Elloen

Elvealin passed by him in the hall carrying a large crate. She was not a weak girl, and her arms were as strong as pine branches. Still, she was delighted by his courtesy. Parnard taking the crate hurried to the chamber where she directed him, and laid it upon the floor, convinced that he had injured himself.

“What, pray, is inside this box?” he panted, dabbing at his brow with a handkerchief.

”Blackstar can be used purely for enjoyment, and is generally safe for adults in that matter, but it can also be used for medicinal purpose. It lowers anxiety, speeds up recovery and slows the weakening of body from inactivity in general. Whoever drinks it will get a sensation of warmth, and makes them feel more content.”

The Wood-elves generally conceive of their woods as their world, and the rare sight of stars shining through the branches of the trees is their great delight, for it is always dark in shadowy Mirkwood. Game animals are still plentiful in the northern part, and so the elves are comfortable and well provisioned with meat and skins. As they do not keep herds of animals, nor are they skilled at raising crops, having no cleared land fit for this purpose, the Wood-elves have abundant leisure time, which they spend in feasting, singing, dancing, and playing games.

The dangers one encounters on the leagues between the Lone-Lands and the Ered Luin, and the wretched aspect of the inhabitants cannot be understated. The principal way through the Bree-land is upon the old highway, built by one of their kings, and is long-neglected and crumbling away: it seems the people have retained nothing of the activity and energy of their ancestors, for good roads encourage trade into remote provinces, and this encourages industry and enforcement of order.

This day I came to the Bridge, hard by the Spire of Meeting, where my retinue gathered. There I saw three of the Fountain’s guards, with shields and spears in their hands, and beside them stood my clerk Sorontar, who carried a stack of papers, and was dressed all in somber black cloth, as if he were part of a mourning procession.

We reached the Valley in good time. Lord Estarfin was more quiet than usual, perhaps contemplating the making of the sword he had been charged with crafting for our Lord Anglachelm. Close by the chalk path that leads to the Valley, we met a elf lady, a soldierly-type, by the name of Limiriel.

They moved quickly from the deep shadows and despair of the dungeons into a small courtyard full of broken stone. Belegos led them out, moving with almost indecent haste to escape what they had done, had been forced to do. As he reached the middle of the courtyard he seemed to realise his mistake, as his sharp eyes scanned the empty windows and rough holes that had been delved into the high walls surrounding the open space. Nothing stirred in the silence, but the scout did not let his guard down.

I am lying on the ground somewhere in Dunland, trying to sleep next to some of the House of Vanimar, instead of my comfortable bed in Rivendell or Lórien. So how did this happen? When I first entered the house, the people I met after Lord Anglachelm were of the Order of Hammer. When the events started to go rough on them, I felt like I needed to make myself useful for them as a warrior that I am.