The Wizard and the Warrior

a tale of Middle-Earth

By Carl Brauer

May 18th, 2015

Far to the east, past the Greenwood that men now call Mirkwood, past the wide barren Brown lands, past Rhun and his great waters, there lies a land long-forgotten by the world. For this land has no great kingdoms, nor armor clad warriors, nor wisemen. There, no great mountains stretch into the sky, nor great forests tower, nor any wide rivers, winding thousands of leagues to meet the sea. There are only empty grasslands, little hills, and the occasional tree or pile of rocks to break the unending emptiness. There you will find only bleakness, and loneliness, and if you do meet any inhabitants they'll be as likely to skewer you as speak to you- if they speak at all. For these are the Lonely lands; forsaken by men, abandoned by elves, and rarely seen by dwarves- full of nothing but shadow and despair.

Gandalf the Grey

You don't really know why you're here- your scarcely remember where you came from, let alone what reasons brought you forth from your homeland. You do know that you were a man of the north, not satisfied with your station in life, serving in your people's civilization along the great lake.

Whether it was the tedium of your daily life, or the lure of old legends speaking of a great power to the east, no one can say, but the prospect of serving in the guard for the rest of your days seemed like a prison sentence to you. When the idea of a trade mission was raised you didn't hesitate to accept it.

Now after endless journeying over the face of middle-earth, everything has run together into one never-ending stream of existence. Most tales of great journeys are full of misadventures: fighting monsters, eluding bandits, or battling the natural elements in the wilderness. But your trek has been a different story: cold, boredom, hunger, and, most of all, emptiness are the stars of your tale.

You could turn back, but after so long a time continuing your journey is the only thing you know, the only purpose that exists in this forsaken land. Besides, you've come so far now, you doubt you even could go back now if you wanted to.

You sense him before you see him- a stooped old man in a tattered old cloak of indeterminate color. He would seem like a feeble old man to most, but your time in the wilderness has taught you that things are not always what they seem, though he is clearly stooped by time and distance spent in this desolate place.

He seems unaware of you and you feel that he would probably pass you by without a word if you let him, but something in you feels interest and curiosity in the first person you've seen in weeks and you wonder what brought him to this land. He seems more like a traveler than an attacker, and you are considering approaching him for conversation or news.

"Are you a bandit, here to kill me and take my meager possessions?" he demands of you, "Not that I have much that anyone would want, nor do you seem like much of a bandit to me. Speak now! For I am weary and tire of waiting, as I tire of walking over these wastes."

"I am no bandit, fear not old man. I am a Northman, from the west of middle-earth, and I have been traveling in these lands for many, many days. Pray, tell me of these lands, what you know of them, for I know nothing of this country, and the only people I have met here so far are poor and wretched, and know only of scratching out a meager existence from the grass and stone in this gloomy place".

"Well", said the stranger, "I guess I should sit down a while, and rest my weary bones, if I must tell you what you would know Northman", and he slumped to the ground. "I am a traveler, at least that's what they would call me here. I used to be a merchant, but now I trade in...other things.

I am a bearer of news, for the few in these parts that require it, or at least can pay for it. I used to be paid by the chiefs of the wagon men in the encampments, but that was a long time ago, before the shadow came over the world again.

This place was never important, or much populated, but it used to be that there were those who tried to keep abreast of what was happening in the wider world, and would pay for news and tales from afar- even from this wretched place. That was when the lords of the west still held power, and fear, over lands far and wide. That was when they were still a proper kingdom that ran things right, if you know what I mean.

Now, they're all but forgotten beyond the borders of their own land, and the name of Gondor and the kings are just a faded legend 'round here, remembered only by a few old timers like myself.

These days it's the dark lord that people fear- for the shadow of him and his foul servants covers the world, even in forgotten places like this, and no one looks to the men of the west to save them. No, they just go on, living their lives like they always have, but in place of the darkness and whispers of the night, they fear the dark one, as if he might pop up at any moment and grab them. But, if they weren't 'fraid of him, they'd be 'fraid of something else I suppose. No, nothing much ever really changes round these parts, the names may change but the story stays the same.

But now you was asking 'bout news from old Jeb I believe, weren't ya? Well, I can't say as there's much of anything new here, as usual. Just rumors 'bout that Gurghan and his men stirring up trouble again". "Gurghan, who's Gurghan? A king or lord in these parts?" you ask curiously?

"Well now" the old man choked back a chuckle, "there ain't never been no King round here, nor any sort of lord, at least not proper like, such as you have in Gondor and what not, but as far as things go 'round here he'd be about the closest thing to a lord you'd be likely to find. He's more of a chieftain really, the most powerful chieftain of the wagon men, and that means he's someone you can't afford to ignore if he come riding round your door."

"Wagon men?" you ask, your curiosity fully awakened. "What wagon men Jeb? Are they travelers too?"

"Well you might could say that", Jeb replied "at least they say in old times they was travelers far and wide 'crost these lands. Some even claim they roamed as far as to the old borders of Gondor, in ancient times. A couple claim that they was great warlords, and conquered peoples far and wide.

I've heard a few swear that they fought with Gondor itself in a great war long ago, before the kings failed. But I think those as claim that most like has been eating too many mushrooms, if you know what I mean" he tapered off.

"Warriors", you ponder, "well, is that what you meant by stirring up trouble? And who would they go to war against, unless it be the black land- or to serve them..." "I didn't say they was warriors", Jeb replied indignantly. "I said they used to be warriors, leastwise if you believe the old stories and legends.

There hasn't been no true warriors 'round here in the memory of any of the living, but they be trouble enough they be. Strong they are, at least compared to any other peoples that dwell here, and the clans can be quick to rally in dire need- or if they've got a strong leader..."

"And that's why you fear this Gurghan?" you ask. "Well, he's a strong one, no doubt, though not particularly nasty, as far as the wagon people go, though more crafty, and it's rumored that he's not actually a real wagon rider, but came from somewheres else. But lately he's been acting different.

There's lots of talk that he's trying to rally the clans, get them in order and strengthen their hold here. He seems to be making his people ready, as if for war... But, it could just be the locals' imaginations getting the best of them.

News is scarce here, and life is grim, so any going's on around here are likely to get the attention of the natives, and they're like as not to stretch the tale in the telling, as they say. Anyways, I reckon I've tired your ears enough with my yammering, no doubt you wish now you never asked old Jeb for news".

He stretched his legs, and started to get up, "One more thing you should know- a lot of people round here are none too happy to see strangers, like as not they see you as one more mouth to feed. Most of them are pretty harmless, but there's always a worry 'bout running into the less than savory sort out in the wild. Also, take care of the clans, you never can tell how they might take to strangers, especially now. If you find signs of them, you'd best turn tail and head the other way.

And watch out for the dark ones. Strange folk they are, though I never did hear of any coming to harm from them, but you never can tell, especially with them being as closed as they are. Even most of the natives here never did see a one of them, though they've all got tales about 'em as long as your arm..."

"Well, I'd best be getting on now. It's a long way to a friendly hearth from here, so to speak, even for those of us as knows where to look. You take care now, and maybe we'll meet again when I pass this way next- if you're still among the living that is", and with that Jeb set off.

Even as you began to ponder everything you had just heard, the wind picks up suddenly, the cloudy sky darkens, and you feel a sudden urge to find shelter. Having a real conversation with another person had been very stimulating, you realize, and now that he has gone the weight of being alone in the wilderness seems almost too much to bear.

You resolve to continue into the waning dusk in search of a friendlier place to spend the night. As you trudge through the wind you think you spy something moving up ahead, coming over a small rise. Though you are curious if it's a person, you feel a sense of unease and wonder if maybe you shouldn't try to hide until you can figure out who, or what it is.

You spy a shrub a few feet from you and, crouching down, you sneak behind it, hoping that whoever's coming hasn't spotted you. As you peek through the shrub you see three shapes stealthily approach. As they near your hiding spot, they pause and warily survey the surroundings. You feel very insecure in your hiding spot, and when they start looking at the ground you are seized with an urgent fear that they will find you...

You feel a great sense of relief when they stop their search for a moment and then begin to whisper to each other. Although you're close to them, the wind prevents you from hearing their speech clearly, and you don't know much of the speech of these parts anyway.

What you can make out is that they are talking about a man, though whether it is whom they're seeking, or one who sent them, you can't quite tell. They finally move past you, but then they start gesturing to the ground, and you realize they have found your tracks. Apparently, they are confused.

Patches of snow on the ground makes it easy to find trackways, and you are very grateful that you left the trail on a bare patch. After looking around again uneasily, they decide to move on in the direction you came from, and start to quietly and purposefully move into the distance.

As the wind whistles gently over the landscape, you reflect on how you've grown to adapt to this land over time. Slowly, imperceptibly, your outlook has changed. Where once you saw nothingness, you now see a wide world, full of possibilities.

Where once you saw only flat, barrenness, you notice endless rises, washes, gullies and outcroppings dotting the landscape. Where once you saw no signs of life, you now recognize multiple varieties of bushes, grasses, and scrub trees. Where once you only felt cold and desolation, you now feel freedom and adventure. The eerie wind that used to haunt you, now seems to bring this forgotten landscape to life.

The only thing that you haven't gotten used to yet was the lack of people and other beings, though you notice small signs of creatures from time to time. You rarely encounter anyone in this country, though you get the feeling that you will find the dwellers of this land very soon. As vast as it is, you know that the lonely lands don't go on forever, and you have heard tell of mountains and other wonders to the east. You feel very strongly that you are nearing the edge of this domain, and no doubt many new discoveries await you, including civilization. But what kind, and of what people, you cannot say.

After putting some distance between you and the bandits, you are contemplating where to camp when you suddenly hear howls in the distance- wolves! You decide to make camp immediately and light a fire to keep the wolves at bay.

You have just managed to get a fire going when you hear sounds around the perimeter of your camp. Clutching a burning branch you stand up and look around you and manage to just glimpse a dark, furry shape in the shadows. Bravely you walk towards the shape holding the branch up before you to spread its light. You hear some scurrying noises and then all is quiet. It looks like you've driven them off, and you walk back to your bedroll and curl up close to the fire.

The next morning you spy a shepherd trudging across the waste in your direction. You are happy to see someone who isn't dangerous looking and are still eager for some information on the area, and possibly information about the three suspicious mean you encountered.

You don't understand much of what the stranger has to say, but it seems that you were right about approaching the edge of the wilderness. The shepherd tells you that within a few days the land will start to change from undulating flatlands to small hills and thickets; and eventually a range of small mountains that border the lonely lands.

