Daylight slowly filtered in through the drapes of Elrond's house. The elf, still asleep in the wide bed of the guest room, mumbled something and pulled the blanket over her head, unwilling to wake up.
Suddenly the sound of a startled bird outside made her listen up. She opened her eyes wide in shock. "Oh no... Nemben..."

As the last rays of late summer sun wink over the hill, a small figure crunches up the gravel path that leads to the homely hump of hobbit burrow bulging from the hillside. The figure struggles out of a knapsack and plops down heavily onto the plain wooden bench by the round front door. Tambard Brindletoe, bounder of the Shire, stretches his tired legs and gazes out over the fields of his beloved homeland. "Well, that there were an adventure an' no mistake!" he murmurs, and rifles through the pack for his pipe and baccy pouch.

Here I am, now with a baby in my arms. Bronwyn is her name, named after her great-grandmother. The birth was tough, painful.. but Cirdu was there, along with Abrianna, who we randomly came across.

My baby was a month early, but all seems to be going well with her. The healer said she is in good condition.

You ask of my name,Lord..

..My name today is Naergon but once it was Iseril Ealath and maybe some here have heard my songs in the nights when Ithil was casting its light upon the festivals hold in Greenwood the Great, Imladis or Lorien. My story is long and I will share of it as much as your ears will suffer to hear, as it is as bitter as woeful. *looks at all around a moment before beginning *

I have not written upon these pages in what seems an age. Writing is an escape route. A way in which thoughts and events can be contemplated, solely by the reader. In my current state, I find this my most viable escape route.

Daigan Hanteer. A gondorian git who does not have my trust, nor my respect. He is a foul, insolent twerp and needs to learn how to throw a punch. As well as fighting fairly. Alas, he has what he wants and all is well.

 In the beginning of the Second Era of Arda, Relalas was born next to the River Adurant near the River Gelion in Ossiriand. His parents raised him according the Laiquendi traditions. He learned the arts of archery from his father. His mother taught him to be self-sufficient in nature. After 20 years, he was sent out to test the abilities he had learned. Thus his path was east from what he called home. Hundredandfifty miles he traveled downstream of the river Adurant.  He lived twohundredandthirdyone years near Tol Galen.