we gathered for once more. We discussed again the expedition to Angmar, weighing the risk. And the path we should take. The most western pass in Parth Aduial is full of drakes. Dangerous, but creatures only loyal to themselves.  The most eastern pass would be guarded by the angmarim. The middle pass was empty, but we're sure it is a trap. We are considering the drakes rhe most.

(June 6th, 2015)

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This is related to the following event:
North Downs Campaign: Free Peoples of Evendim
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"Halt! Who goes there?" Tancamir whirled around as three hooded figures dropped from the trees above, and moved to stand protectively in front of his sister. Uilossiel looked about with wide eyes. Clutching her brother's cloak in one hand, she whispered, "Who are they?"

One of the figures approached and threw back his hood. It was a Man, with clean-cut features and shaggy brown hair. He carried a longbow and bore a silver brooch upon his shoulder, shaped like a star.

                Dinengel ducked aside as the large beast bounded towards him.  He struck the ground hard, and staggered back to his feet only to see the warg turning around for a second attack. The Ranger flourished his knife quickly in the warg’s face, causing the animal to hesitate, but only for a moment. Digging it’s hind legs further into the dirt, the warg pushed off with its pointed claws and teeth extended towards the fatigued man.

          The dark was quickly approaching as Dinengel rode swiftly through the forested hillside. He had been riding for nearly four hours since his encounter with the Trev Duvardain tribesmen, and was now beginning to falter from his fatigue. He had managed to dress his wounded shoulder in an effective but crude fashion, though he was not sure how long it would last. Surely there would be a search party sent after him, and he had lost his sword in the scuffle at their camp.

The sun had sunk beneath the far off mountains of Emyn Uial by now, bathing the sky in fantastic shades of orange, scarlet, and purple. Esteldin lay somewhere beneath him, hidden among the hills and trees. The world seemed at peace. It was hard to believe the fear that had truly taken hold. Unless, of course, you looked to the north. The northern sky seemed darker than it ought to have been. As if a storm, was constantly building, and would soon break.

The journey wasn't so hard now that I know the Trollshaws better. It still took me twelve days to get to Bree, mind. And three days from there to get to the border of the North Downs. Orcs are everywhere. Wherever you look there is an orc or warg nearby... When I finally found the gate to Trestlebridge, the town was in a sorry state. Smoke rose from burnt out homes... and carts were overthrown in ruins. Provisions lay scattered, and many were weeping.

The message has been retrieved. The wounded messenger rode deep into the Lone Lands, where he was ambushed by brigands and killed. The brigands found the scroll he carried and had sold it off to the nearby Dourhand Dwarves who in turn conducted a trade with Orcs (for whom the message appears to have been intended).

The messenger is dead. He was a diversion and has already passed on the message to someone else. A rider of a black horse shot the man as soon as I had him at sword-point. He fired on me but lost the element of surprise. One of my arrows hit him somewhere on the upper body and he fled towards the Forsaken Inn.

I believe this rider now carries the message and must be stopped. I have tracked him into the Lone Lands. The Enemy has eyes on this region; fell birds flock through the skies yet never diving low enough for me to stick them with an arrow.