lone-lands

It was one of those rainy days, when I returned to Thamas Lorn with my report. Such a strange way to greet my home, my home, which is known for the most beautiful sunset in Middle Earth. Not even here things seemed to be normal. Although I was glad to see our Halls in the misty fog that cloaked the walls. My arrows were covered in blood, black raven blood. It made me think about that afternoon when I saw a cloud of black raven hasting above the barren lands of Lone-lands.

Marlyn made a decision.
She packed her things and headed to the Hengstacer Farm, to rent a horse.
Bree wasn't her home.
"I have to find my father; he is the reason why I came here and now that I know, that he doesn't live here anymore, I have to find him elsewhere." is what she said to her friend Jonathaen before she left him behind.
The road to the Lone-Lands was long and dangerous.

The message has been retrieved. The wounded messenger rode deep into the Lone Lands, where he was ambushed by brigands and killed. The brigands found the scroll he carried and had sold it off to the nearby Dourhand Dwarves who in turn conducted a trade with Orcs (for whom the message appears to have been intended).

The messenger is dead. He was a diversion and has already passed on the message to someone else. A rider of a black horse shot the man as soon as I had him at sword-point. He fired on me but lost the element of surprise. One of my arrows hit him somewhere on the upper body and he fled towards the Forsaken Inn.

I believe this rider now carries the message and must be stopped. I have tracked him into the Lone Lands. The Enemy has eyes on this region; fell birds flock through the skies yet never diving low enough for me to stick them with an arrow.

As I write this, the team is taking a rest within the cave. Someplace forgotten, an old ruin built at the inner of a tall rock. The reasons I shall explain further, should time and safety allow me. Not that I consider anywhere in the Lone-lands safe, a mere form of speech.

Road, road, road, day in, day out. I'm already tired of those brown-grassed, barren lands, and we are only halfway through them.

Tonight we should reach Ost Guruth, and then it is at least half a days' ride to the bridge crossing into the forested lands Father says are called the Trollshaws. It will probably take longer, as Father wants to take the opportunity to rest the horses and hire new guides to replace the Bree-landers. I am expecting we will come there late at night and make camp at the river ere we cross into those wilderlands.