The Maera Riverfoam, steed of Thérowan, Son of Erkenbrand.

Report to Erkenbrand IV: Elrond's Deep

Dear Father,

Dark news from the land of long nights. One of my men has fallen in combat. Isenrid no longer light up our path nor does he find me safe passage or campsites hidden from brigands and orcs.

How it came to happen I cannot tell you since I do not know. He was scouting for traces of Whitehands in a remote place, by the elves named Evendim, and he never returned. We searched through the forests for him and his steed Hardmane for days and weeks but to no avail. He was my best, not to say my only, tracker and without him we can find little in the wilderness - not even the corpse of a fallen Eorlingas. We lit a bonfire nevertheless and sent his soul across the fields and hills. Hopefully he will find his way back to Westfold, to the Mark, to the restingplace of his ancestors.

Last time I reported to you I was heading to the realm of Rivendell. I have seen it now, Rivendell, home of the elf Lord Elrond. I named it Elrond's Deep, not because it is as magnificent a fortress as Helm's Deep, but the valley is similar and impossible to conquest by anyone including the forces of Darkness. There elves dwell in a strange happiness and delight. I honestly do not understand the folk of elves. Not one bit. They live in eternal light and dream and cannot fathom, if you ask me, the most simple idea.

Strider seem to be a good friend of Lord Elrond, not that I can really see why. So is father's friend Gandalf Greymane who sit in their uplit library reading, muttering or jesting around with some little folk who dwell with the elves as well. At first I didnt manage to get anything concrete out of Strider who seemed heavily burdened with some unspeakable task. Instead he had me promise to go to the land of Evendim, where I lost Isenrid, to help him find the answer of some ancient prophecy. Once I returned to Elrond's Deep Strider was nowhere to be found. Instead Lord Elrond decided I repay his generosity by talking to his sons about an evil Shadow hiding in the Trollshaws of Rhudaur surrounding his realm.

The Black Riders, save one, seem to have drowned in the river Bruinen. Believe it if you will, it comes from elven tounges. The survivor has somehow awakened the forest and the Sons of Elrond, both less elvish and more sturdy, have tried to track him down. I offered them my services naturally. Who better to track down a Rider of the shadow than men of the Mark! I hope you agree it was the only decent thing to do regardless of our actual task up here. So far we managed to drive, or shall I say follow, the Black one out of the Trollshaws and he seem to have taken refuge in the northern Misty Mountains. Somewhere among the dwarves of the mountains if I understood Lord Elrond correctly.

Neither Elrond nor the old Greymane seem interested in telling me where Strider might have taken off to. Only that there is a blade that need attention and that I need to be more patient. Awaiting his return - I cannot linger in Rivendell, it make me and the others far too uncomfortable - I have decided to finish the hunt on the Black Rider. In the hunt we made a new friend in another elf named Legolas who promised us to keep an eye out for Strider and traces of the White Hand alike, whilst we are off into the mountains.

If Strider will not turn up within short and we do not fall prey to the Black Rider should he turn and bite I feel the need to return home. Soon. Little there seem to be to find out about the White Hands up here in the Fallen kingdom. More there seem to be that is stirring north of here, north of Esteldin and beyond. I fear we are only wasting our time searching for signs that will not come clear, and pursuing tracks further than can be of any help to you. At worst, ending up in a war that is not ours to fight.

I will let you here from me again before I ride home. Until then I will honor You and your realm.

Your loyal blood
Therowan

Report to Erkenbrand III: Brownrobe sent us astray.

Dear Father,

Many a moon have passed over the dark trees in the shadow of the Old Kingdom of the North, or shall I say the Fallen Kingdom of the North, since I sent my last report. Few good news can I pass on to you in this letter which I write in the old ruins of Esteldin, an outpost against the enemy in the north. Ill tidings, though, I have in abundance.

First and foremost. Radagast Brownrobe, a friend your friend Gandalf Greymane you sent me to meet, has wasted months of our time. His entire presence in the region is an utter disaster for man and horse, indeed for all inhabitants in this frightful region. He cares only for trees and birds and fooled me to help him out cleareing a sick red swamp from its longfanged orcs only to see him spare the life of their leader. I have no words for his terrible treachery, had he been less old and wrinkled I would have cut off his head myself. Sparing his life he sent us in the wrong direction in our search for the only sensible man up I met up here, Strider, who lead the Rangers.

I have now, at last, found out that Strider stays in Rivendell, at the House of Elrond Halfelven. The information cost us not days, nor weeks but months of constant raiding of orc outposts around Esteldin trying to help the rangers´while waiting for a trace of thier absent leader Strider. We have even acted as voice of the rangers inviting elves and dwarves to some council where theese people hope to rearrange their defenses in a more fashionable, or suitable, way. They need it. There is not a single fort, tower or outpost that can withstand the machines of war that I have seen the orcs bring in from the north. The orcs use trolls for oxes and goblins ride on mansized wargs. I would need three full Eoreds to clear this up. They have none. And when the threat from Angmar allready appeared too strong, only two days ago, Thraindir spotted the silouette of a dragon in the eveningsky. The enemy is strong. I fear for the entire realm father. Bree will fall before next winter if nothing happens!

And, at last: The White Hand and Saruman are connected somehow! We know for sure that some orcs have been using his name as a battlecry. We have spoken with a Ranger that has a strong understanding of Black Speech as he calls their language, and he is certain there is no word "Saruman" in their vocabulary. That he would be their master is not likely but that there is a link between them has been established. I take this up last but not least because we have no confirmation of what the link consists of. Take outmost care and send word to the King if you see fit.

We will leave Esteldin tonight for the elven realm Rivendell where we now believe we will finally find Strider. I am sure he will have more information regarding the White Hand. And regarding Sarumans place in all of this. Hopefully I will manage to avoid meeting the fools in robes or get an elven arrow in my eye, allthough I am not tntirely sure about the latter. I will report in again as soon as I find Strider. I should also add that I have honored Thraindir with a halbard and he is now a full Captain of Westfold. Alltough my Eored is only seven, instead of one hundered and twenty, man strong, I need a captain. Send me his blessing should you accept him as such.

Until then know I do my outmost to honor You and your realm.

Your loyal blood
Therowan

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