage has failed me. There seems no way forward, but somehow, I must continue. The only good thing I bring from the trip is the friends I have made along the way; Cymaru, Eoryn, Donhelm, Kailey, Kosei, Lhak, Hogrygg, Rilla, Uthrek, yes, even the disreputable Remis will I dare to call a friend.
Hoping this missive finds you and the boys well, I remain your loving daughter,
Dierra
OOC: This link is to screenshots I created during the trip. I hope you enjoy.
s234.photobucket.com/albums/ee263/Duissane/Dierra/Caravan%20to%20the%20South/
