Conrob

It only gets worse. Enemies always pouring out of Angmar and across the north, spreading like a plague. New encampments of orcs are springing up all over Eriador, I have tried to mark as many as I can on a map so I can advise other travellers on where is safe and where is not. More on that at some point.

((OOC: Once again, I'll be using a tad bit of lyrics of how Dryn feels about Richard and the events))

No matter how much I try to think that everything's okay, something ends up happening that makes me to where it makes me sick in many ways.

*A letter addressed to "Master Belodin Bronzeboots" is left at the Prancing Pony inn, and a copy sent by courier to Thorin's Hall, Ered-Luin*

"Dearest Belodin,

I've finally found a moment to sit down and put my thoughts to paper once again. The warm, spring sunshine is like a tonic, I find, and there are moments now where I simply sit by the open window, gazing outside, lost in all manner of pleasant thoughts. I suppose the confining nature of winter made me more apt to fill my journal's pages, and now that the land is blossoming and balmy, the blue sky beckons me outside more and more, and the parchment must wait! Though, I did return to work a few days ago, at the stables here in Hookworth, as well as Neyaa's farm.

We returned from our trip to the Shire last night, exhausted, but blissfully happy. I find Bree to be full of pretty places, but the Shire is truly the most idyllic, charming, lovely land I have ever come across. The rolling hills, the tiny villages, the rippling streams...one cannot help but feel as though it has been rather set apart and preserved from the troubles of the outside world, at least for now. Our hobbit hosts at the Ivy Bush Inn were so gracious and accommodating, though we did wind up stuck with a hobbit-sized bed, which was...challenging, to say the least!

It's been a while since I wrote, hasn't it?  Lucky for me the guards didn't take my parchment and pen.  Why I put myself behind bars is a rather funny story.

I’m finding it difficult to put my thoughts to paper today.

It would take a novel to recount the events in their entirety. I will not try to.

((OOC note: I'll be adding a few lyrics from a song solely to how Dryn would have thought of the events and a tad bit of entertainment. Kudos to you who know the song))

There's too many men, too many people

Making too many problems....

There was little sleep to be had. The overnight guards' voices, the shuffling of boots passing her cell, the occasional lecherous whisper of the other prisoners, all served to deny her any slumber.