Foul ales!

Mustering report in the lands of Bree. Fridgrim, 3rd son of Rudgarm, 31st Westfold Fyrd.

Once more Grimwolds words has proven true. Battle ale is to be brought down your throat not before but after battle so that your shield holds straight and your sword slashes swift at the enemy. I have the highest regard for my troop under the leadership of Lord Therowan but once in a while it happens that the beards of said men get a tad to wet from the forlorn ales of these bitter and goblin ridden lands.

Nobody knows how long the barrels had travelled to get to the Forsaken Inn that is our current outpost. I would say from Bree town or beyond at least. Not as far as ways end but from the taste of it close to there. We took stride from this inn less than a fortnight ago on legs that had been made wobbely wool from that ale. We were not wise but brave when we marched towards the goblins, we pushed on into the ruins of something lost to fight their grim kind.

We stood strong in the waves of stench breathed foes and pushed on to the main bridge, an old wodden structure that only had withstood time due to its fear to fall down to the spider lairs below. it was here that we took our toughest losses, and though fighting valiantly as it becomes us Rohirrim we had to pull back. Nothing we did could hold back the hordes. I think not even a whole fyrd could undo that goblins stronghold. We had withdraw to the forsaken inn to regroup, a wise move as both men and equipment suffered during our clash with the enemy.

Fridgrim.

The Maera Riverfoam, steed of Lord Thérowan.

Report to Erkenbrand II: Word of Gandalf Greyhame

Dear Father,

I must put my faith in the ranger bringing you this message on his way to Gondor, I have no option since I myself can not take it, nor can I spare a sword as things have unfolded up here in the north. The mist of ignorance has turned into the darkest night. Where shall I start.

My effort to help the ranger named Strider developed against my will into a formidable man-hunt and dozens of brigands have fallen by the hands of my men. Eventually these northern outlaws led us to orcs! And finally to a new trace of the White Hands and their master. Although Isenrid could not make out anything for certain when the brigands spoke in blackish westron to the orc leader he swear by the river and by the light that the name Saruman was mentioned several times. We slew orcs and men alike, taking no prisoners, giving no mercy. I cannot say anything for sure yet regarding our suspicions regarding Saruman, father, but be warned: our ally in Isengard might have turned against us. We have only found the orcs first outpost, a lot of tracking is still needed to shed light on the actual forces being in motion. I will pursue this trail until we find The Lord of Mordor himself or whoever is behind them!

After we ended the reign of the brigads we lost track of the ranger Strider who we set out to help, but we found your friend Gandalf Greyhame. I did not see any reason for him to know what we found out so far, in all fairness: if we cannot trust Saruman then who can we trust? Gandalf Greyhame listened carefully to your words and fears regarding our King Théoden and he promised to visit the King when his own errands in the north, whatever those might be, has been taken care of.

When I mentioned our quest to track the orcs he said we should speak to his friend Radagast, whom he referred to as the 'master of all living - plant or animal' and who should know of any rumours regarding the movement of orcs, on or off roads. Leaving Bree behind I will not be able to write again shortly. We head out east towards Whethertop and beyond and we will defy any orc tribes we might come across. Hopefully this Radagst Brownrobe will give us the final answer on the orcish movements.

Finally, I just want you to know that I met with the exiled poet Wraecca that you spoke of, or should I say warned us of, in your letter. He was utterly out of his mind, roaming about bare armed in warg and goblin infested territory in a pair of stolen boots and unarmed! Or armed with a lute if you will. A true miracle he had avoided being slain, Beothata belived he might have survived by keeping the enemy at bay wih his horrible singing. I have let him come with us and Thraindir have him under close guard. I will let you know as things unfold, hopefully he will not hinder us too much. My personal guess is that he will succumb within a week to orc arrows or a foul wargbite. I fear more for Fridgrim who tend to get lost when we move about in the dark. I will have Thraindir look out for both of them.

Until I can write again know that I will Honour you and your Realm.

Your loyal blood
Thérowan

Lord Thérowan at Bree Town Hall

Reciving a written message from Lord Erkenbrand of Helms Deep through northbound courrier to Bree Town Hall.

Dear son,

I trust you are well and sound. The news you bring are most dire. If it were not for the importance of your mission and the waning of our king I would call you back to the safety of the Mark and Westfold. I cannot delve deep into the matter of the black riders you mention from our remote position in Helm’s Deep. I will furthermore not trouble the King anymore as I only see dimness in his eyes.
By Eorl! I wish for the old days to come back when King Theoden rode strong and proud! It is good to hear you have befriended the rangers of the north. I am confident they will help you find the whereabouts of the White Hand orcs. I implore you to continue your search for the foul creatures and also to shed some light on what role the black riders are playing.

I have been visited by my old friend Gleowine the king’s minstrel. He brings most sickening news from the Meduseld. Theoden is a bent old man and clings to life only by sheer will. How that has come to be I can only guess, but I suspect foul play. Gleowine informed me that one of his students dared in all secrecy compose a song about the king’s advisor that quickly spread over Edoras. Grima now goes under a new more fitting name – Wormtongue.
To save the unfortunates life Gleowine was forced to send him into exile. The unfortunate cast away his name and now calls himself Wraecca. Apparently he went north into Eriador much as yourself. Seek him out. Gleowine claims that he holds some lore that can be of use to you. Do remember that he is an exile and that you should not normally consort with the likes of him, even though his crime might seem insignificant

Yesterday our patrols along the Isen spotted several bands of White Hand orcs on the west bank. We have skirmishes almost daily and I fear that the gap of Rohan soon will be impassable. You know as well as I do that if we cannot ride out in defence of West-March our enemies will retake it. Make haste my son and find where the creatures muster. Let us strike fast and hard to clear the borders again!

With fatherly love,
Erkenbrand
Lord of Westfold