You also find out that there are indeed human habitations in the hilly border lands consisting of small settlements called encampments. It seems that in ancient times the men of these lands were horsemen, continually roaming the sparse grasslands to find enough grass to support their herds. Over time they developed annual migration routes, and encampments sprung up at convenient points along the way.

Eventually the encampments turned into permanently inhabited settlements, although they still maintained the character and appearance of temporary dwellings. He says that his people sometimes trade with them, and they're not usually a bad sort, but arrogant and quick to fight- especially when they've been drinking. The herders have some small settlements as well, but they mostly migrate over the land, never staying in one place for too long.

An interesting bit of information you glean from him is that the shepherd people are afraid of forests- at least it sounds as if they always avoid them, possibly because of something or someone living there. You chalk it up to simple people being afraid of the unknown, but decide that you will be cautious if you should ever make it past these never-ending badlands.

You thank the shepherd and begin on your way again. The lands show more signs of travel as you find yourself on a worn track, and small trails crisscrossing the landscape begin to appear on a regular basis. This is a noticeable change from the abandoned regions you've been travelling for weeks- or is it months?

The approach of civilization is kind of exciting, though also somewhat unsettling for you after growing accustomed to the freedom of the wilderness. You start to miss the wild solitude you've grown accustomed to and contemplate leaving the path to strike out across less trodden areas, though your instincts tell you to remain on the path.

After some time you again see a denizen of the area trodding the path in your direction. He looks a ragged, bedraggled man, struggling to carry a sack of supplies. His head is facing the ground and he doesn't seem to notice you. You await him on the path and eventually he sees you. The stranger asks if you are a trader, and he tells you that there is a camp of his people nearby.

He gives you the impression that you might be able to get food there. You are interested in learning more about the wagon men and their encampments, as well as the geography of the border lands, so you decide to follow his advice and make your way in the direction he indicated.

You make your way to the camp without incident and are invited to sit down and eat with some of the tribesmen. They explain to you that there is supposed to be a settlement of halflings in the lands to the south of the human territories.

This sounds like another plains legend to you, and you are tempted to dismiss it out of hand, but the villagers are adamant there are halflings in this part of the world. You have heard of halflings as a child, of course, but have never heard of them since, so you assumed that they were just a bedtime tale.

They also tell you that small groups of bandits roam around the area stealing from and attacking people. Recently the bandits have become much more prevalent and some says it's related to the marshaling of the wagon-men but no one knows for sure.

They also mention Dark Ones in passing, like the lone trader did. They seem to be some kind of mysterious, foreign-seeming people that are occasionally seen in the region, but whether they live here or travel from somewhere else they can't say. Neither can they tell you any concrete facts about them other than they seem to be foreign and alien people to everyone else in the lonely lands.

They offer to sell you some humble food for what little you have to trade. Then they ask you about your plans and seem to be very interested in helping you to avoid trouble. They say they will direct you and give you advice whichever course you chose to follow.

You decide to journey south, away from the clashing peoples of the Lonely lands, into new and uncharted territory. The traders warn you of possible danger lurking there, an old threat that figures in their tales and legends, which you dismiss as so much folklore- the paranoid rantings of a fearful people. Apparently no one has passed that way in recent memory, so you should be able to escape prying eyes for a while and relish the peace of empty lands once more.

Your sojourn begins peacefully- a gentle spring day, with light breezes and puffy clouds whisking leisurely overhead. You feel refreshed, as if you had finished journeying and then, after much rest, embarked upon a new and different adventure. Within hours you feel as if you had left the rest of the world behind and are truly alone in the wild.

Your good start is cemented with the opportune catching of a young rabbit, who is foolish enough to stop not ten yards in front of you. With a good start to the day and a full belly you continue on your way.

A few days pass, much like the first. Though game is scarce, so are the people to hunt them, so you don't have too much difficulty finding meals for yourself as you move further and further from civilization. The first couple of days the scenery is pretty much the same as the rest of the lonely lands, but then the hills become smaller and less rocky, and after another day or so, disappear altogether into a wide plain of grass.

The weather seems to change along with the climate, moving from pleasant spring into a warmer and brighter climate. On the second day in the plains, you are running low on provisions and water is growing scare. You are about to contemplate retreat when you spy a long, dark smudge on the horizon. Though you can't be certain, you are sure there must be hills there, and with hills probably some source of running water, so you decide to press on that evening after the day cools.

You have a bright moon that night, which makes it easy to cover distance over the flat plains for a few hours before you lie down to sleep next to a bush. When you awaken, you can see that you covered several miles the previous night, because the row of hills is much more clear now.

Towards the middle of the range you spy one peak that stands out from the rest in height and girth and you instinctively know that you will have the best chance of finding food, water, and life there.

As the hills draw closer and closer you feel excited about discovering new territory and you could almost swear that there are earthworks, berms, even roads on and around the mountain you have chosen to pursue. You would welcome some human contact, though you dismiss it as fancy. If there was a settlement here then surely the other peoples of the lonely land would be familiar with them?

You press on with your destination in view. Soon evening approaches and you take thought of camp though the mountain looks so close you feel you could reach out and touch it. You are tempted to press on, but feel that it would be wiser to approach unknown people in the light of day. You eat some victuals, watch the stars, and finally drift off to sleep.

You awake with a start to rough hands jostling you. You cry out as you are rousted by short, dark figures. Fearing orcs, you reach for your bow, but it has already been taken from you. Next, war axes hover over your head and you hear rough shouting in a coarse form of Westron. You realize that these are no orcs, but rather dwarves, though they appear and act little better than orcs. You are chained and driven to your feet, then marched towards their mountain stronghold before you.

As dawn approaches, you and your captors approach the base of the mountain. Your shouted queries have been met with kicks and punches, so now you march in silence. The dwarves occasionally signal to other dwarves, hidden in the landscape. Apparently they maintain a permanent watch around the mountain and its surroundings. You could kick yourself for being caught so easily, but then you remember nowhere else in this part of the world is there such a guard, and dwarves are not enemies of men- not usually anyways.

You march up a road now, straight up the flank of the mountain, before turning off onto a causeway hidden by a berm. You notice dwarves regularly now, shoring up earthworks, carrying loads and moving to and fro on various errands. The path suddenly ends in a wall of earth and your captors turn towards the mountain and inside a dark doorway in the earth...

As you enter the Dwarves' mountain stronghold, you stumble a bit on the rough earthen floor. As the dwarves mutter curses and pull you back to your feet with your chains, you notice that the chains seem to be only held by one dwarf now, instead of the two that had held them on the way here. That gives you a sudden hope of escape, though you don't know why you should feel scared of a bunch of dwarves.

You've never had trouble with their kind before nor has anyone else you've known. You do feel an unease with this group however, and more so now that they're leading you through this deep, dark tunnel. As you look around for possible means of escape you notice that the hall is very dimly lit and turnoffs look to be few and far between.

There is, however, one side tunnel branching off on the left a short ways in front of you. You know it could be a terrible risk, but you have a feeling that almost anything would be better than being imprisoned by these dwarves.

You decide to make a break for it and as soon as the group is near the entrance you suddenly lunge to the side and through the entrance. The surprised dwarf holding your chains is jerked off his feet and across the ground the by suddenness of your charge. Suddenly your optimism turns to shock as you realize you're no longer standing on solid ground but over empty space. Screaming you fall into the abyss.

Your flailing arms land on something solid as you fall into the water. You grab onto the wooden beam for dear life as you feel rushing water pulling you towards the unknown. The good news is that you seem to have become separated from the dwarf who was chained to you. The bad news is that you're stuck at the bottom of a well with a stream trying to take you away to who knows where.

You feel that maybe you should would have been safer facing the wrath of the dwarves. You know that you could call them for help and they would probably raise you from the pit and almost certain doom.

You look down at the rushing water tugging at you, but in the dark, dank pit you can't see a thing. The water could be a foot or a mile deep and you would never know the difference. As terrifying as falling headlong into a dark, rushing stream under the earth is, you have a very uneasy feeling about this hidden dwarf realm and its dark inhabitants.

Knowing your chances are slim either way you take a leap of faith and let go of the log. Whoosh, before you know what hit you, you are rushing away in the dark. You struggle against the waves and current to stay somewhat upright, but it seems impossible to stay upright.

Suddenly, your head crashes into something and you're knocked back under the water. Your face feels numb and you realize your floating on your back under the surface of the water. Then your feet crash into a solid surface, undoubtedly stone.

You panic, being underwater and under the whole mass of the mountain. Your flail uncontrollably and helplessly and then the current pulls you down- and forward. As you run out of air you realize that you've just cleared the stone mass that was blocking you, and then with your last moments of consciousness your head reels with a new sensation- sunlight! You just manage to break your face out of your watery tomb when you pass out and remember nothing more.

You awaken with a face full of reeds and mud. You just lay there for a while, breathing and feeling the sun before you try to remember what befell you. After a while some memories come back and you remember fighting the underground river for life, and then nothing. You muster the strength to lift your head and gaze at your surroundings.

You're on a muddy river bank of a small pool under a willow tree. The air is sultry and dank and the small oasis of life is a shock after the empty plains and the cruel dwarvish mountain. You hear chirping and feel the peace of undisturbed nature. A fleeting fear suddenly rushes through you that you may be hunted by your cruel captors, but then you feel that you've left them far behind, and if they really wanted you they would probably have found you already.

In truth, the dwarves know you fell in the river, but they assumed that you drowned in the cruel earth. Dwarves are very suspicious of water in any event and even had they known the river was passable they would most likely have refused to enter it to follow you, whether they knew whither it lead of not. These dwarves, in fact, had never even attempted to map out the course of the river, though it would have been feasible for them to do so.

They were a very secretive people and did not like to stray from their lands even a short distance for any reason. So, even though they had a notion of where you might have gone too, if you had survived, they were torn with doubt as to whether to mount an attempt to recapture you, and if so in which direction. This is lucky for you because there particular dwarves are of the worst sort imaginable- marauders, scavengers, and sometimes even cannibals.

After a short while lying in the sun, you regain your strength and began to find your way again. You had no idea where you were at first, but you reasoned that the river would flow downhill and away from the mountain, so if you followed it, it would take you away from the dwarves.

You cross back over the stream and climb the short, grassy hillock flanking the side of the river. Seeing that the way downstream is passable over hilly but open ground and slowly start walking.

