Writing Home: Wargs and Tombs


Hell of a time in Angmar. Glad you weren’t here, it was a real pain in the arse. We went to some tomb, real dark and nasty, to meet up with another former Wayfarer. This one was an elf, name was Rainercar or something. Everyone called her Rain, though. Feel bad for the newer Wayfarers, they’re getting introduced to all the weird ones: that guy who betrayed you all apparently, a drunk Hal, and now this Rain elf who really didn’t seem to care much what happened to anybody.

Someone triggered a big trap and a bunch of nasty stuff got dunked on us. Slime or something. Real nasty. Unfortunately a couple people got poisoned and Bitra got the worst of it by far. We kept pressing on, though, cause Rain insisted on getting some journal or whatever. Finally found it but then a bunch of wargs appeared.

Could’ve gone my whole life without knowing that wargs can talk. The leader was a real mean one, red, could talk. Had a big grudge against Oendir, apparently he killed her father or something. Even offered to let us all go, except for him, but no way were we leaving him there with a bunch of wargs ready to rip him apart. Thankfully Garrett got Gil and Bitra to agree to leave though, so they were safe. Obviously the rest of us made it out okay too, considering I’m writing you right now.

As thanks for helping get that journal, Rain gave everyone a gem. Seems real special, she said it was crafted in Eregion. Looks special and even Oendir seemed to act like these were priceless or something. Not exactly something I feel like carrying around who-knows-where, so I’m enclosing it here for you. Maybe I can smith something with it when I get back.

Bitra’s looking real bad but the healers here say she’s going to be alright. Just needs some rest. The others that got hit with the poison are doing good, too. Apparently we’re going on a real long trip next, so we’re just healing on up before hitting the road. Miss you every day, babe. It just isn’t the same without you.


Writing Home: Hobbits and Hal


Things keep getting weirder and weirder. You would’ve loved tonight, and I wish you were here. We’re in the Shire, right on that party hill where we got married. There was some ceremony for a warg fight, apparently happened a decade ago. Shoot, where was I a decade ago? Probably getting drunk and teasing Frank or something.

Anyways, it wasn’t much of anything — we just happened to be in the area — but then we had to go rescue the food from some fool tweens. Crazy part of that was that Hal was with them. Of all people! Drinking and having a good time and all that. It was real funny: Oendir convinced them we were all elves and that he put a curse on them, so they ran off. Took all I had in me to not bust a gut laughing.

Hal’s doing alright. Hoping he’ll head on back to Bree, like Oendir was asking him to. Think he could do with some head-on-shoulders putting. Ceremony was alright, boring with speeches and stuff, like usual. Food was real good too.

Shoot, this is a boring letter. Then again, it’s the Shire. And hobbits. How exciting can it get, right? Well, minus that warg stuff anyways.

If it wasn’t already past midnight, I’d ride Bess on home right now, even if I had to turn right around and head back. It’s only a couple hours’ hard ride, if you do it right. Got to get to bed though, instead. Being so close but so far is annoying. Just want to curl up in bed with you for a week. (Don’t let Jaemy read that part.)

Love you,


Writing Home: The Old Forest


Ran across Eirikr this time, which was right nice. Well, except for where we ran into him: the Old Forest. Bugger spends more time in here than I thought he did, given how easily he just wandered right through it. He’s doing good, gave Oendir a small ring for his token… was real surprised to see that, but hey, considering I left my pendant up on Weatherhill, I don’t got much room to talk.

The Old Forest is a pain in the arse. We were wandering around looking for a big flower (the kids found it with Godric), but then the forest… put us to sleep or something. Was real weird. We all passed out and woke up all over the place, but good thing Sirifast and Oendir were nearby. Found them and we made our way back. Had to go past some big old tree. Oendir called it “Old Man Willow.” Stupid thing made Sirifast pass right out, falling into the water, but we carried him out. Don’t know why it bugged him so much, I didn’t feel anything.

The kids got leeched all over, seems like Gil got the worst of it. Bitra, too, but she kept them all together somehow. It’s real good Godric was with them. He and Eirikr got them out, and found that huge white flower. Thing was taller than me!

Drew a small picture of it for Jaemy. Tell her to imagine it’s as big as me, because it was. Miss you a bunch. Garrett’s an okay person to share a tent with, but he ain’t you. Really wish you could be here.

Love you,


Writing Home: Dead People Should Stay Dead


Well, it was definitely drier. Probably too dry. Some crazy shit went down yesterday. We got word about Cardolan and someone trying to fix it all up. Made it real obvious it was a Wayfarer, too, so we went on to do that and get a token. Apparently it was some guy named Rennec. Real mercenary, that one. But hey, he helped us with a token and we helped cleanse that pile of rubble, so that’s right good for me.

