The Trolls 'Map'

My Lord, I write this note in clear because our cipher has been discovered and time presses, even as I write Bravin languishes in the dungeons under the attentions of Maschbram, he is not a brave man, I have prepared a draught of white yew. I trust this note to the hands of our second agent who I commend to you as your most loyal servant.

Cameth Brin Dispositions

170 Guardsmen drawn from the five loyal families, about half of these are veterans battle or have some skirmishing experience, chiefly in horse raiding, or hunting orcs and their like. They are chiefly clad in chain mail and in the main equipped with axes, swords, shields, pikes, polearms, crossbows and bows.
120 Clansmen are drawn from the kings family they are fiercely loyal, and all battle hardened and very experienced, they are similarly equipped and mix freely with the guardsmen, in principal they are treated equally however on the battlefield that would change.
50 Bodyguards to the king again drawn from his own clan and representing the fighting elite of the garrison - they wear plate mail and great shields and they fight with a collection of potent family heirlooms, axes, swords, maces and flails.
Half of this force is easily capable of defending the fortress, which draws extra strength from its elaborate defensive construction.

Cameth Brin Defenses

I will not dwell on the considerable defenses of the ancient fortress, as time presses, suffice to say that they are well reported elsewhere and it is my belief that conventional assault is not possible. However, what is also well known, is that Cameth Brin is a tower, built on a fortress, built on a dungeon, built on a mine - there are several secret entrances to this place, I record two of them here.

The first entrance emerges at a small group of caves two miles east of the fortress, the caves have been an occasional home for various troll groups and their presence is tolerated as it discourages the inquisitive. However it was recently decided that a besieging army would soon see off these guardians and discover the entrance so a plan is being devised to dislodge the trolls and either collapse or so disguise the tunnel as to make it safe. The tunnel connects to an underground stream that travels beneath the fortress to the Ureithel which is its source - the entrance is close to the dungeons and at the base of the fortress so would provide the best route for an attack. If the passage is passable you can find the caves at the base of a small valley some 500 yards south of a quarry from which Cameth Brin drew much of its stone.

The second passage leads from the kings chambers to the ancient dwarvern mines, and from there to a hidden exit some three miles north of the fortress. This way is used by the king and as such is very secure, with complex locks and traps along the way. Furthermore it travels through the mines which are haunted by evil undying things and make a treacherous passage, I believe that the king bears a potent symbol that affords him protection. The entrance lies at the base of the eastern flank a hill topped by a tor that bears a pair of standing stones and a blasted oak. There is a great smooth stone beneath which a spring emerges - the door is hidden in the face of it.

Conversations Overheard

Toreg Athelsman

As you know my friend when we last met, Lord Athel had sent out instructions to prepare for the clan's exodus south towards Gondor. Our situation here in Rhudaur was no longer tenable, we would never beg the Arthedain for succor, so it was to the south that we looked. What was not said was that the spur to your stepfather's flank was Broggha's summons to Cameth Brin of all of the Thengyn and Requain of Rhudaur. Suspecting the hidden hand of Angband, we anticipated that Broggha would declare an alliance with the Witch King against the Arthedain and demand a reaffirmation of loyalty.

So I volunteered to go in Athel's stead and attempt through prevarications and diplomacy to hide the clan's departure for as long as possible. I traveled that night, in the immediate aftermath of the declaration to the clan, on the fastest horse and the most direct of routes. Even so, at my arrival I was anticipated and arrested - our enemies had somehow received word of Athel's treasonous flight.

I was taken to the dungeons of Cameth Brin and there I was questioned, not about Athel's flight but about you Athmund, and your companion Osiris. At first I imagined that they had guessed the nature of your birthright, but it was not that which was most pressing, it was the eye that you bore, that was what they sought. I was questioned for some time at the hands of the cruel shield maiden Wilda - I know not what I revealed for she used strange alchemics upon me and I passed into feverish dreams. We must assume though that they now know of you and your true father.

It was in the following days, as I recovered that I began to hear the sounds of more interrogations from a nearby cell. Now you must understand that I have traveled to Caras Fornen many times and am well acquainted with the Lord of that place. I have known his daughter Alquawen since her youth and was unsurprised when her charms and good looks attracted attention in court. Since then, as you well know she has become affianced to King Arvegil. What you may not know is that she is possessed of a voice so shrill and a nature so shrewish that even through the echoing dungeon corridors I would not fail to recognise her demands to be released.