Only after you've been stumbling through the hills for some time do you realize that the sun is setting on the wrong side of you- you must have passed through the mountain! You have no idea what kind of land you've crossed into, but you reason that it must be better than dealing with those nasty dwarves so you soldier forward.

In the end, the dwarves make only a cursory search for you, assuming you're dead, and that, if you're not dead, you might try to sneak back into their stronghold. For such is the power of greed over the minds of the greedy, that always they are consumed with the fear that others desire to take from them that which they possess and hold dear. That you were just a traveler passing through did not even occur to them.

So, you made good your escape and entered into a new land. You hold forth on your course, away from the mountain, for at least another day. Now when you look forward instead of just rolling hills sloping away you think you can see in the distance a chasm, or possibly a river. Where there's water, there's life, and where there's a river, there's usually a civilization. You just hope they're more hospitable than the one you just left.

The day after next the hills fade and give way to a flat, grassy plain. You occasionally spy in the distance small forms that look like they could be creatures, but wild or domestic you cannot say. Around noon you climb a small rise and receive a surprise- three small beings lying in the grass, unmoving. Your shock changes momentarily to recognition as you realize that the small, human-like form near the two sheep is a sleeping halfling. You casually intrude and awaken him.

The halfling bolts up, rubs his eyes and eyes you somewhat suspiciously. Doing your best to be polite you engage him in conversation. You learn that his name is Hugo Huddlefoot and you are on the edge of the easternmost hobbit community in middle earth. Apparently this is the outskirts of their homeland, sparsely settled with more livestock than two-legged denizens. To the east of here, there lies a hobbit settlement, along the banks of the river that flows through these parts.

He tries to convince you to go there now and leave this region, probably because he isn't sure of your intentions. You reassure him that you are a peaceful traveler from the west, and tell him something of your journeys. After some prodding about your most recent whereabouts, you decide to tell him of your capture by the dwarves and harrowing escape. Hugo's eyes show amazement and then concern and he decides to bring you to his home, such as it is.

After a few hours journey you come to a region of scattered woodlands. Hugo leads you into one of the forests on a well-worn path and he looks like he is glad to be approaching home. After a quarter of an hour you break out of the woods into a warm, grassy glade and spy a little house nearby with a thatched roof and round windows- a hobbit home for sure.

Hugo opens the door and leads you carefully inside. He motions for you to duck to avoid hitting your head on the door frame, which was obviously not built with big-people in mind. Hugo looks for a bench for you to sit on, but you just plop down on the floor and release your weariness.

After scurrying around the small abode for a few minutes Hugo reappears with some modest food and, you can hardly believe it- a mug of ale! You excitement must have been visible, "it's cider actually, not ale, but it should wash down your food all the same". Whatever it is, it tastes delicious.

A short while later you lay back to relax and digest and are surprised to see your host lighting up a tobacco pipe and releasing clouds of smoke. This happy occasion seems to last forever, but eventually Hugo tells you that he has to sleep. He is a shepherd and a shepherd must rise early with his flock. He leaves you to your thoughts and you relax a while longer before drifting off into dreams.

Hugo doesn't leave early after all, he waits for you to awaken and share some breakfast with him. He seems quite concerned for you and wants to encourage you to go to the halfling village for further guidance.

You hadn't really taken any thought for where to head to next, so in the end you decide to take his advice as much to allay his worries as anything. He gives you detailed directions, and then says farewell. You find yourself strangely sorrowful to leave someone you've known so briefly, but he disappears into the forest so it seems there's nothing left to do but head east for the hobbit village.

After a while walking through in peace you notice the landscape begin to change. Where there were scattered woodlands and overgrown, wild meadows there are now more ordered landscapes of tended fields and only small patches of trees. A while further and you see what looks like farm houses spread here and there through the lands.

You don't see anyone as of yet but you've definitely entered into civilized lands. You begin to encounter more homes now and some by the road, but either everyone is still inside, or they're avoiding you. Most likely it's because they don't see many of "the big folk" here in their secluded corner of the world.

The path, which is now a road, continues on for several miles. You hear some voices here and there, like children playing, but still don't see anyone until you come around a corner and are halted by a halfling fighting with his donkey in the middle of the road. Shocked, his mouth drops but you spare him the effort of thinking up something to say, and with a quick "good morning" leave him and his beast behind.

As you exit some trees an amazing sight greets you- there, on the hills below you, lies a halfing town, snuggled all over the flanks of the hills that lead down to the river below. You had never even seen halfings before yesterday, now you are about to meet a whole city of them.

You start down the road, somewhat reluctantly, and begin to see people moving about here and there, crossing the road, tending their yards, and soon enough your paths begin to cross and you see more mouths fall open. You try to be cordial, but their silence is too awkward, and so you just bow your head and continue hurriedly ahead. After an interminable quarter of an hour you finally enter the halfling town and begin to look for shops or inns that might be useful to you.

The picturesque village is full of quaint little houses of a type unfamiliar to you- short, with grass roofs and round windows. Some even have strange round doors. The small dwellings encircle the town proper with small square complete with a fountain, and several large buildings which are undoubtedly municipal and business establishments. At the foot of the hills, and hard by the village, flows a slow, bucolic river. Of immediate interest to you is the desire to find some sort of hospitable environment, including ale, a hot meal, and conversation.

Your eyes are drawn to a large, two-story building in the middle of the town center which looks rather like an inn. Just as you approach the front door, you are almost bowled over by a rather hurried looking, stooped over, old halfling man, rushing out the door. "Oh, dear" he said worriedly. Then finding his manners, "please, come inside, and make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back", and he rushed off without a second glance.

As you push through the front door you recognize the sparse, but homely look of a simple country inn. Light colored wood was everywhere, from the stool legs to the bar counter, to the paneled walls. The place seemed deserted, but the numerous tables and chairs, not to mention mugs behind the bar, left no doubt as to the nature of the place. So, you settle down at a table, pull out some tobacco that you have left from Hugo, and begin to smoke.

Your quiet smoke is so relaxing that you almost miss a couple hobbits quietly enter the room, make for a table near the door, and start conversing in hushed tones. They didn't much notice you either, at first, but then one of them realizes that you are one of the "big people" and stares intently at you.

You look back at your smoke and pretend not to notice, but then the halfling pushes himself up from the table and breaks the silence "Are you- I mean, can you tell me where you're from? I can see that you're not from here, you a traveler?" "You might say that", comes your reply. "Can I, uh, can we talk to you for a minute?" You're not sure what to say, so you gesture to the seats on the other side of your table.

The halflings hesitantly stand and then slowly walk over and sit across from you. "We're, uh, sorry to bother you like this, but we wanted to talk to you. We've heard some rumors and, well, it seems like you might be the right person to talk to, being as how you're like, well, big and all. Not saying that you're freakishly big mind you, or freakish at all, but well, you are one of the big people after all." His rambling but sincere slight makes you laugh, and you feel more at ease and ready to open up to your little guests.

It turns out that you are not the only outsider to have been spotted in the area lately, and it has the little denizens of the town apprehensive, not to mention curious. Human riders in dark clothing have been seen around the outskirts of town. They have avoided the citizens as much as possible, but they feel like they're being spied upon, though they can't say for certain if the riders are coming expressly to watch the halflings, or if they're just passing through on some other errand that none can tell.

If that wasn't enough, there have also been sightings of another big person around the town at night, though this one is on foot and it's believed that he is secretly visiting someone in the town, though that's just a rumor. This mystery visitor also is reported to be garbed somewhat differently than the riders, though if he's in league with them or no, none can say.

Apparently, they very rarely have much to do with big people or the outside world, and now you understand the reactions you've experienced from the townspeople. "So, we thought that maybe you might know something about these strangers, coming and going at odd hours, and seemingly up to no good. Well, not saying that you're up to no good, if you know what I mean" stammered the leader of the pair, who's name was Bango apparently, and evidently a halfling of some repute.

"Bango Boxelder rogue extraordinaire at your service" he said with a half-bow. "Rogue?" you inquire quizzically, "you mean, like a thief?" "I beg your pardon, I am not a thief!" Bango answered emphatically. "I am a counselor, historian, storyteller and, occasionally, when the need demands it, an acquirer of missing rare or valuable historical artifacts" he states proudly.

It turns out that Bango acquired his prestigious reputation by "collecting" an important item of a town elder from a less than reputable merchant who had acquired it on other than honorable terms. Though he tries to downplay the episode, it is obvious that it has garnered him a larger than life reputation among his small compatriots.

Somehow, you feel that that was not the only instance of him "collecting" items, but he seems a good enough fellow, and quite concerned with the well-being of his fellow halflings. You assure him that you don't have any connections with the other "big people" in question, and in fact have no knowledge of them at all. You can't help but wonder though, if they have something to do with the "Dark Ones" you were warned about.

The two haflings look at each other as if deciding whether you can be trusted, and whisper to each other for a moment. Then turning to you again "we would like to ask you- request for you to help us if you are available" Bango says cautiously. "Help you with what?" you ask in surprise. Help us to find out who these people are and what they want- before something... unpleasant happens. As you ponder in surprise, you notice the innkeeper bustling back into the establishment in a hurry. He glances your way and then does a double-take seeing you with the halflings and a look of concern crosses his face before he turns his back to counter and busies himself with work. Bango and his friend seem to notice his concern and in turn look anxious themselves, which makes you take notice, but they are also waiting for your answer.

You decide to try to help the halflings, though you're not sure what exactly it is that you can do for them. "We have two ideas, of how you can help us, Master. One, is to waylay, or track down these dark riders and see who they are or what they want", that didn't sound very reassuring to you. "Or, there is another way to possibly find out what is afoot, but it's a long road and less certain."

Your ears perk up, "You could go to... to find the wizard." "Wizard?" you retort. "Wizards are just legends and stories to tell children, aren't they?" They look at each other before answering "though none of us has seen one for many an age, our tales and legends are clear that wizards really did exist, and... it is said that one still dwell even now, in the woods to the east, near the sources of the great river."

"Great river? Surely you mean the Anduin?" They look puzzled and you realize they don't know what you mean. "The great river of Wilderland, near my homeland, and Mirkwood, I mean Greenwood the great", but they still look confused. "Surely you don't mean this river, this... little river. You mean the wizard lives around here?" "Not near, as we count it, but maybe for one of the big folk it's not so very far. Yes, if you follow the river towards the rising sun for a league and then follow it to the north for many days, you will come to a great forest, the great river and the land of the wizard."

