Estarfin

Sparks flew from the white-hot metal as the dark hammer struck it, the sound echoing through the forge. Ruineth leaned against the wall of the smithy, sweat pouring from her as she tried to catch her breath. Estarfin beat the hard metal with the heavy hammer, trying to flatten it into a blade. The metal cooled quickly though, turning from white to red to orange. He shook his head, thrusting the unfinished blade back into the forge.

Elloen's Journal, first page:

First of all, I do not write to my journal all the time. I only do that when I feel I have something important to remember. My mother Sírewen used to do so – but unfortunately I had no chance to take it with me, because it all happened so fast. But at least whatever happened to me in Middle-Earth, the Elves that are close to me will get to read about it later.

– Elloen Furinmír, Second Age 1708, Imladris

Return to Former Home

Coming hither from the ruined wood of Taur Morvith, eluding the orcish outposts under cover of the pervading darkness, we crossed into the Vale of Ash, and passed round its western side, the tower being on the hilltop in the eastern end of the wood.

There are fell voices on the air, the shades of unhappy men, or something far worse? Fear emanates from the black stone of this place, and few are those that would dare to approach it. Night has fallen, yet the stars are veiled, the only light that we see is the corpse light of the tower, illuminating nothing but the darkness. We know that we must press on, and yet we hesitate. There are few remaining upon these shores that could challenge us, yet we delay. Is it fear? I look at my companions, and I see no fear etched upon their fair faces.

Making their way along the gloomy paths of Mirkwood, the company pressed onwards toward their goal for the day.

The Lady Danel thanked me for my help before she departed to speak with the Lords Bele

Parnard opened his eyes and stretched his limbs, feeling all weariness gone. He was glad to see the sun had gone down since he rested.