Rakul, my dear sister,
You gave me stern instructions when I left to keep a journal of my travels for you. You even gave me a leather-bound book in which to write. But I have always been a better fighter than scholar, as you well know. I will write down what I have done and what I have seen as best I can for you, but this will not be any sort of proper scholarly journal with all events neatly ordered, dryly described, and thoroughly annotated.
The first thing I must tell you is that Eriador is no safe place. This is not what all the tales and songs we heard as children led me to expect. The evils that hunt here are as bad as anything I’ve seen on the eastern trade routes, if different in nature. There are wights, of course. As in Palisor and Rhun, they are confined, unable to travel far from their tombs. Unlike Palisor, the Orcs here are vicious and numerous, and they are everywhere. They seem to have entirely repopulated themselves after the War. Many different tribes of goblins have invaded too, even into Ered Luin. All of them seem to have Warg allies.
The worst shock has been the Dourhands. They call themselves dwarves, but they have allied themselves with the Orcs, which no true dwarf would ever do. They are traitors and brigands who steal instead of engaging in honorable trade and honest labor. They have turned their backs on Mahal, regarding their lord, Skorgrim, as a King, though he is not of the ruling line of any of the Seven Fathers. I’m not even sure what Clan they came from originally.
The dangers here in the west cannot be understated. If you were as good with your sword as you are with your words, my scholarly Kuli, I would never fear for you here. You are good in practice with sword or axe. But no mock battle can equal truly fighting for your life or for your living. I’m glad you are safe in our father’s Hall in the Iron Hills
Enough ill news. You deserve better. Some things here are exactly as we thought they would be. Ruins dot the landscape in all directions. Many are from the kingdoms of Men. The first time I walked to the summit of the shattered watchtower of Amon Sul and looked out over the whole of Eriador as the sun set, my breath was stolen away. Awe is too inadequate a word for that sight. There are older ruins, too, Elvish, I think. The style of architecture and methods of building are very different. Most are now infested with evil creatures or Orcs, but not all. You would never run out of places to explore, though whether I could keep you safe as you do is another question entirely.
I will say that Thorin’s Halls are very nearly as impressive as Erebor. The soaring heights, upheld by immense carved pillars and columns are magnificent to behold. The only place I have seen besides Erebor that even comes close to this level of grandeur are the Blacklocks’ Halls of Light, with all the mosaic gemstones. If I could sketch like our brother, I would draw you a picture, but my poor descriptions will have to do. I have a small house now, in one of the larger caverns.
You would entirely approve of the Forges in Thorin’s Halls. They are nearly as large as the Great Forges of Erebor. Certainly they are large enough for any weapon your imagination could devise. You would grow wealthy making your axes and sword-blades here. The trade is brisk because the need is great. Aside from the Orcs, lesser Goblins, Wargs, Spiders and wildlife, there are enough human brigands to keep every caravan guard busy for a hundred years.
I can hardly sort out all the different tribes, clans, and families of Men that live here. Some are bandits or brigands, as I said. Some, like the Rangers, are rather mysterious. They look disreputable, but they fight like true-hearted warriors. Many Orcs and Dourhands have fallen beneath their blades. I assist them when I can. The Men in Bree are mostly friendly and ready to engage in honorable trade. Some Men are honorable, but wary, like the Eglain or the Lossoth. They will trade, but they do not trust.
There are Elves here, as well as Men. I have met some of them. They move openly in the forests and even in the towns. They don’t have to hide from the King of Palisor or his High Council. Like Men, some are friendlier; others are less so. They are difficult, not to describe, but to explain. They are merry, but even their merriment has an undercurrent of…sadness or melancholy perhaps. They are given to light and laughter, but can suddenly turn solemn or introspective for no apparent reason. This makes conversation with them difficult at times. They are fine fighters, though, and decent friends. I helped a couple out of tight spots. They have helped me in turn.
I have also met the hobbits. The Shire (which is what they call their land) would delight you. It is a soft, rolling country, verdantly green and rich with trees and streams. I met my first hobbit in a forest. I thought I was saving her from a pack of wild wolves. As it turned out, she was hunting the pack, using herself as bait. She nearly singed my beard off when my well-intentioned ‘help’ almost upset her entire scheme. Her name is Aspin, which is a kind of tree, I think. All the spellings here are different. She is incredibly skilled with a bow. She is also a weapon-smith, but she works in wood, rather than steel. You would like her.
That is all I can write for now, Kuli. The lamp is guttering and I am nodding off onto the parchment. I will send this east with the next dwarf caravan that leaves Thorin’s Halls. Your reply will find me here, in Barinsgarth, at 3 Roaring Road.
With love from your brother,
Kálvur
