[Himaran]

Suddenly the inn door burst open. A cloaked man hurried in, a long broadsword across his back. He looked this way and that, searching the room until his eyes came to a dwarf sitting at a table with a man and two ladies. He came up to their table. "Bali, I must speak with you," he said.

The dwarf turned sharply, realizing that he had been addressed. He studied the new arrival, then the light dawned on him. "Karadon, my father's messanger!" The other members of the table all greeted him. I have no time to speak, though I wish I did. I must be going. "Bali, son of Dwalin, I have something for you." He handed him a letter. Bali stared at it, then started to say something and then looked up, stoping his sentence. The man was gone.

Having seen his face, and his hands trembling, Bali opened the letter. Reading it, his face grew grave, and an expression of deep concern covered his normally jolly features. At length he spoke.

"Eruantalon, my friend, I have a story to tell you." With that he began.

"As I left Mirkwood I came to a strange wasteland, where few live and known travel by night. It is a dangerous road, through Wilderland, which which is the name I gave it. Wolves prowl the forest; orcs from the --- mountains patrol the northern border, and goblins from Moria and the Misty Mountains creep through the western parts, making the narrow paths all the more deadly to the unwary traveler.

Here it was that the elves of Mirkwood left me. But not all; for Halonir, long a friend of mine, vowed to continue with me and see for himself the great forest of Lothlorien, which lay near my chosen route. I accepted his company with great pleasure, for I was sad to see the elves go and be left alone on my journey.

When we entered to Wilderland, Halonir felt a great disturbance in the air. Something great was amiss in the land. After a days travel we found several huts, the first sign of life. But they were burnt, hacked apart and crumbling in ash and ruin. Bodies there were also, of men, women, and children. Halonir looked around at the ground, and soon his keen eyes picked up a set of tracks; they were strange, and matched nothing he or I had seen before. The tracks were not of man, orc, or goblin, nor of troll or warg.

Astonished, and angered, we continued our travels. Soon we came to another village, in the same state as the first.

Burned buildings.

Burned Bodies.

And tracks... Always more tracks.

It was several days later, as we came to a large hill, that we found the answer to the riddle. Arriving at the top, we saw smoke rising from a clearing not far south of where we stood. Not only smoke, but orange flame. From the clearing there came shouts, screams, snarls and the ring of steel.

Dashing from our vantage poing we raced through the forest; heading in the rough direction of the sound (which was all we had to guide us. Soon we reached the conflict.

Arriving at the clearing first, Halodir found himself standing amidst the caos of a Uruk Hai raid on a large village. The mutant orcs weilding long swords, spears and broad axes swarmed the area, slaying the villigers and pillaging houses. Suddenly noticing the new arrival, three Uruk Hai charged him. But Halodir was not a King's bodyguard for nought. Slaying two with arrows, he whipped out his long knife and would have slain the remaining Uruk had not a hatcher - mine, that is - have taken it in the throat. Charging into the village, we attacked the force together.

Slaying an Uruk Hai who was beating a villiger, I turned to another, ducking as his sword whistled over my head. Catching him in the midriff with a hefty axe-blow, I slew several more with my remaining hatchets. I turned to see my friend slay his twelth Uruk Hai, using his skill with a bow to easy kill the poorly armored Uruks. Being no match for the ferocity of two able-bodied and ambushing warriors, the survivors fled, leaving the village in peace.

But after helping the villigers rebuild their dwellings, we with ten good fighting men left to track down the attackers. Those who were wounded we caught and dispatched with, but around seven had run north, and were far out of our reach. Thus, not a match for the tireless Uruk Hai, we returned to the village. We sent word of this to King Thranduil, who sent a large force of elves to patrol the area of Wilderland, cleaning it of the scum of orcs and goblins. And so Halodir and I continued on our way, and when I cam to Moria, we parted and he went away south to seek his own kind the the great forest of Lothlorien. We thought that the threat had passed. But we were wrong. The Uruk Hai we fought were only from a small search party, of a greater force, as I have just found out. Read the letter for yourself."

Eruantalon took the old, tattered script from his friend's hands, and unfolded it, crusty dirt falling from it. The letter read:

My dear son Bali,

I am writing you to let you know that war has begun. A large army of Uruk Hai has massed and is threatening Erebor. King Thranduil has sent elvish units to aid us, but our border gaurds are on watch around the day and night, and we expect war to break out soon.

I hope that your journey has gone well, but I plead that you will return home soon. You are needed here.

Your friend, Eruantalon, left here a month before the army was reported. You may meet him on your way. If you do, give him this letter, and ask him if he will return home with you. Any dwarf, man or elf that can fight is needed.

Best wishes on your journey home.

Your father,

Dwalin Longbeard.

[ January 19, 2003: Message edited by: Himaran ]