This was too much to believe. A real, live wizard, possibly with a few days journey from here? The idea seemed incredible, and too good to resist, if it were true. And besides, what did you have to lose? A little more traveling, not much chance of getting lost following a river, and the wizard probably didn't even exist anyways. It would probably be safer at any rate than tracking down horsemen who may or may not be dangerous.

"All right", you say at length, "I'll go look for your wizard, though I'm not making any promises. And, I don't know what good it'll do, even if I do find him." "He might know who these people are or what they want with us", informed Bango, "Whatever it is it can't be good. If anyone knows he will, and maybe he'd think of coming to pay us a visit. It couldn't hurt to have a wizard around, might make them think twice before coming back 'round these parts. One thing though, I might should mention, this particular wizard, well, it's said that he, uh, isn't exactly fond of visitors..."

Bango and Muggle take their leave of you and go back to their table. You notice that they seem to regard the barkeep with some suspicion just as you had earlier. You feel like you should talk to him in an attempt to discern what's going on around here or what he might be up to. When the bartender comes 'round after some time to check up on you, you motion to a seat and tell him you'd like some information from him about the town. He looks at you hesitantly and acts like he's too busy to cease his activities, but then he tucks his towel in his apron and sits down. "OK, master, so what can old Mugwort do for you?" It turned out that Mugwort was his last name, but everyone called him by it so he didn't even bother to tell people his first name now.

"So, this seems to be a quiet place" you manage to say, having trouble thinking of a suitable way to start an interrogation. "Oh well, it truly is, leastways it must seem so to big folk such as yourself, but we're rather fond of it in our own way. Nothing too surprising happens here, at least it didn't used to, but that's the way we like to keep it here."

The barkeep turns away as if realizing that he had said too much, and you wanted to ask him what surprising things were happening, but you felt that some prudence was necessary if you were to get him to reveal anything illuminating.

"Well, I was a little surprised by the hospitality I've seen here so far. Really I should say, um, lack of hospitality... but I guess that's to be expected when us big folk wander by. I don't supposed the townsfolk are very used to seeing strangers about, not ones such as myself at any rate." Mugwort nodded sheepishly in agreement, but then he looked nervous, as if sensing that the conversation may be taking a turn in a direction he wasn't prepared to go.

You decide to press your luck, "So, how many of us big folk are your people used to hosting these days? Seems to me that I heard that I'm not the only one to come around lately, but I supposed you'd know about that before I would, you being the innkeep and all." Mugwort almost choked on his sip of ale before shooting the other two halflings a nasty look, and then turning back to you

"Well, I guess everyone's heard that news by now", he says, wiping his brow. "It's rumors really, stories more than anything, but some folks has claimed that they seen some strangers around town, acting queer, like they was spies of some sort maybe or ruffians, up to no good that's what they say."

"Do they?" you exclaim, "That does sound mighty worrisome." "Well, you know we ain't used to having no strange folk around here, leastways not any that wouldn't at least stop by old Mugwort's place for a proper spot of ale you know. That's what's got people so spooked, though it might just be a few fellers telling some tall tales after having some ale of their own, if you catch my meaning. Judging by what few reports we've heard, and how little they reported them as did claim to see something, we can't say nothing for certain, no not anything at all."

"Thank you", you answer him earnestly and he turns to leave but you stop him for a moment, "If I may ask you one more question" you ask, "Do you know anything about a wizard around these parts?" Mugwort looks as if he's seen a ghost, before forcing himself to stammer "No, no sir, I wouldn't know anything about that I wouldn't", and he hurries away as if the hounds of hell are at his heels. "No, indeed" you say to yourself and then take one last swig of your ale.

As you ready yourself to leave the next morning, you notice Bango and Muggle approaching the inn and then wave furtively and hurry up to you, "Good bye- I mean good morning to you", he said sheepishly, "We wanted to, to wish you luck on your journey and offer a word of... advice." "Advice?" "Yes, it has been said in the past that there may be, well... a danger or two on the road north." "Really?" you ask in a tone both quizzical and playful.

"Well, I know we probably should have mentioned it before, but we weren't really prepared and thinking right, if you know what I mean, but now that plans have been made we remembered a thing or two that we really should have made mention of."

"You mean that it's easier to tell me after I've already agreed to go than, before when you were trying to convince me to help you." "Well", Bango said sheepishly, "We would hate to see anything bad happen to someone, big folk or no." "OK, OK", you laugh. Tell me what I need to know so that I won't die even though I'm not a halfling."

"Well", Bango continues, "birds and beasts can be pretty fierce when you're out alone in the wild, and the wilderness there is wilder than most. Leastwise that's what we say, though none of us have been up that way for many an age."

"OK, so the wildlife wants to eat me for lunch. That's nothing new", you say light heartedly. "But there's something else", Bango intoned, "It's said that something else lives there, besides the regular beasts of the forest, something more... menacing" he trails off. "Menacing? What do you mean? What kind of creature do I have to be afraid of?"

"Well, we can't really say for certain, but we have heard that there may be... may be goblins there. But it might be that's just an old farmer's tale, as we say" he added hopefully. "More than likely it's nothing." "Nothing, of course, it's always nothing", you say resignedly as you hoist your pack and head down the road out of town.

At first the trip is quiet, enjoyable even. Within minutes, scenes of halflings gaping at you are replaced with hedges, fences, fields and the occasional farm house. Birds chirp and green is everywhere.

The residents you do encounter are, if not friendly, at least not downright evasive as before. You speculate that this side of town must see at least a few visitors compared to the other side, since it is close to the river and a likely travel corridor for anyone coming south from the lonely lands.

After a few hours of pleasant walking, you notice the trees starting to thin out and then disappear altogether as green and yellow fields run down towards the "great" river. You realize that the river must have turned, because you're looking due east, yet the river flows from left and right. "So, the first leg of the journey is over, now begins the fun part", you think to yourself.

In truth, the lands to the north are much like the ones laid out before you now- fields and untamed grasslands stretching out to the horizon. As the road turns to the north, signs of civilization are much less in evidence now, and the only beings to be seen are an occasional farmer tending his crops. You start to get the feeling that this may be a longer adventure than you bargained for.

After several days of journeying, you come to something of a quandary. The river, while veering north, then east, then north again several times, was now turning east again, but this time it seemed to run east for leagues and leagues, as far as the eye could see. At the same time, to the north, it seemed that you could spy a range of mountains approaching.

The halflings had clearly stated to follow the river north to the forest, but they had said nothing about going far to the east. The forest could be at the foot of the mountains you supposed, though you couldn't see any sign of green from here. You could head north to the mountains, or continue to follow the river, or, maybe you could go between them and make for a point somewhere in the middle from where you may be able to see both more clearly and discern the correct path.

You decide that the best course is for you to strike the centermost path. You will make your way to the north-east between the mountains and the river as best you can. You hope that after a few days the true path might become clear.

The ground is a bit more level that way, as the region around this river bend is rocky, and following it could prove difficult. At first you question the wisdom of your course, as you spend far more hours than you anticipated crawling over rocks, stepping over logs, and pushing through thick brush. However, by the afternoon you find yourself free of your obstacles as you gaze across a wide land of fields and hillocks- a gentle terrain that appears to be quite passable. You make your way forward with renewed optimism, confident that you have made a good decision.

You sleep well that night, and awaken well after dawn to the sound of a murmuring wind. By the end of that day the land appears to be drawing you into a narrow plain between a southeastern outlier of the mountains to the north, and the river which is still flowing to the north and east. You feel that this may be close to your target.

As you traverse the valley on the next day you realize that this can't be your destination- the trees that skirt the edges of the valley are too few to truly be called a forest, though they look like one from afar. As you draw close to the end of the plain, however, you begin to descry far off what can only be mountains- mountains with green flanks that must be forests. Now you know you are nearing the Wizard's realm at last.

After a further five days of journeying you draw near to the mountains at last. Your food is running dangerously low, though in these grassy lands you have been able to find some wild onions and a few other edibles that supplement your stores of bread and dried fish from the halfling town. You finally manage to bring down a small, grasslands creature when the beast raises its head from its underground lair. You enjoy a much needed change of staple.

The next day you are at the base of the mountains and you notice that the forests flanking the mountain are somewhat thin and sparse, but the forest on the eastern march on the mountains seems darker and larger. Remembering what the halflings had told you, you surmise that that must be the Wizard's home. You decide to press on, hoping to reach the wood by nightfall. You are tired from traveling and are quite eager to find the wizard, for better or worse.

As you finally approach the eaves of the forest the next morning the sun is shining brightly and the green growth in the sunlight is a refreshing sight. The "great river" stands between you and your goal, but you will not be denied now and the flow is little more than waist deep, so you ford it without incident.

You burst into the forest, as if you expect someone to be there waiting for you, but you see only a peaceful wood. Not sure what to do, you find yourself walking forward, as if to traverse the whole of the forest.

After walking for the better part of an hour and beginning to doubt your choice, you start to feel queer, as if something is wrong, and you notice that the wood is now deathly still. You wait a minute and no danger seems to present itself, so you continue to press on.

Suddenly, the forest erupts around you with motion and sound, and grayish bodies everywhere- goblins! You reach for your weapons, but have no time, and you find yourself grappling with arms and legs seemingly from every direction.

You struggle to shake the foul creatures off of you, but more and more appear and soon you are overwhelmed and they knock you to the ground and start to drag you away.

You fight them once more, but a rain of club blows subdues you. As they drag you through the wood you are on the verge of passing out when you hear a sudden clap, a bright light tears through the forest, there are shrieks everywhere and your eyes close and you remember no more.

You slowly awaken, though your eyes don't want to open and when they do it's too dark for you to make out anything for a minute. As you begin to take in your surroundings you appear to be in a chamber- stark but not rough enough to be a prison, or any type of goblin dwelling.

You note some simple wooden furniture along with a few candle holders, blankets and books. Books? This definitely can't be any place related to goblins, they would just as soon eat books as keep them. You struggle to sit up and gaze around some more around. Your head hurts, and your vision is blurry, but as you check yourself over you appear to be none the worse for wear.

You struggle to your feet, eager to find a way out of here, and look around for your possessions which you find on a table, at least what's left of them after the goblin raid. As you strap your gear on you hear something and a weak light filters into the room.

You spin around to face your enemy and are taken aback by what you see. Instead of a barbaric or fierce foe, you see a wizened old man- thin and stooped with a wrinkled face and a bookish demeanor. His drab robes and dingy cap belie a clear sense of wisdom, and possibly civility that pervades the man though his gruff manners cloud it.

