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re: Lay of Ered Luin

  “Love not too well the work of thy hands and the devices of thy heart; and remember that the true hope of the Noldor lieth in the West, and cometh from the Sea.”  


  As I returned to my campfire, in the vast plains of Enedwaith, climbing a small slope that lead higher into a hidden vale, where I made camp earlier that day, a strong feeling of sorrow overwhelmed me again..."It is getting stronger", I thought. Yet there is work to be done, and I would not let such weakness stop me from doing my duty. Thus, I lit up the dying fire and sat down to rest. A day spent scouting the surrounding area had left me breathless: "No servants of the Shadow released today however." I returned Andorhel to its hilt, only to be surprised by a silent sound of hooves approaching me head on. Lifting up my spear and preparing to pierce the intruder in one swift strike, I stopped in my tracks as the rider called out in Quenya: "Halt brother, is this how you would welcome a guest?"




  Donnoglir left this morning, duty calls him he says. I did not try to stop him, as such attempts would be pointless. Yet I worry for him, I am afraid years of boredom may have caused him to see danger where none exists. Dwarves are preparing to strike on Duillond and Celondim? Such treachery is hard to believe. He goes even further, speaking of the dead rising, when no such power exists in the world anymore. Atleast not in the Blue Mountains. He asked me to summon the banners, to call upon all the wardens of Eriador and issue an Ohtatirno upon the Dourhand Clan. Naturally I rejected. He took it surprisingly well...I must rest, the attacks have become more frequent in these past few days.




  "Cano Markvart, I will be arriving in Needlehole four days after you receive this letter, if the praise Mirwenn has been giving this raven is well earned. Contact your brethren and secure us safe passage and supplies for our journey to Ered Luin. I have summoned the Nare, and a few local recruits. Hopefully there will be no need to contact the other Canu."




  As the last glimmers of the Sun faded away, I saw the first Nar arrive. Cano Markvart was already with me, toying with the cooking pot he swiftly set up in our small encampment on the edges of the land they call Shire. I never paid much heed to it, but whether this is because it is unimportant, or simply kept safe extremely well, I cannot yet say. The newcomers, as I could distinguish two separate horses speeding to our positions now, dismounted and gave a short salute: "Heru Lasaraeg"! I recognized them as Rothaide and Roljoam, Edain from the east and the south. Clad in armor and known for their skill on horseback, they would make worthy contributions to our cause. Donnoglir will be found; I grow certain of this more and more as we approach the Haven of Duillond.




  We rode into Duillond as dawn came to be, and the nigh faded away. "This is a good sign", says Vaiarras, "it means Elbereth has not forsaken us in our hour of need." I do not share his good faith, for it has been a long time since I put my faith into the Lords of the West, nor they in me. Yet, it is comforting to ride with my kin once more. Long has it been since our last Ohtatirno...but no, it has not yet come to that of course. Still if it does, I have no doubt the fellowship that enters the Haven with me is capable of holding off potential threats until the other Canu muster their forces. After leaving our horses with Rothaide and Roljoam, I sent Vaiarras, a amiable elven archer to scout to the north and west, and discretly note down the current state of affairs in the dwarven port of Kheledul. Markvart went to the market to resupply our company, and I took Rhavanielle, a local recruit, one of the last who have seen Donnoglir before his disappearance, with me to inquire around Duillond, and perhaps find some clue of where we should take our search to next.




  I am a fool! Cursed be the day that Maedhros spared my life! If only I had a shred of his wisdom, I would know better than to send half of my company to certain death. The locals shared stories of strange evils scouring the lands to the west, east, north and south. Goblins, wolves, unfriendly dwarves...I have not heard of walking dead yet, but so far Donnoglirs story checks out. Of the three, the goblin threat seemed the most immediate, however I would not dismiss these dwarf-tales either, especially since Vaiarras reported a great host of the Dourhands amassing in Kheledul. Thus I sent Cano Markvart and a small contigent to a nearby Vineyard, suffering from goblin raids since of late. The rest I lead north, to a lodge of some local Dunadan. Upon arrival, we were quick to learn that the Vineyards in question were in far worse state than we were told. Raids were days old news, at the moment the Vineyards were overrun, infested with the vile vermin of the Enemy! Their numbers were far greater than what we could hope to bring to the fight before the rest of our kin arrive. Now we ride back south, hopefully we will arrive on time to save our friends from certain death.




  We escape from one death-threatening situation, to jump straight into the next...After we all survived the Vineyard fiasco, I found it hard to imagine that an even bigger one was ahead. Returning to the lodge, we were informed of an ancient burial mound to which apparently Donnoglir was seen heading off to. We were joined by Corthaidh, an experienced fighter I often rode with in many battles past, so I suppose we did feel somewhat overconfident in our chances. Even tales of horrified dwarves, who rambled on about wights and what not, failed to cause much concern in our hearts. I hope Donnoglir is still somewhere out there...




  It was not many times did I repeat this thought to myself, over and over again. My blade pierced a horror, created in his image by the dark forces of this world. My friend, my kin, he was none of that anymore....We found a mark of Skorgrim the Betrayer, the Sacker of Edheliond, and by far the worst of the Naugrim of Middle-Earth. Now we ride to Gondamon to insist on an explanation. And I swear by what little will there is in my body right now, I will not leave without one! The Kin of Feanor shall not suffer such affronts from a spawn of Aule!




*Letter to all the Canu of Eriador*


  Suilad mellon Cano,


Muster all of your forces and ride as swift as your steeds can carry you, to the dwarven stronghold of Gondamon, in the Blue Mountains. Ohtatirno, war, is upon us! Soon the iron fist of the enemy shall fall upon Gondamon, and if it falls, soon the rest of Ered Luin shall follow. All of our hopes lie with not fail us my friend.


Heru Lasaraeg Silmariliath, Tur of Feanaro Nosseo

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