My friends I have no doubts that the fiance to the king is being held prisoner in the dungeons of Cameth Brin. Furthermore, from what you tell me of the preparations of an army, and what I know of the nature of the youthful Arthedain king, I can draw only one conclusion and it is a fell one.

Sylvan Perspective

Cerilaragloras

The adan city was like a cauldron of emotion, pressing against my spirit, but not merely due to the surrounding filthy Yrch. It seems, in their inimitable manner, that in the time of desperation they had found a few of their own to put to death, somehow to assuage their own feelings of impending doom. I am glad I am with such that merely bicker amongst themselves. Even the company of the nogothrim, even the sogannen naug, is preferable than this pit of ugliness. The buildings lack grace, the smell disgusting, the people unwashed and foul.

However we made our way into the centre, whereupon we saw the procession, with a poor wretch of a man upon a cart being taken to be hung. Truly a sight to behold, but one that made me sick to my stomach. Should someone be killed, then let it be as swift as it may and the idea of public spectacle and the ugly joy shown by the people, well... I try not to judge for the
sake of my compatriots, but what I saw that day still sullies my thoughts of the adan. I am sure Mandos has spelt out their future in this world, and I leave it to him, but I can only hope that they do not spill this kind of ugliness across the west. They fight the Yrch, they struggle against the dark and for that I have hope. Let Elbereth shine her light upon them from the darkness of the skies, let them open their eyes and see.

Athmund, of course, recognised the man. A servant of his family's it seems. It was enough for the noegol and Athmund, who dived in at the guardsmen, to rescue the man. Brave but foolish, as we were within a heavily guarded walled town, where were we to go when the reinforcements came? The guards reacted as they should, attacking all that they saw as enemy, and we were
all forced to take arms against them. After a bloody skirmish leaving a number of them dead or unconscious and us all wounded. An adaneth knowing the songs of old entered the fray, and without her we would be dead or manacled facing the hangman's noose ourselves. She was disguised as a Rhurdur warrior, but wielded a rapier rather than their customary weaponry
with skill, and through her song seemed to be well night impossible to strike. She lead us away through the streets, well known to her it seems, with the prisoner released by the peroannath to a seeming dead end. It seemed that she was well known to Athmund, and there was a resemblance, though in the chaos I did not yet know how close they were.

However it seemed this adaneth was exceptionally well prepared, leading us through an elaborate escape plan involving the burning of a candler makers, leaving prepared bodies behind to make it seem we were all dead in the fires, whereas in fact we escaped through a collapsing tunnel. At the end of it we were left free, if wounded and singed, with the captive released. Remarkable.

For all their weaknesses and faults, there are amongst the adan a precious few who rise far above their fellows. Could it be that the blood of Numenor can be found even amongst such as these? Or is it that these base folk have a doom greater than we know? My association with them since the loss of my brother is strange and without reason, but it seems our paths continue together. Perhaps it is that Athmund can truly lead them to the light of Varda, or at least away from what I saw. He is a noble and brave man, if somewhat tortured. I trust in Orome to lead me forward in my part on this.

Of course the noegol are like stone, unchanging, and how the sogannen naug managed to retrieve two glass demi-jons of that alcohol I will never know and will never ask.

Death by Fire

Owain

Of course I recognised Fiorla as soon as I set eyes on her, she may have got herself up to look like a hillman from the human perspective, but the view from down here is all small feet and dainty riding boots. She saw me too and gave me a wink and as the executioners cart passed by she took the opportunity for a quick hello. We were just setting up a rendez-vous when wham, Rocky delivers a haymaker to one of the execution party and Athmund is following in yelling "No Blades, no blades".

In no time at all we are in the midst of a scrap, and there's plenty want some.. There are eight guards and the executioner with the prisoner but they are already calling for help and the town is crawling with soldiers. Fiorla's not one to be shaken up though - she gives me a key and directs me to the candlemakers two block's down to the left - "Make sure its empty and unlocked ready for us, we may be in a hurry".

"No shit" I reply, but just for the hell of it before I slip away, I quickly cut the bonds holding the comdemned up - not that he'll get far on his own though - looks like he's been on the rack. That's when I notice that it's Toreg - Athel's aide and Athmund's teacher - well rude not to, I slap one of the pony's arse's and move it over to the cart, then leaving him to get on it, I'm away for the candlemaker's. Looks like Fiorla is getting stuck in as I slip past - she's taking on four of them and singing up a storm.