"Well, I see you've saved me the trouble of rousing yourself, now maybe you'll save me the trouble of sending you off as well" the man says. Your mouth drops, taken aback by this sudden onslaught of inhospitableness. Not sure what to say you try to explain, "Well, uh, I just, uh... can you tell me where I am, and what it this place, and how I got away from the goblins, and who are you?"

Your host, somewhat stifled by your barrage of questions, seemed to forget his surliness for a moment and merely asked "And who wants to know?" And so you find yourself telling your name, your home, and somewhat of your mission and travels, and though you try to stop yourself from telling too much, he nods his head and smiles, almost knowingly, as if your adventures were somehow already known to him.

"Well, now that we know something about you, I supposed I'll have to let you stay for supper." Your mouth opens once more in surprise. "Well don't just sit there, or maybe you'd rather hide in here from the goblins for the rest of your life?" he goads you sarcastically, so you have no choice but to rise and follow him- to where you have no idea.

The abode of the wizard, for a wizard he surely was, seemed small and humble in comparison to what you had imagined it would be, but, in reality, it was not small at all and was pleasant enough in a plain and ordered sort of way. At any rate, it felt safe and dry and was undoubtedly the finest home in this part of the world, and that is saying quite a bit. Though perhaps it was not as large as some of the buildings in the halfling town, its heritage was undoubtedly more impressive.

If your host was to be believed, this dwelling had its beginning as the den of a dragon who made his way to this part of the world ages ago. Years later, he decided to move on, or was forced out, and shortly thereafter the wizard made it his abode.

You're not sure if you believe his story, but it is no doubt a good tale, and worthy of a listen or two. As you move into a small study, he tells you a few other minor tales of the lands about, then your curiosity gets the better of you and you begin to press him for revelations- like who he is, what's he doing here, and how did he find you? Then you remember your quest and ponder how to broach the subject with him.

It seems, however, that he must have been reading your mind, for he had thought of the halfings before you did, it seemed. "No doubt those little furballs told you of my hiding place and sent you to find me, sent you on some fool... quest."

Those words make you feel very uncomfortable, and so he continues "Well, what do they want now? Pity I didn't turn them into newts long ago." More chilling words, but this time you sense that they are more for show than a heartfelt regret. In the end, you cannot get much information of value from him for a wizard is a wizard, after all, and cannot be constrained or controlled or outwitted (usually).

You do learn a few tidbits however, and you learn more from his reactions then any answers he gives you. He seems especially attentive when you bring up the strange riders around the halfling village, and though he tries to avoid speaking of it, you can tell he is intrigued. Then you remember back to what Jeb had told you and you ask him about the Dark Ones in passing. He appears uninterested and will only say that it is a legend and well known around those parts.

As for your dwarf friends he seems to have some knowledge of them, and appears to be impressed by your escape, though he would never admit it.

As to the halflings, in the end all he will do to help you is give a weak affirmation, "Well, maybe one of these days I'll make my way back down there, though I'm getting old and it is quite a journey for me. As for you, I think you have had quite enough adventure and are lucky to be alive. You should head straight back towards Laketown. If you leave now, you might be able to make it back before mid-winter- if you survive that is."

You seriously contemplate returning home, a home you barely remember, but in the end you decide that you've come too far to turn around now, and you express your sentiment to him. "Well, you are a stubborn one, but if you insist on dying in these lands kindly do it away from my home."

You press him for some guidance to your quest and he finally gives you one tidbit of advice, "I would stay away from the horsemen if I were you, it seems there's been a change lately in their... politics." You try to get him to speak more plainly, but his mind is made up that he's done revealing anything to you. "Now, if you'll please excuse me, it's time for you to leave, I've wasted too much time on you already and I have business to attend to."

You wonder what kind of "business" he could possibly have way out here at the edge of the world, but he seems quite serious so you don't argue with him. As he leads you to his main hall and toward the front gate you notice how ancient and unlived in his dwelling seems and then you spy a strange sight- what appears to be the remnants of an ancient tree, standing in the corner near to the main entrance. Very dry and brittle it appears, as kindling forgotten in an old shed, yet standing straight without pot or garden.

You are nearly to the door, when you hear a strange noise, as a tree full of dry leaves rustling in the wind. To your amazement, the wizard approaches the tree as if to converse with it, and spends several seconds this way before turning to you to say, "It seems we may have a problem. Apparently your goblin friends are rather put out by my little rescue. Seems they don't rightly remember who lives here. We may have to remind them before this day is done, come."

Your surprise at the wizard accompanying you is overcome by your amazement as the "tree" in the corner starts to move after you. In shock, if not fear, you instinctively recoil, to the wizard's annoyance. "Hurry, I don't have time to dilly-dally all day while you dawdle and gawk." "But, but what.." you struggle to reply. "Don't tell me you've never heard of Ents before young man." "Ents?" you ask puzzled. "Yes Ents, or to be more precise, an Ent-wife."

Your head is still spinning as the wizard and his companion press open the gates and impatiently await your exit so they can secure the home, so you have no choice but to follow. The day is late and the light is failing but it still hurts after being in his dim halls for hours. Before you lays a fertile land, tumbling down wooded hills to the river, and then stretching over fair, wide lands to the horizon.

You have little time to admire scenery however as the wizards demands you to follow him and leads you down a small trail at an exceedingly hasty pace you find hard to believe for such a frail, old man. You don't even have time to ask where you're going, and you would probably wouldn't have the breath to say much, so you put your head down, push on, and try to ignore the "tree" walking behind you.

After you've gone more than an hour and close to a league your guide stops to lean on his staff and rest a spell. By the time you catch your breath and begin to think of asking him some questions he's off again, this time not quite so hastily as before. Another twenty minutes or so of walking over flatter ground brings you suddenly to a great clearing, and, beyond that, the river.

The wizard stops again and puts his hand to his brow, scanning for something. After a few minutes, he must have found what he was looking for because he urges you on again across the clearing to a stand of small trees. He mumbles something to the tree who strides into the wood and begins to throw brush and trees aside, clearly looking for something.

A minute later she pauses and you see what they are after- a boat. After the entwife drags the boat to the riverbank she turns to the wizard and they seem to converse for a minute or two. Then, without a second glance, she turns and lumbers back the way you came.

As you watch her go, the wizard calls out to you "Come now, let's get moving, this boat won't pole itself. Or do you wish to wait here to greet the goblin horde again?" "Horde" doesn't sound very inviting to you, so you help the old man push the boat into the water and climb aboard.

"Isn't it dangerous for her to go back?" you ask concernedly. "You don't know much about Ents do you? The ones in danger are anyone fool enough to bother her", he replies assuredly. The current slowly carries you down the stream as the sunlight fades into dusk and stillness settles on the land.

After coasting down the stream for an hour you are getting nervous about navigating a river at night with no torches, but the old wizard seems to know where he's going, or at least he gives the impression of being able to see, craning his neck forward as far as it will go and squinting ahead.

Finally he seems to recognize a landmark in the dimness and tells you to pole towards the far shore. You find yourself coming up to a flat, muddy bank and the two of you beach the boat and struggle ashore.

"Well, I don't supposed they can track us across that" he says matter of factly, "I supposed it's safe enough for you catch a little sleep, then we'll head out before dawn. I guess I will be paying a visit to those little rats soon than I thought." You don't question him further, though you can't believe you're here on a riverbank, in the dark, in a strange land, with a wizard you just met that afternoon.

You awaken the next morning to a bright sun and no wizard to be seen. You take some thought as to where you should and what you should do next. Your charge was to search for new trade routes, but it seems an age ago and a world away when you agreed to embark on that mission.

You've long ago forgotten to follow that directive and your journey has since taken on a meaning of its own. Though you do wish to help the halflings, you feel that there is something bigger going on in this land and that it would be a worthy quest to ferret out its secrets though it could prove to be quite dangerous.

This mustering of Wainriders seems troubling at the least, and you can't help but wonder if there isn't some connection between them and those troubling the halflings. If you were to solve that riddle you may be able to help the halfings at the same time. It seems that you must soon make a choice.

You decide that you must delay no longer- you must seek out the riders and discover for yourself what meaning lies behind their musterings, though it may turn out to be perilous for you, at least you will take action, and possibly even help your friends at the same time. And if there is indeed no menace behind their actions, you could discern what possibilities for trade may exist with them and thus uphold your duty to your people- though you don't feel very beholden to them anymore.

Soon the wizard returns to find you staring in the western sky, and he looks at you as though he knows what has been on your mind. "You wouldn't be thinking of leaving me now would you?" he asks you in a way that feels strange, though you're not sure why. "Well, I guess it might be better for me to not have to bother with you tagging along. Can I ask where you're planning on going?"

His interest seems more than casual curiosity, but you can't think of any reason why you should hide your intentions from him, so you reply plainly "I was thinking, it's about time for me to check out those riders I've heard so much about, maybe head to one of their encampments."

The wizard pauses, as if measuring your intent, and then answers "Well, I guess I can't blame you for wanting to leave me. Young men are always full of ideas, going this way and that. And Wizards are... well, Wizardly. If we're not spending the day chasing birds and beasts, we're searching for old texts, or heading across country to see some fool halflings."

He looks at you for a long minute and then turns away as if in resignation, "All right, well I guess if you must be off you must, and there's no sense in an old fool trying to change your mind. I do think you might at least take heart with a little advice, or do you have the lay of the land all figured out yourself?"

"Well", you answer, "now that you mention it, I really don't know where we are, exactly, nor which precise direction to travel, nor what obstacles from here to there one might encounter." "That's what I thought, you need an old man to show you the way. Well, come, let's be quick about it, I don't have all day to bother with you", and he proceeds to instruct you on the surrounding lands, their terrain, peoples, history, beasts and other perils.

After he finishes his tutelage, he looks at you somewhat smugly, but also strangely, though you can't tell what he's thinking. After paddling back across the river, you take you leave of the old wizard, and he watches you for some time before shaking his head and turning his boat downstream again.

Following the Wizard's guidance, you strike out to the North with a sense of optimism about you. After all, landmarks are always useful and mountains feel lucky, even if they often turn out to be not so lucky when it comes to it. Still, you are confident that you will find what you are seeking.

After you pass the rough ground near the river, you spend a few days traversing grasslands, hillocks and stony ground. It seems that the mountains are further than you thought, though you can see them a bit clearer now and know that means you are getting close to reaching them. You make camp on the side of a rise in a rugged area of hillocks and are able to start a fire to make yourself feel at ease.