Cardolan was, don’t act so surprised, full of dead things. Wights. Gaunt-lord. Fun stuff. Why can’t dead people just stay dead? I’m alright, don’t you worry none. Got knocked over and dragged around by some magic chains, but it’s nothing big. Bitra already cleaned me on up and gave me some bruise salve. You trained her real well, love. I know you were talking about not being sure you would be any good at it, but you are.

Oh, yeah. And that Cirieldis woman from Dol Amroth showed up. Apparently she can turn into a swan. She and some other swans ripped apart some of those wights. Never thought I’d see that in my life. Right weird, really.

I miss you all more than I can write. I’m not a poet or anything. So I sketched something real fast for Jaemy, instead. Don’t got time for painting, or supplies, but it’s a right nice view here and I thought she’d might like it.

Love you,


Writing Home: Swamps Stink


Did you know that swamps stink real bad? We had to go trudging through the swamps in the Lone Lands and it was awful. Apparently there’s some kind of earth-kin people and they gave us directions to go talk to a swamp-witch to get a token from her.

Hey, did you know that the Commander’s got another son? Well, I don’t think it’s blood relations — he’s half-orc. Anyways, he helped us get there. Man, that swamp-witch was ugly. Gave us some rabbit foot or something, so hopefully the trip wasn’t a waste. Told Oendir some weird prophecy about being successful helping Fionwe but not coming back from it. That’s probably a load of crap, though. She’s just mad because that half-orc kid threatened her into helping us.

Gonna take a day or two of washing my boots before they stop stinking.

Cor, I miss you so much, babe. Hope you’re all doing alright there. Don’t know where we’re off to next, but here’s hoping it’s somewhere dry.


Sunny Afternoons

Just felt like throwing together a small montage of my characters enjoying a cool, sunny afternoon.

The sun’s rays shone through the newly cleaned window pane, casting a warm glow on the wooden floor in Osbeorne’s bedroom. Satisfied with his work, the blacksmith grinned and trudged out to the main room. He opened the front door, letting a fresh, cool blast of impending spring air rush into the house. Winter held many memories, some of the more recent ones dear to him, but Os was very much so looking forward to leaves on the trees and warm nights at this point.

He stretched his arms and closed the door, heading back into his bedroom. His bed was currently littered with ribbons, decorated papers, and twine; in the center proudly stood his two gifts: one for Jaemy and one for Kimby (a small painting and an intricate shelving unit, respectively). Sparing a moment to think on both gift recipients, he sighed and ran his hand down his face; by far, the two most complicated women in his in life. Thankfully he had ‘Ridia. What’d he say to her that one time? She was complicated, too, but in a good way? A soft, lopsided smile took over his lips as he remembered that rainy day a few weeks ago. Complicated, indeed.

The smell of an old tome conjured many feelings and thoughts for Aeldes, but chief among them was always amusement. This text had, during its initial inscription, smelled like ink and parchment and potential; now, most considered it to smell of decay and the loss of a different time. That could not be further from the truth! Its smell was layers upon layers of existence and living and learning! So many had learned from this piece: their fingers laid upon it as they studied, translated, copied. It had history and depth which made it immeasurably special.

Her finger lightly glided above the page, conscious of keeping as much oil from her skin from contacting it. This text was not new to her, but she also did not have first-hand experience of this particular time period. It was a fun one to read, partially because she was not trying to compare it to her own admittedly fluid memory. Oh, it looked like that mistake was copied over from the previous manuscript; it was tickled her fancy when something like that happened. A copied mistake today could be tomorrow’s new theory on an entire branch of science. This one was minor enough to not drastically affect anything, so she smiled quietly and left it unmarked.

Pale blue eyes reflected the bright blue sky as they watched a cloud lazily drift overhead. Kimberly’s lips slowly twisted into a petite, dreamy smile. What she did might have been rash — Nellie straight up called it stupid — but Kimberly was confident with the decision. It had to be better than getting all tongue-tied and stuttering every time he winked at her. There was something inexplicably…magnetic about him, and she gambled that taking a risk would even things out. If only a little. Now that the ice had been broken, so to speak, maybe it’d be easier for them to actually…talk. She wanted to talk to him.

One note of a small chuckle floated up from her lips as she contemplated the absurdity of the past two weeks.

Who’da thunk?

Blood-stained clothes bounced down the steps of a farmhouse, their owner rushing to grab more water from the nearby well. Ada grimaced as the sun blinded her and kept pushing the crank as fast as her arms allowed her to, the heavy bucket jerking up the rusty chain awkwardly. What seemed like an eternity later, the young woman — she was going on fifteen, after all — ran as fast as she could with a heavy bucket of water in both hands.

This baby wasn’t going to deliver itself, and her mom needed more water.