Gleoborn was busy with his morning chores, cleaning the horse dung from the farm stall. The letter in his pocket burned like a hot coal, it begged to be opened. Call it pride or a stubborn sense of respect, but he's been keeping it well sealed and turned in a few hides to keep most of the insistent moisture out of the by now frayed and worn parchment. When the old man gave him the envelope he knew he had to do something. After reaching the farmhouse of the recipient of his charge and not finding the man in question there but a clue that lead him and Cahani to the Lone Lands, he's found the son of the supposed victim of a murder. When he reached the home of said Mister Caullaege, not that far from Bree, where he met up with Cahani once again, he found the house to be abandoned and locked. Yet what drew his attention was the systematic neglect of the surroundings. The grass was uncut and weeds rife in the yard surrounding the farmstead. The livestock were ill taken care of, sheep with their wool un-sheared and looking rather sad in their sate of woolen fluffiness.
When they reached the Lone Lands, after spending a night in the Forsaken Inn, they made their way up the dirt road that lead through the cracked and dead earth of the lands once ruled by the old kingdom of Arnor. Still their ancestors worked the lands in a dead determination which Gleoborn didn't completely understand. The last time he was there were to search for his bastard brother, Fencar. The hate still festered and boiled and he knew of the time when Fencar would come at him and finish the job he started. He knew of Fencar's loathing and the malicious nature. He wanted to find the man and do so himself, but the finding is proving harder than he'd have hoped. But it was the letter that drew him on this time. He needed to finish things which he started, his mother always calling him a fool for such, finding the last pieces of tinder on the flames.
Eventually, after they reached the stronghold of the Eglain, Ost Guruth, Cahani and himself found little of what they looked for. A desperate fight for survival and the need to stand against the never-ending orchish invasion, but none of those that they sought. Reaching back to Bree a ranger of the men there came up to the pair, baring news of the person they might be looking for departing for the lands further west, leading into the Blue mountains and into the lands of the Elves. Gleoborn has heard much of these fabled beings, perhaps have spied one on his long journey from across the east, along the edge of the Troshaws, but never has he ventured further into their kingdoms. He was desperate to get the letter delivered as a promise and an oath was made to a dying man, and pride and a strange sense of duty fueled him on.
Arriving in Bree, the pair tarried little but arrange for further departure. Cahani, also accustom to the road was a welcome companion to Gleoborn, one he deeply cared for. It was upon the path that they set, spending a few nights in the Shire, too lazy to stand up from the tent they set near a pond, that they now found themselves. There was a deathly quiet in the stuffy structure. Gleoborn turned on his side, still bare from the night before and looked at her. His finger crossed her cheek. “We should get going...” he mumbled from beneath his beard. “We can't sit here forever, you know I have to get his done...” he sighed, then standing up to ready for the road ahead.
Yet, it was back to Bree that they turned. For there seemed more to arrange than initially thought.