Some days later you find yourself in a dilemma. You've followed the Wizard's instructions, yet something seems out of place. So far you've come by the correct path, you've no doubt of that, yet your bearings don't match what you were told of the wainriders and their encampments.

The Wizard said follow the setting sun for two days, then head north around the mountain and by no means turn south. Yet, your mind tells you that the way south is the right path to reach the encampments. Worse still, the land has been growing wet and marshy, and it appears to grow worse toward the north.

North also brings you nearer to the goblins' territory, and you fear that or the marshes could lead you to an unpleasant end. The Wizard seemed wise and his words were firm, yet you are quite sure of your own counsel, and remember how the Wizard acted strangely at times, though he was undoubtedly wise in the ways of these lands. It seems you must trust the Wizard, or trust to your own senses.

In the end you turn north, following the Wizard's direction. The land is damp and uneven, full of grassy tussocks, and progress is slow. Nevertheless, by the time evening draws close you are rounding the flank of the mountain.

The ground is somewhat rocky here, and you welcome the change as you look for a place to camp for the night. As you continue on your way the next morning, you can see that you are on somewhat of a highpoint above the land beyond, and it appears to be marshy again, even more so than the day before. You sigh and make your way down and forward.

This land quickly becomes treacherous, however. In addition to being full of marshy bogs, it is covered with thick brushy growth and occasional trees that obscure your vision and make it difficult to maintain your sense of direction.

By afternoon, you have lost all sense of direction, and are beginning to lose hope. You question why you every came this way, Wizard or no Wizard. You decide to camp early and search for some food. Maybe you'll be able to think more clearly on a full stomach.

You search in vain for food and as the shadows lengthen you give up the hunt and prepare a fire for the evening. This land feels eerie in the dark and you shiver and huddle in your cloak. As you're drifting off to sleep and you dream that you're being carried on a litter as dead man to his funeral.

A jarring awakens you and find to your horror that your nightmare may turn out to be real. The jarring you felt was caused by something large shaking the ground nearby. You feel them and then you hear (and smell) them- trolls! You realize that the Wizard has betrayed you, but you may never get the chance to wonder why if they catch you.

As quietly as possible, you pack up your gear as fast as possible. They are getting quite close and you have no desire to be here still when they arrive. Just as you finish and get your pack on your back, you hear them coming up the other side of the small rise next to you. With no time to lose you look around frantically and spy a long, low boulder a few feet away. You desperately fling yourself behind it just as the trolls crest the ridge.

You thank the gods that your fire had already gone out or maybe they would have spotted you. You lay silently, praying for your heart to stop pounding and hoping they can't hear it. After a long minute they begin to converse with each other quietly. You can't quite make out what they're saying but you're sure it's about you. You feel like they are looking around for signs of you and you hope that no part of you is extended above the boulder.

You are desperate to move, to get a far from them as possible, but you are terrified to risk any movement or sound while they're nearby. Then you hear one set of footfalls that sounds like it's coming towards you. You are certain you will be plucked up and eaten at any moment, but then the footfalls fade, moving into the distance. You wait breathlessly for indications of the other two trolls leaving, and as you wait you fall into a deep slumber...

The next morning you awake with a start. You sit up and yawn and then, remembering the trolls, jerk your head violently around to see if they are coming for you- but there is no sign of them. Relieved, you turn your back on the northlands, not pausing to eat or even drink before you are far away. You move cautiously all that day, but you see no further signs of trolls or other creatures and soon you are back at where your way forked. You head south without hesitation.

The way is somewhat rough at first, but eventually the land becomes firmer and more open, and as you round the southern flank of the mountain, you see grassy plains stretching to the southwest as far as the eye can see. You feel reassured and, confident you're going in the right direction, press on until nightfall.

The next morning you continue your journey and see a line of hills in the distance due West. You realize that these are probably the same mountains you saw on your journey north that forced you to turn east and wonder at that. If they are the same mountains then surely the Wizard's instructions would have brought you on the wrong side of them, far out of your way and towards what perils who can say?

Soon the land look familiar and you realize that you've been here before, a week before. Your heart lifts and you feel good to be on familiar ground and you know for sure that you choose wisely and are on the right path.

The next day you can see the plain drawing narrower ahead, between a mountain to the north, and some rocky hills to the south. You find some wild onions and are relieved as your meager stores were lost in the goblin attack, and some food you were provided by the Wizard is now gone.

After another day's travel you come to the place where the river changes course from almost due west to the south, and the halfling village. Your heart feels heavy as you remember your time with Hugo and the other halflings, and almost you decide to change your course. But you have questions that need answering, and besides, they'll have a Wizard to look after them.

When you pass the riverbend, you see a vast, grassy plain ahead of you with mountains to the north. Before the mountains there are many smaller hills, with one hill standing by itself to the south of the range, almost due east of you. You realize with a pang of horror that this mountain is where you encountered the murderous dwarves, and you immediately turn south to pass as far from that place as possible.

Within a few days you feel more at ease as you pass the dwarves' territory and you find yourself, to your surprise, pleased to be back on the open plains again. While you are no doubt in plain sight, others who might seek to harm you will also be visible, and that gives you comfort. You also find that game is easier to spot in this open land, and you are able to provide yourself some food at last as a quail falls to your bow.

You now you realize that you have a long journey ahead, as your detour around the dwarven mountain has taken you far to the south and west of the northern reaches of the hills which is where you were told to seek the riders' encampments.

You labor north across the plains for several days and slowly but surely the range of hills is growing closer, looking like they are stretching to the west to ease your journey. You realize you must be nearing your destination, and wonder what kind of reception you will receive from them.

You walk late that day, and as the afternoon passes and dusk draws near, you suddenly hear the sound of howling breaking out nearby. You urgently scan your surroundings for any evidence of the creatures responsible but you can see nothing. Strangely, the sound doesn't seem like wolves to you, but rather dogs. No sooner have you finished looking around than you hear two yowls close behind you. You jerk your head back and then you see the grass moving, though there's no wind.

In a panic, you start running as fast as your legs can carry you, though it's not fast enough as you hear panting, then growling behind you. Your head hurts, your heart is pounding and you feel as though your legs can go no further when you spy a small rise ahead. "Maybe, if I can just make it over that ridge, then I can fly down the further side" you say to yourself, but you never make it there.

You feel a weight slam into your back and you go down in a tangle of legs and jaws amidst clawing, growling and biting. You fight as hard as you can against the beasts and then you hear the worst sound of all- voices, calling and searching for you. You are terrified and are certain that whoever it is, they have nothing but the worst intentions for you, but you are unable to free yourself from the hounds and can't move at all.

Suddenly gruff voices surround you and you discern figures standing over you in the dark. Panicked, you try to scream, though you feel you don't have the strength to do even that. One dog clamps his jaws around your left wrist, and the other is trying to fight through your right to bite your face, and you feel you no longer have the strength to hold him off. You have never felt so helpless in your life.

Then, in a moment, everything changes. You hear sound all around you like weapons flying, and outbursts of pain and shock from your captors, as they suddenly turn away from you and the hunters become the hunted.

The figures, which were searching the darkness, now break out into the night, fleeing in terror from something, or someone they cannot see. The dogs have stopped attacking you as they look up to see what has become of their masters. Suddenly there is a yelp, and the dog that was biting your arm falls on top of you. His companion turns and flees into the night.

You are too stunned to realize that you could be in danger too, but you are utterly spent and in no condition to fight or even move. Fate, it seems, will have its way with you, one way or another. For a few moments you hear or see nothing, then figures return to your side- but quieter and gentler this time. Now you struggle to even hold your eyes open as the figures kneel down and reach out for you...

You awaken slowly and find yourself in strange surroundings. Your head hurts, and your eyes don't seem to want to work. When they do start working you doubt that you truly are awake because it looks like you are in a hut made of growing plants. You shut your eyes again, and rest for a moment. When you open them again you are surprised to see someone standing next to you.

As you try to focus you notice that the person next seems tall and thin and all covered in brown, even their face. Then you see that their face isn't covered in brown- it is brown. The person shyly turns their face away from your gaze but not before you notice graceful features and big brown eyes.

You try to raise yourself up and converse with the person, but you feel woozy and are forced to lay down and close your eyes. You awaken later to fading daylight. After a short while, two persons enter the hut and, after regarding you for a moment, start to speak. At first you can't understand a word of their speech- a harsh, halting, guttural language. After a moment they seem to realize you can't understand them, and they switch to another language haltingly spoken- Westron.

"You are now well?" he asks. For a moment you are too surprised to answer, then you reply affirmatively. "We are not in custom to dealing with other people, but we don't like dog men more, and we try stop them from aid to horse riders." "Horse riders?" you ask yourself. They must mean the wagon riders, the very people you've been looking for.

You can't contain your curiosity about them any longer and you ask them to tell you who they, are and where you are. They seem hesitant to talk about their identity but you press them, determined to find the truth of who these strange beings are.

Their answers aren't very clear and seem vague, mainly they talk about their kind being a people apart- not belonging anywhere, and seemingly not wanted anywhere. They seem to live a simple, nomadic existence, living off the meager natural bounty of the grasslands and not staying anywhere for very long. Their main concern seems to be avoiding other people.

They apparently don't build with brick or stone, and metal is almost nowhere to be seen. It appears that they live in very small, temporary settlements and never all of them together at the same time. There are always some groups wandering the Lonely Lands while others remain in the temporary settlement. In this way they don't ravage the land where they dwell, but roam far and wide searching for forage and spying out the land.

Then they tell you something that provides a clue to their ancestry- they say that they are a remnant of the first people to walk the earth, and that only small numbers of their kind still dwell in middle earth, scattered across the lands. Most of their brethren, they claim, went westward long ago- to the sea.

Now many things begin to make sense to you that were unclear before. These are elves of some sort- dark elves, which explains both who the Dark Ones are, and why people don't trust them. They look different than any other people you've seen before, even other elves, and their secretive lifestyle must add to the speculation about them.

They don't wear rich garb, nor live in grand or glorious dwellings, yet they move gracefully and speak softly, and they are loathe to take any course of action without much deliberation beforehand. They are tall and lithe as are the other elves of middle earth, and they seek not war or riches but quiet fellowship with their own kind. However, they are capable of fighting in their own way when need demands it.

