Exile

So it was now so as it was so to be as it had to be so, so King Sauron was dead and also defeated by me.  And truly was this glad tiding, because he would have destroyed the whole world or ruled over it or some such terrible thing, probably.  And all the army shouted aloud, ‘Hurrah for Nine-fingered Frodo and Steve!  Hip hip hooray!’

♦

Early Autumn. Year 3013 of the Third Age.

Somewhere in Dunland.

♦

Dear Journal,

I write this entry on several pages of parchment and a half used pencil I managed to barter off of the barkeep here in the Forsaken Inn. He's a rather grim fellow, but so are most in this rather dire establishment. You would think a folk so serious and stern would've had the common sense to patch up the gaping hole in the roof! Ah, but it's no matter. I suppose they'll warm up to me and my clever wit in no time at all.

It was cold on the beach, and Seronaer’s breath misted before her. She sat huddled with her mother, terrified to leave her side should she lose her. She had lost so much already. They had left their home, the familiar white streets and tall towers where flowers and light were in abundance. Now, they sat in darkness on the cold, desolate beach, looking out over the furious sea and awaiting the return of their kin.

1 forsaken ale

Somewhere in the barren lands sat a solitary dwarf staring at the dubious brew standing before him. He swayed the dark liquid, moving too slow through his tankard "What is this? I asked for Ale!". Hilfar took big gulp and crinched at the taste "Are you trying to poison me? Bah!". The bartender yelled over to the hooded dwarf "Forsaken ale, dear customer! Enjoy!". Hilfar grumbled staring at the tankard again and swallowed the rest of it "What has become of me..."

I am ill.

I have been bedridden for the last few weeks, my body wracked with disease.  It seems there is nothing the healers can do, besides identify the cause.

It is poison.

"Our daughter! Can' ye believe i', dear?" The man stated quite angrily. There was a resonating sound from the desk as a large fist banged down the wooden surface. The room was lit by numerous candles, the surroundings quite lavish and luxurious. It was clearly the home of a Noble's family. Several furnitures of exquisite quality lay around the room. A bed of velvet was to be seen nearby, followed by portraits of various family members. Moonlight streamed in lazily from the window.

Wil struck the Orc in the side with his blade causing little more than a flesh wound, but the sting of pain was more than enough to get the wretched creature's attention. With a backhanded fist across his chin the man of Bree was sent tumbling to the ground, both his sword and the banner he held deserting him as if fear had carried them away.