Dodging past a couple more guards I make the store, its open and there's a storekeep in there. "Time to go" says I flashing out my sword - he's not fazed and calm as you like he picks up a holdall and with a wink and a touch of the nose he's off. I have a sniff about the place, looks like he does a lot of rendering and distilling in here as well, the place is a tinderbox.

In short order our heros stagger in - looking quite knocked about as well and with Toreg swinging over Rocky's shoulder. Well Fiorla seems to have prepared the place - there are no windows and no back door and outside of the now barred front doors we can hear sounds of fifty or more foot soldiers putting together a ram. "Last stand then?" I ask.

But no - there's a tunnel out from underneath, but first there's some bodies to be pulled out of caskets and an accident to be set up with an oil flask. Well in short order the guard smash down the door and after a minute or two of fighting a misstep and a stumble brings a couple of barrels of oil crashing down into the doorway. From there its just a simple matter of jamming us all down the tunnel and collapsing it behind us.

It's evening now and we've emerged into a stable-block, from the hayloft we can see the fire still burning bright - I imagine there'll be nothing left of those corpses by the time it goes out. We are the dead.

Crossroads

Cerilaragloras

I will never fail to be amazed at my cloth-eared brothers in arms. We were carried before the goblin army in the arms of Orome, his glorious song filling the air about us, and they marvelled that the eye did not slow us down. The great eagles bear the chantress' to us and they wondered that amidst the song of Manwe our horses did not flee. And now as we leave the singing halls of Sacred Heart where all the fair races of Iluvatu gather to weave the songs of making they are not yet moved to tears but rather keen to be back in the saddle and at our enemies (whoever they may be).

We have travelled for one day and spent a cold night in the mountains, here and there are traces of a once great road, though now it ses scant use - I have spied trails and horse spoor maybe a month old.

On the second morning the road passed down a steep valley the gorge at its base is spanned by an ancient viaduct, human build from greater ages of their dominion in these parts. As we aproached, we were stoped in our tracks by a huge river rock thrown across the valley by a giant on the other side. At least twice, maybe three times our height and bearing a huge blade he looked like a dangerous opponent. The giant indicated a sign for us to read and in another's hand were written the terms of our crossing - our weight in horseflesh would secure passage. It was signed on behalf of Stoneheart the giant, with the rider that in the authors view the giant would be amenable to trading suitable hardware or alternative food. Our self appointed leader, the king in waiting (I half calculated that he is one eleventh of my age!) Athmund the Great decided to haggle for passage and in the end Crabapple, our appropriated carthorse stood passage for us all. The Drunkard dwarf somehow persuaded the giant to give up a cask of foul tasting mead, I do not know what he has fermented to brew it but it would have been better left to rot.

Our passage has brought us from the foothills of the Misty mountains to a crossroads high on the Southern Ettinmoors. Here we met with Harald - hunting for us, his eagle companion had led him (been guided by the chantress' will) to this desolate spot. There was a debate, principally between Peasant Harald and King Athmund, wherein the peasant revealed that he was servant to the court of Arthedain, and the King refused in principal to do his bidding. Ah but, should the King find himself in the region to the west of Talugdaeri then he might be inclined to estimate troop numbers and if he were in the town itself and happened across the Arthedain agent there he might let those numbers be known. So the great accord of Godforsakenland was reached, King Athmund would not be the servant of the Arthedain, and yes he would check out the build-up of orcs and goblins and report back immediately. As for me - I kept myself warm and refletched some of those lousy arrows picked up at Tir Elenath.

Our passage North through the warg rider pickets was suprisingly uninteresting. We avoided major confrontations and through a combination of stealth, cunning, machismo and raw luck we established an acurate picture of troop numbers. Only one event is worth mentioning, a few miles south of the picket lines Baran departed our company, the great hound so recently never far from Osiris' side slipped away in the night. In the morning we followed his trail for an hour or so and were met by him at the side of a mysterious stranger. Friendly enough, he introduced himself as Radagast, a traveller who had walked at one time and another with the dog. We spoke pleasantries and swapped news of the road, and then he departed with the hound at his side.