Torech Besruth, Falathlorn, Lindon
20 Coirë in the Reckoning of Imladris
A fortnight has passed since the ice-storm engulfed the region, freezing life here both literally and poetically. The storm that threatened to pile on additional snow and ice mercifully passed to the north, sparing Lindon a further chilling blow. Travelers from the north brought tidings of heavy snows which struck those lands, cracking trees beneath the snow's mass and sending the timbers into the upper river, flowing south.
The weather has warmed, and the promise of spring is drawing winter to its close. With the warmer weather brings the rains and the flooding, and this is causing concerns for Torn-en-Aduial. The flotsam from the north has collected against the pilings of the bridge at Duillond, a danger to both the bridge itself and the communities downstream from the logjam. Laborers from Duillond and Celondim have gathered to clear the debris, allowing the Lhûn to flow freely once more.
I, of course, had concerns of my own, with the Lair being so close to the riverbank and the danger of flooding. The overseer of the gang working at the bridge asked my leave to walk the water's edge, and I accompanied him on his survey. He explained that the work was pressed for time, that the surge of the waters from up-river was fast approaching Duillond and the logjam had to be cleared; elsewise, more debris with the added strength of the current would spell disaster for anyone caught in its path.
I asked how the work was progressing, and he admitted that he was losing the battle with the waters. Even with more hands and tools, the logjam might not be cleared before the flood's arrival. So I mentioned, what about fire? He scoffed at my remark, until I explained that my stock of Ironfold Oil might be employed to set even the most saturated timber alight. I was rewarded to see a fierce light of hope in his eyes, as he departed to bring a team of laborers back to fetch as much of my oil stock as a cart could bear.
I accompanied the party to the riverbank above the Duillond bridge, and saw for myself that the situation was indeed alarming; the debris jammed against the pilings of the bridge was more than the laborers could hope to clear in time. Messengers flying down from the north reported that the flood was surging south faster than previously thought. With little time to use, the overseer directed a line of archers be deployed near the bridge and, armed with my oil, loosed a flaming barrage which set the sodden timber ablaze. A pall of black smoke hid the span from view but the archers kept shooting, aiming at the base of the tower of smoke.
It was not long before a series of snapping cracks could be heard as the burning logs broke and bent under the weight of the flood, and the logjam suddenly broke with a roar of rushing water, logs spinning with the current shrouded by a mist of steam, accompanied by the shout of triumph from the onlooking Elves. Even as the river was flowing free once more, the surge from the north arrived, but no longer holding the threat of a sudden flood or ruinous debris bringing down the ancient bridge.
I made my way back to the Lair, but not before receiving loud thanks and praise from the overseer and his laborers for the timely gift of the oils. The overseer also promised to send to the Resident Council of Torn-en-Aduial an account of the incident, if some favor might be granted in light of my aid. In truth, I accepted this with an ulterior thought, as a favor held in abeyance might prove useful in future.
So ends the tale of Fire on the River.
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