Seregrian

            Farohir has been called out by Bragin as they wait for the caravan departing the Crossroads headed for the Twenty-First Hall of Moria.  The young half-elf squirms under Bragin’s eye, who is now appraising him as he would a rough-cut gem.

             Cliving is a well-fortified town seated on bluffs overlooking the rolling plains of the Eastfold, and is the seat of Athelward, the Reeve of the Norcrofts, a man who by all accounts is reeling from his recent widowing.  Other accounts speak not only of the despondent Reeve, but the surge of villagers seeking the safety of the walls, flying from the bands of orcs and wolves c

            Seregrían and the Riders Four have passed out of the moors of the Wold and entered the region of Rohan known as the Eastfold, a vast plain of rolling hills dotted by settlements and farms known as crofts.  The lands are sparsely settled, with the folk of Rohan living in a few towns protected by wooden palisade walls.  The land divides into the Norcrofts and the town of

            Seregrían has recovered from her recent encounter with the Nazgul, and her healing of Caeorwulf.  The Riders Four, who now count her warmly in their company, have urged her to accompany them on their continued trek across the lands of Rohan, raising the alarm and striking wherever their enemies gather.  The party of six depart Floodwend and ride north to return to Harw

            Bragin and Farohir have ample time to watch as their caravan slowly traverses the corridors and high-roads of Moria.  Farohir’s head swishes to and fro as he tries to catch every sight he can, overwhelmed by the vastness of the halls of Durin.  Bragin, however, is beside himself – he is desperately resisting the urge to stop at every intersection and crossroads, a

            Bragin and Farohir have at last entered the Mines of Moria.  Together they arrive at the first camp of the Iron Garrison, just at the western edge of the Great Delving.  Durin’s Threshold the Dwarves have named it, the last stop on the journey to the Mines and the starting point for the plunge into the deeps beneath the mountains.  Here the two travelers find stabl

Bragin son of Borin has ridden hard across the wastes of Eregion, following a trail that in places vanishes beneath the trees, or wanders lost in the rocks, until at last he reaches the forlorn Elven outpost of Echad Dunann, the West-gate Camp.  It is afternoon with a westering sun when, as he reins up atop a small rise, he looks up and gasps in wonder at the sight of Celebdil, Zirag-zigil the white, soaring up against th

            Caeorwulf slowly opens his eyes and looks around at the place where he finds himself.  Nothing is around him; all is a grey-white mist, swirling round his feet and in every direction.  He is neither warm nor cold.  The sensation he has is of nothingness, no pain or fear or cares.  He has no reckoning, no memory of this place or how he cam