Manadhlaer

Associates and assassins alliances.

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

One past night in the Hall of Fire, Imladris....

Manadhlaer says, 'There are roadways south.'

Gloreloth says, 'The road goes on, too, through the High Pass above, and descends again to the valley of Anduin.'

To Quartermaster Golvagor, On Some Supply Needs

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Only the last word in the signature line was, for obscure reasons, emphasized in red ink.

Dear Quartermaster Golvagor:

I am writing to request some supplies in the event that hir Tolmen should become a guest at the Houses of Healing.

And Sometimes the Boar Hunts You

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Well, Diary, you and I have much to discuss.

I have never seen Captain Sáranassë so apologetic, not even that time long ago when she told me about… the thing. She paced to and fro, but her message was quite simple, though she surrounded it with a stunning amount of self-blame.

An Urgent Letter to Lady Himwen

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Greetings Lady Himwen,

There isn't much time so I'll get to the point as fast as I can. I am staying around Sarmëtecil for the time being, unless you have other orders for me.

In the Light - Rather Too Much of It

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

After her night in the Hammer Hall, which at the very least did her no harm, Manadhlaer had been whisked around the Vale to a dizzying variety of safe-houses. This bright, bright morning, Manadhlaer had taken her breakfast in the Hall of the Order of the Fountain. Where Hammer Hall had smelled like a soldier's armpit directly after a battle, despite the most heroic efforts of Lieutenant Ancalassë, Fountain currently smelled like -- well, soap, and lots of it.

In the Dark

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Manadhlaer awoke in the dark, in more than one way.

Someone had thoughtfully tucked her diary under her arm. Had she a quill and ink? They must be in her pouch, if she could find it.

With infinite care, she put her feet -- disguised, as she had thought, in mismatched boots, which suited her sloppy grey tunic -- on the floor. She groped around a bit, head pounding; she tried not to move more quickly, lest she vomit again.

The Unfamiliar

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

Arradril of the Order of the Arrow hooked a finger into the collar of her immaculate tabard, as though it were too tight. It had in fact been made to measure, to drape perfectly over the reinforced gambeson that Arrows wore in order to creep about the forest in silence. But Captain Sáranassë was, of late, insisting on visibility -- at least part of the time. So Arradril wore the indigo, inspired by Gondolin's House of the Swallow, and bore herself gravely when within the Vale. Most of the time.

Dreadful as the Storm and the Lightning

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Diary, I tell you truly, never have I wanted Lord Tindir's steadying hand more than I do now. I am no military commander, but a mere shipwright's daughter, steered by fate to these shores. Tindir is overly silent and reveals nothing of his plans until he springs them upon us, but he is not wrong. I have begged Himwen to send no message, for his plans must succeed. He must not fail in his current mission. Indeed, I deem no raven could reach him.

Manadhlaer's Diary: Strange Bedfellows

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Diary

Well, Diary, I suppose now it is true what people say, that one does not really know a person until one has lived with them.

That is, "with" in a very elastic sense -- for Captain Sáranassë has given me her own clean but spare bunk in Arrow Hall, and has taken to sleeping out of doors in a tree instead. She assures me she actually prefers it so. Rámarillë is clearly baffled by this. She circles one tree or another -- whether it be the correct tree, or no -- and honks very loudly into the air.

Scribbled Note to Lord Anglachelm

What kind of Adventure is this?: 
Story

The note is scrawled in an unusually shaky hand.

My lord,

I have paid this courier a great deal of money to find you, and I hope he does. Lord Tindir is away, and the matter before us is urgent to a degree I felt you must know.

Lothilind of the Pillar, who had become an apprentice at the Houses of Healing, has been murdered in the Vale. We discovered her poor hröa under a bush, downhill from the Markets of Imladris.

Besides the obvious security implications, these things should be known:

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