It is done.

I have managed, over the past several days, to slay the leaders of the orcish bands that have been harassing the region of Eregion.  Slowly, methodically, they have fallen to the arrows of the Eldar. The blood they have spilled for their dark purposes have been met with their own blood.  And though the head of the serpent is cut, I know these fiends.  They will certainly flounder for only a moment until a new leader rises to the top, usually upon the bodies of his breather.  But even if it is only temporary, peace is welcome here.  So I now take a moment to gather myself before I continue with the task I had been assigned.  But in order to continue, I must help these dwarves in their own quest to re-enter what should have been forgotten long ago…

…the Mines of Moria.

The Walls of Moria are bleak.  The only light in this gloom is shone from the moonlit etchings that make up the ‘door’, though for some reason this door is covered with rubble that the dwarves are fervently attempting to move.  Standing out from the entrance is a lake, black as I have ever seen, that is still and quiet as death itself.  I cannot help but stare out across it as I feel a sense of dread from it’s depths, though there are no signs of anything moving in this lake.  The only sounds in this place are the clatter of the dwarves and their pickaxes.  No birds, no insects, no rustle of brush or breeze.

But wait, something in the water….

…oh, it is only one of the dwarves throwing pebbles into the lake out of boredom, should I venture to guess.  But why does such a harmless action cause the dread in me to rise?

I bring my gaze to the black lake once more…and I wonder…

I scribe this in the waning light of the day as I wait for darkness to cover this land of Eregion that I might begin my hunt.  Tonight, I hunt the foul ‘half-orc’ vermin and their vile taskmasters that have encamped in the ruins to southwest.  As I wait for the sun to creep down over the horizon, I feel an anticipation rise in me. As the light fades I feel an almost palpable joy fill me at the prospect of black blood being spilled this night.  These servants of the Dark Lord have harassed the peaceful people of this area long enough.  And with the movements of the Fellowship in jeopardy of discovery, it falls to me this night to pluck out the eyes of those who would see our hope of a free Middle Earth dashed.

I almost laugh aloud at these thoughts, which gives me pause.  I wonder to myself if this is how the orcs, or goblins or other servants of the Eye feel before they begin a raid against helpless people. For that is what is going to happen tonight.  I will stalk my prey, in the same darkness that they thrive in, and I will kill with the stealth born of years of training and tasks.  And they will be helpless before my arrows and swords; like the men, women and children of all races they have slaughtered before.

I am coming for them.  And there shall be no peace for the servants of the dark in the shadows tonight.

I am coming to kill.

And I am glad.

—Paynne

It was made known to me that one of the orcish half-men was seen at one of the former campsites of the Fellowship and had pocketed a trinket of some kind.  My task was simple: find this ‘half-orc’, slay him and retrieve any belongings on him that might give away the Company.

I found my quarry along the rocky slopes of Tal Caradhras. A vile thing, this half-orc. It even deemed to give me it’s name, Thluk, before we engaged in battle, as if having a name gave credence to such a creature. As if knowing it’s name meant something other than this was a servant of the dark that needed to be purged from this land and all others. The evil from Mordor seeps into the lands of honest folk, changing the very nature of things to servants of Sauron.  Birds and wolves and even the trees themselves have been twisted beyond a point of salvation, save but for an arrow to the heart.  And this ‘thing’ would give me it’s name?

I felt a sensation as I pulled the arrow back and stared into it’s malicious eyes.  A feeling of anger that I cannot ever remember feeling before. My mouth seemed to twist into an almost feral snarl as I loosed my bowstring, and the satisfaction of the wet thunk as my aim was found true in the creature’s eye was almost a thing I could touch.  But my anger did not cease up ‘Thluk’s’ death. Instead, it seemed to grow. Without conscious thought, I discovered my sword in my hand and the creature’s head removed from it’s neck as I found the trinket I was after.  But I payed it no mind.  I turned to leave and saw a giant warg creeping towards the recent battle site.  I took swift aim and fired…

It was a short time later that I found myself on a small crag of rocks, about half a mile from Echad Eregion, with the stink of foul animals upon my and my quiver all but spent.  And I was tired.  So very tired. I returned to the camp and gave up the item I was asked to retrieve.  Then I found a quiet patch of ground, close to the fire and fell asleep.  I do not remember dreaming, and for that, I am glad. –Paynne

A Rest

Downpour in Eregion

I recently found my journey bringing me to the far south of Elrond’s home; to the wooded region know as Eregion. Unfortunately, the rain in this region left much for a hunter to desire. A strong downpour with even stronger gusts of wind playing havoc with my arrows.  And the accompanying fog added to the problems traveling in this land.  So much so that I happened, unintentionally, into a camp of Dunlending. And though it was chaos if one were to watch, my shots found their mark again and again as I found my choler rise at these fools of men in the service of the dark lord and dispatched one after another of their guards and workers as they ventured into my view.  When the rain finally broke for a moment, I saw a dozen bodies adding their red blood to the muddy ground…and felt a strange satisfaction of the work I had just done. –Paynne

As I write this, I look back at what brought me to carry this bow as well as caring the weight of vengeance in my heart.  Though my people do not regard time as do the other races, it feels like such a long time that I have been hunting the foul things that walk upon Middle Earth.  The rise of the Witch King in Angmar, or at least a comparable wraith of similar goals left me wondering if my skills were enough to the task I set for myself.  But I fear not that my arrows can find their mark nor my ability to find the evils with which to loose them upon.  But my time spent training myself has been long, and the races of man and dwarf seem not to wait for long before setting upon a course that my kind would find foolish.  I speak, of course, of the reopening of Moria.  Only the greed of dwarves would overshadow the fears that should prevail in such an endeavour.  The evils that must have festered there after those many long years since the awakening of the creature of fire and shadow must be numerous indeed.  And though I may be feeling the beginnings of a weariness upon my spirit, I know I cannot turn away while such vileness exists to threaten that which is right and good.  Ah, to have departed from the Grey Havens like so many of my kin. But no, I have set myself upon a path that I cannot wander from until it comes to its end.  And as I start to feel a twinge of regret, I find myself, at times, feeling something I have not felt in a millennium, the relish of a greater battle on the horizon with the greatest evils of all.  –Paynne