Post by Androga Erindalant on May 28, 2004 14:19:06 GMT -6
A young man, only two decades old, was wandering near the old ruins of what used to be a harbour. He had long brown hair, his eyes were blue, and he was dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt. His feet found their way over pillages of old collapsed stone walls. The Western Sea had reclaimed much of the area; parts of collapsed buildings still peaked out of the waves of the water as strange rocky islands. How the place had been called when it lived the man did not know – the tourist guide didn’t mention anything of this spot. Strange, as it was quite a sight, but then it had been very tough to get here. Most tourists probably wouldn’t bother the trouble.
The young man was examining the remnants of an enormous gate, its doors rotten away for a long time. He discovered a stairs to one of the towers and his curiosity forced him to mount it, not thinking at all about his safety. The stairs however were still quite solid, hardly showing any cracks, as if time had kept them safe for a specific purpose. The stairs ended in a small room of which the windows offered a marvellous view on both the bay and the mountains, but the man was drawn to a small chest standing against one of the walls. A small silver key, dusty by time, was left in the lock. He opened the chest and found a single page of very old paper, preserved very well. There wasn’t anything else. Slowly the man began to read the elegant letters.
Too long I have resided in the East. Too much has changed since my departure, and too little I could recognize of the world when I returned. Once again I was confronted with the changes of a new Age. Imladris was deserted when I looked down upon the valley. Hîr Elrond had gone into the West, and the last inhabitants had surrendered the Last Homely House to nature. The fate of the Elves, my kind, was unknown. It was believed they all had left Middle Earth, though no one knew when the last Elf had departed. I feel some are still near somewhere, hidden from everyone, until the time of their return has come. The Dwarves have dug themselves into their mountains, caring nothing about what happens above their heads. Only scarcely one of their kind ventured into the world of the Sun, seeking to extend his wealth. The Men proved indeed to be stronger than was generally believed amongst us Elves. They had taken over the domination over the world and were doing a very good job. Edoras had turned into a thriving city, and Minas Tirith had been restored to its former glory.
Yet there was no sign of the Lore Masters, the ones I was seeking. Long ago, several wise men and women had joined in a great community to study the history, the poetry and the art of Middle Earth. It is said this group was founded before the First Age, though I am not sure of that myself, even while I have lived long amongst these scholars. They had saved much of the ancient knowledge to get lost.
I had followed vague rumours. They told the community of wisdom still existed, and it had found a new roof. I roamed over the lands of Rohan, looking around for it, but it happened so suddenly I met Vrennil Alagos, the Lady of Storm, who guided me back to their midst. I shall make my entrée very soon, and hope to meet all of my good friends again. I, Orgulas Lostlindëion, Philippe as I’m known in the East, have returned to the Ring.”
The young man was examining the remnants of an enormous gate, its doors rotten away for a long time. He discovered a stairs to one of the towers and his curiosity forced him to mount it, not thinking at all about his safety. The stairs however were still quite solid, hardly showing any cracks, as if time had kept them safe for a specific purpose. The stairs ended in a small room of which the windows offered a marvellous view on both the bay and the mountains, but the man was drawn to a small chest standing against one of the walls. A small silver key, dusty by time, was left in the lock. He opened the chest and found a single page of very old paper, preserved very well. There wasn’t anything else. Slowly the man began to read the elegant letters.
“Friday the 28th of May of the year 189 of the Fourth Age, Edoras
Too long I have resided in the East. Too much has changed since my departure, and too little I could recognize of the world when I returned. Once again I was confronted with the changes of a new Age. Imladris was deserted when I looked down upon the valley. Hîr Elrond had gone into the West, and the last inhabitants had surrendered the Last Homely House to nature. The fate of the Elves, my kind, was unknown. It was believed they all had left Middle Earth, though no one knew when the last Elf had departed. I feel some are still near somewhere, hidden from everyone, until the time of their return has come. The Dwarves have dug themselves into their mountains, caring nothing about what happens above their heads. Only scarcely one of their kind ventured into the world of the Sun, seeking to extend his wealth. The Men proved indeed to be stronger than was generally believed amongst us Elves. They had taken over the domination over the world and were doing a very good job. Edoras had turned into a thriving city, and Minas Tirith had been restored to its former glory.
Yet there was no sign of the Lore Masters, the ones I was seeking. Long ago, several wise men and women had joined in a great community to study the history, the poetry and the art of Middle Earth. It is said this group was founded before the First Age, though I am not sure of that myself, even while I have lived long amongst these scholars. They had saved much of the ancient knowledge to get lost.
I had followed vague rumours. They told the community of wisdom still existed, and it had found a new roof. I roamed over the lands of Rohan, looking around for it, but it happened so suddenly I met Vrennil Alagos, the Lady of Storm, who guided me back to their midst. I shall make my entrée very soon, and hope to meet all of my good friends again. I, Orgulas Lostlindëion, Philippe as I’m known in the East, have returned to the Ring.”