It seems that the dark elves are not overly fond of the wagon men you are journeying to see. It's not easy to understand their sentiments in broken speech but apparently they feel that the wagon people are not to be trusted. They tell you that they were a warlike people of old, but not very organized are in large numbers, and they have not been involved in wars or strife for many lives of men. Now they are growing their numbers and organizing and equipping themselves for war.

The Dark Elves feel that this change is too rapid and marked to be a natural occurrence- they fear that the horse men have fallen under the shadow. This, they tell you, is the reason they rescued you. Evil men in league with the horsemen have been capturing travelers and others to sell them to the wagon men as slaves. They are afraid that the wagon men are using them to build an army- an army that could threaten all other peoples in the lonely lands, and perhaps the world beyond.

You stay that night once more with the elves. As dusk draws onto evening the ones you spoke with that morning enter your hut and converse with you again. It seems they are leaving this place in the morning and you must leave too. They fear their attack on the slavers might bring retribution. They try to dissuade you from seeking the wagon men, but seeing that they cannot avail to change your mind, they give you directions and other information about the wagon encampments. They also warn you about their leader and how dangerous he is before providing you some rations and wishing you farewell.

You begin the last leg of your quest with mixed emotions. Everything you've been told should cloud the journey before you, but as you rise and prepare to leave on this beautiful, clear and cool morning you cannot help but feel your spirits rise.

The land seems still and peaceful, and you can't believe that anything terrible lies ahead of you this day. You are to go north and somewhat west for several days and in this way your path should strike the last known location of several of the encampments.

As you draw nearer to the wagon men's lands less is known of the terrain by the elves or other denizens of the lonely lands so they cannot give you specific guidance. They do warn you that there could be other men of the sort that attacked you in the region and this time the elves won't be able to help you for they are journeying in another direction to avoid any further conflicts with men.

In spite of the warnings, the land is pleasant and free of any trace of men, evil or otherwise. The next day, after traveling a few hours, you start to see a line of hills extending westward from the main body of distant mountains. This is where the elves told you to take care to turn west far enough to pass round the hills to avoid travailing over them and at the same time bring you in line with the encampments.

You begin to notice signs of the passage of men, or at least the beasts of men it seems as there are many areas of beaten ground and denuded vegetation. You begin to notice some ramshackle wooden buildings here and there and are alarmed until you determine that there is no one about. These must be seasonal shepherding camps for the wagon mens' herds.

The rest of day passes uneasily but without incident and by nightfall you've drawn nearly even with the line of hills you're making for. You find a small stream, only a trickle really, but refilling your water skins gives you some solace. You decide not to keep a fire tonight, just in case there are any of the wagon men or their slaver friends about.

The next morning, as you journey westward, you notice the land starting to slope downwards, as you come close to passing the spur of hills. By early afternoon you reach level ground, the end of the hills and the beginning of the great plain.

There is a road here, heading north and some ways south. You have no doubt this road was made by the wagon men and no doubt that it will lead you to the settlements.

You decide to follow it as it's going the same way you are intending to travel and may speed your way somewhat. On the open plains it's difficult to hide anyways, unless you travel off the road a great distance and that will make it harder for you to find your way.

After following the road for an hour or two your catch a glimpse of the north-south mountain range only now its north of the spur of hills you passed that morning. You soon notice, to your dismay, what look like homesteads and settlements scattered here and there along the fringe of the mountains.

Your anxiety lessens after a while as you see no sign that you've been noticed, indeed little sign of people at all. You hope that in the distance, anyone seeing you will not be able to descry any details about you and will be forced to assume you are a local. You hope that you won't encounter anyone unfriendly on the road.

A while later your fears seem to be realized when you suddenly notice ahead of you two figures approaching you on the road. You panic for a moment, and realize that you have only two choices- run off, and almost certainly attract negative attention, or keep walking and hope they don't bother you.

You steel yourself and slowly continue down the road. You keep your head down, glancing up occasionally at the figures, but they are hooded as well and you can't make out any of their features.

When they approach within several dozen yards of you they look sharply, as if trying to discern your identity. You glance at them and then put your head back down, but you keep them in sight out of the corner of your eye just in case. For a moment it look like they may stop and question you, but you give them another cold glance then look forward and a few nervous moments later you're past them.

You hurry on your way trying to look unconcerned, but you glance discretely back every few minutes to make sure they aren't following you. You appear to be safe, but to be sure you decide to move off the road as the shadows of dusk lengthen, and find a place to hide for a while.

You wait three quarters of an hour without any sign of pursuit as dusk turns into night. You feel like bedding down for the night, but your instinct tells you that you should keep going to shorten the distance you have to travel tomorrow under daylight.

You decide to march for a while along the plains in the same direction as the road. The night isn't totally dark, but there's no moon, so you should be safe from prying eyes in the dim light. You travel another mile or two in this way and then the desire to rest overwhelms you.

You are still recovering from your injuries from the hounds and you've been walking for several days. You take refuge in a small ravine between two hillocks and bed down for the night. You're soon fast asleep.

You awaken early the next morning to the sound of voices- and barking. You jump up frantically and rub your eyes to see several men covered in furs standing around your camp. Your fear gives way to apprehension as they stare at you not with malevolence, but with curiosity, and their canines wag their tails instead of attacking you. Then you realize you've seen these men before, natives from the village you stayed at weeks ago.

You begin to communicate with them and they see that you recognize them much to their relief. They tell you that they were on a mission to meet with the leader of the wagon men. You eagerly ask them for details and they tell you that, like other people in the region, they have had some unpleasant encounters with the wagon riders' slavers and are worried by their increasing militarization.

Their village sent them to seek Gurghan, head man of the wainrider council. Apparently, he received them coolly and did not seem to take their complaints seriously. He sent them off with lukewarm words of friendship but they don't believe that he has any real intentions of keeping peaceful relations with their people.

You feel that fortune smiles upon your quest with timely arrival of these people who have just come from the wagon men's encampment. When you ask for directions they appeal to you to change your mind, but when you don't relent they reluctantly answer your questions. Armed with fresh information you prepare yourself to face the final part of your quest- and you hope not your end as well.

The next afternoon, as you crest a low rise, what you believe to be a strangely shaped hill appears in the distance. As you draw closer, you think that what you are seeing resembles tents, at least the tops of great tents, peeking above another rise.

As you draw closer you see that there can be no doubt, many tents, some of great size, seem to be hidden in a great bowl, quite close to you now. You can see somewhat of the further edges and surmise that they must be of greater height, and thus if you had come from any other direction you may have wandered past and never seen it.

You spy what looks like a road, running down from the North and curving around to the East of you towards what look like fortifications, undoubtedly for a gate. You must now decide if you should continue forward and try to sneak into the encampment, or strike northeast to meet the road and come unannounced to the village gates.

You decide that you must face your fate and follow the path you have chosen for yourself- you will take the road to the entrance to the encampment- and whatever lies beyond.

You walk towards the road, with no idea yet of what you will do when you come to the encampment entrance. About halfway to the road commotion catches your attention and you turn eastward as a boisterous caravan comes into view. Out of ideas and unsure of what to do, you decide to let the caravan pass and get a look at who and what it contains.

You await on the side of the road not knowing what to expect as they slowly approach. When they draw near you see the caravan consists of several wagons and at least a score of men.

You are anxious as some of them regard you curiously for a moment, but then they lose interest and turn their attention back toward their companions and the gate ahead. Then some of the men actually speak to you and you wave at them, unsure of what to do or say. But then, as the lead of the caravan approaches the encampment entrance, a horn sounds and they begin to slowly push open their crude gate and you suddenly have an idea.

With no time to think, you wave at the men in the last wagon, and, noticing that no one's following behind, you quickly step out into the road and trail the wagon in through the encampment entrance.

Inside the gates you notice that the encampment looks like something like a cross between a flea market and a herder's tent camp. People are everywhere; walking, looking, talking, and pointing at the new arrivals- including you.

The language that most of these people seem to be speaking sounds harsh and strange to your ears, and your northern speech seems to be unknown here, or at least unspoken. Your gaze wanders to and fro and you almost forget to follow your caravan as it winds slowly between the tents and stands, down a rough track.

It dawns on you that you have no idea where you are going, or what you should do when you arrive there. Following still seems like your best option, so you begin to follow the caravan loosely again. You're looking down, lost in thought, when suddenly the wagon in front of you comes to an abrupt halt. You barely stop, and then look around to see what's going on.

There, in front of you, is a huge tent- much larger than any of the other tents or buildings you've seen in the encampment thus far. In fact, it's as large as most of the large wooden or stone buildings you've seen in your life.

Several guards are positioned in front of the entrance with some directly in front of the flap, and others arranged in lines making a tunnel to the door. You see some of the guards looking over the caravan and you duck back behind the wagon as they gaze down the line- hoping frantically they haven't spotted you.

Suddenly, two guards appear from around the corner of the wagon and start questioning you. As you struggle to answer appropriately to a language you've never heard before, two more guards come around from the other side. You start frantically trying to explain yourself to them but to no avail- soon spears are being pointed at you and you find yourself being led away from the caravan.

In a few minutes you approach another building. This one is sturdy and low, with bars for windows. It can only be a jail. You are unceremoniously led in and dumped into a small room and then the door is slammed shut. Maybe you should have run after all.

You struggle to sleep that night in the cold, damp cell. The next day, unexpectedly the door is thrown open, and you are pulled to your feet and led away. You are in no mood to argue, so you let them take you across the encampment.

A huge tent comes into view- much larger than any of the other tents or buildings you've seen in the encampment thus far. In fact, it's as large as most of the large wooden or stone buildings you've seen in your life.

Several guards are positioned in front of the entrance with some directly in front of the flap, and others arranged in lines making a tunnel to the door. The jailers lead you to the entrance and into the tent.

Once inside you find yourself in a rugged, though undoubtedly well appointed, interior complete with furs, rugs, sofas and other luxurious trappings. Several torches give the inside a warm glow, as you notice the posh surroundings are peopled by several rough looking men. They are conversing normally as you enter and it they ignore you for a minute while they finish their conversation.

At last, one of them turns to face you and, after a moment, begins to speak. "So you are the Northman who my guards found uninvited in my city". You are taken aback but this accusation, and then even more so when you realize that he is speaking to you in your language.

"I have done nothing wrong. I mean no harm to you or your people" you manage to reply.

"Nothing wrong, indeed. You come unasked for to my home, speaking the unwelcome language of outsiders. Did you know that it is not permitted for any of my people to speak in your tongue? We are a singular people, with a long history and proud traditions. Too often have we found ourselves weakened and divided by the influence of outsiders who wish to keep us scattered and lost. No more. Now we are turning to the old ways, and we say no to those from the West, who have only ever wished harm to my people. I say no more, now it is time for us to be strong."

"So, Northman, have you come here to keep my people weak, or help us grow strong?" His pointed questioning leaves you nervous, and unsettled. You scramble to come up with a fitting answer, but as you fumble words a distinctly different voice rings out from the back of the tent "Maybe he's simply lost his way, looking for some of his halfling friends".

You jerk your head in the direction of the voice and spy a tall, lean figure, secluded in a long robe, nearly hidden from sight in the long shadows at the back of the room. The voice sounds so familiar to you though you can hardly believe your ears, "Come forward from the shadows so I can answer you", you try to respond firmly.

The figure remains motionless for half a minute, and then slowly moves forward a few paces. A tall, thin frame, slightly stooped with age, with an angular face and the slightest hint of blue in his nearly unidentifiable robes leave you no doubt- the wizard has appeared.

You are so startled by his appearance that for the moment you forget to speak- the shock apparently visible on your face as evidenced by your captors' laughter. "So, you like the little ones do you?" smirks Gurghan, "Well, maybe we'll take you with us when we go pay them a little visit". Something about the way he says it makes your blood run cold and you realize that they are the ones who've been terrorizing the halfling village, or are in league with them. "Yes, that's what we'll do with you Northman. I hope you like traveling", and with that he gestures to the guards and they drag you back to your cell without another word.

It seems like you've been here forever- or for weeks at least. The small chamber is cold, wet, damp and dark and time seems to drag on at a snail's pace. One day, without warning, the door is flung open and you are called to get up. You don't have the strength to argue, and indeed at this point you would rather be anywhere than here in this cell.

As they lead you outside the sun blinds you, though clouds are in the sky. You cover your face with you hand and then are forced, half pushed and half dragged, into a small cart. With a clang you realize that you are in a cell again, but this time a cell on wheels.

You uncover your face and you can see that you're part of a caravan again. Your little cart is at the rear. Soon a signal is given, and the wagons creek forward through the mud. It looks like you're in for a long trip.

Days pass, endlessly as the caravan slowly grinds though the infinite prairie. Your vantage point from the small cage is limited, making it seem even more unchanging and monotonous than it is. At one point you were trying to keep track of the caravan's movements by the position of the sun, but you have given up trying to think at all, and are consigned to just suffering through each day.

One day you notice something different- the land appears more green. You lift your head to gaze around and it's true- this land has green grass and flowers. It reminds you of the lands between the wizard's realm and the halfling village, and you feel your stomach cringe as you realize you may be just days away from their town.

You glance around, hoping to see that the caravan's entourage is small, that maybe you are just on a trade mission, but you see rows of horseman stretching out behind you- horsemen armed with spears or short bows.

You notice that their spears are all metal tipped and you marvel at that because everywhere else in the lonely lands metal is either very scarce or nonexistent. Even the elves had none in evidence. You find yourself wishing they were here to save you from your captives once again, but you know it's a fool's dream.

When once more several days has passed, you notice that the caravan is slowing and then halts. There is tenseness in the air as the horsemen all line up at attention, awaiting you know not what.

Presently you hear men approaching. It is your guards you notice before they yank you out of your cage. You try to stand only to fall to your knees and the men laugh harshly. A pair come forward to help you up and lead you towards the front of the caravan. You stumble, head down, and then they stop in front of someone. You are too tired to look up at their face.

Gurghan's voice rings out mockingly, "let our spokesman have the terms." You are lifted to your feet and something is shoved roughly into your hands. You look down and see a roll of parchment. When you look up again you notice that beyond Gurghan, about 100 yards distant, there are some horsemen gathered around a small group of people- little people. You are shoved in the back towards the group and you know what you are supposed to do.

Slowly, carefully, you trudge forward across the plain, not looking up until you arrive at the spot where they are gathered. Slowly you lift your head, and then lift the parchment and unroll it. There, written very crudely, as if mockingly, are a few phrases scribbled in Westron.

You notice the guards staring at you intensely as you glance over the terms, and you realize that most likely they can't read, even if they do know Westron, which is unlikely.

You feel strangely heartened, as if you are in power here, elevated by this single advantage. Trying furiously to think of a plan you gaze over the crude scratches once more, as if they contained some heady teachings, laden with meaning.

You raise your head and you know what you should do- if you have strength enough to do it. "The great Gurghan", you begin, "lord of the horsemen, the wagon people of the lonely lands, demands that the leader of the halflings come forth and shalt swear fealty and allegiance of his people and to him from this day henceforth", you finish with a flourish. The guards look impressed, as if you have delivered a summons of regal import, and you realize that they do know your language. Well, that can't be helped now, you think to yourself.

As you begin to roll up the scroll a curious thing happens. One of the halflings, his identity obscured by a low-hanging hood, walks up suddenly and, before you can finish rewinding the scroll, jumps up as if to rip it from your hands- jumps and misses. The guards erupt in laughter and you begin to laugh too, not knowing what else to do, when you feel something strange on your bound wrists- something cold.

You look down in alarm and spy dark metal poking out of the bonds around your wrists. You suddenly understand- the halfling meant to miss the scroll, he has given you a way to cut yourself loose from you bonds.

You quickly turn the scroll so it obscures the knife, and then in a commanding voice order "You halfling, do you speak for all the halflings here, and are you ready to respond to the lord Gurghan's terms?" His head perks up a bit, and you recognize a familiar face. "I will speak for them" he mumbles weakly. "Very well then, let us go and give Lord Gurghan his answer" and without consulting the guards you spin around abruptly and start marching back towards the host.

The guards, confused, start yelling at you and pointing, but you keep walking, hoping the hobbit is behind you. They sign to Gurghan frantically and you see him signal to let you come. Your plan is succeeding, but the last part is the truly hard part, and will most likely end in failure and your death as well as the death of all the halflings.

As you struggle to somehow grab the knife and cut your bonds without being noticed by your guards or the rest of the host, you take consolation in the knowledge that your plot is delaying the halflings' deaths by a few minutes. Maybe some of them will escape down the river or into the woods and will live on thanks to your foolishness.

You hope the halfling is following you or you will look most foolish indeed and your tiny chance of a glorious death will be even more unlikely. You keep fighting with your bonds and wondering why you thought this was a good idea...

As you draw near to Gurghan and the rest of the host, you stand aside and wait for the halfling to walk beside you. As he approaches you risk some speech and whisper, "I hope you're ready for a fight, because that's probably what we're going to get", then a guard knocks you in the back and towards the headman.

Before Gurghan can speak you take the initiative and blurt out "Lord Gurghan. This halfing will speak for his people, and answer your terms." The headman looks surprised, he apparently didn't expect his hastily scrawled insults to be taken seriously. Now you began to feel extremely worried, as the hopelessness of your rash plan becomes evident.

Your only thought was to attack Gurghan and hope that somehow would end the attack on the halflings, but even if you succeed, you will surely be put harshly to death, and they may decide to attack all the same.

You feel ill and begin to sweat profusely as the halfling steps forward and reaches to lower his hood. Horsemen with spears stand all around and their chief is a large man, much heavier and stronger than you, and an experienced warrior. What chance do you, an exhausted lakeman who's only killed rabbits and deer have against him?

The hobbit lowers his hood, all eyes turn to him expectantly, a curly brown head comes into view and you know that now is your once chance to attack while everyone's focused on him. You tense up, grip the handle of the little knife the halfling gave you, count the paces between you and the chief...

Suddenly you hear men gasping, you look up to see two guards grasping their throats, gasping for breath, with tiny handles sticking out of their necks. You turn towards the halfing to see Bango, with his arms extended, having just thrown two daggers hidden under his hood, behind his ears.

You decide to take advantage of the confusion, you reach out with your dagger, bend your legs for a mighty leap, and... Whack! From nowhere a guard slams you in the side with the butt of his spear, the dagger goes flying from your hand to land at Gurghan's feet.

As you fall to your knees, he kneels and picks up the small knife, with a look of disbelief on his face. Looking at his two dead guards, then at you, he holds up the knife and proclaims "You, would kill me with this? A lowly, weak northman and a tiny halfling!" he roars, disbelief turning to anger. "How could you think you could do this, all alone?" You have nothing to say, you lower your head, awaiting the barrage of spear tips that you know will pierce your body at any moment, as soon as Gurghan gives the signal.

"He is not alone!" says a voice, thin, but commanding. "This has gone on long enough, it is time for it to end." You look up in amazement at a familiar figure, now transformed. The wizard's hood is thrown back, and long white hair streams out behind him. His tattered outer robe is open revealing blue wizard's garments underneath. His arms are outstretched towards the sky and the clouds above him darken and begin swirl, the energy in them beginning to flash in blue streaks of flame.

The Wizard intones commandingly in a strange, ancient language, as the wind whips everything around you in a whirlwind of otherworldly power. "Watch out!" you yell to the halfling, though you know that most likely in a moment you will all be dead, burned by the energy bolts streaking from heaven that you saw kill those goblins weeks ago.

You see Gurghan's mouth open but he has no words to speak, his aura of command shattered. A bright light fills the sky, you close your head and await death to fall from above. Suddenly, a bowstring twangs, the wizard lurches forward, the light fades, the wind calms, and no death rains down from above. You see the wizard stooped over, in shock and pain, and arrow extending from his back. One of Gurghan's lieutenants caught him with an arrow just before he could finish his chief.

You rush to the wizard's side, still entranced by the power he had briefly displayed. He looks up at you and sighs "Well, we almost made an end of them worthy of a song. But now the shadow will ride over the land and there will be no one left to sing."

He falls unconscious at your feet and you find yourself weeping, although this is the same man who sided with the enemy and tried to betray you earlier. As you kneel you see shadows encircle you, wainrider warriors, their long spears now lowered and pointed at your head. You don't try to fight, you keep your head lowered and wait for inevitable death.

When you hear bowstrings ring out you know your life is over, but then you hear bodies fall to the ground. You still don't raise your head, sure that you are dying, but a familiar voice calls to you to get up. You look up amazed to see Bango standing over you. "Come on!" he urges you. "What..." you murmur, unable to find words to say. You look around and see dead horsemens' bodies lying around you. Others of the horsemen are crouched down, looking intently at the grasslands round about. Gurghan is nowhere to be seen.

You try to make sense of it as Bango drags you to cover between some wagons. "What happened?" you stammer, still shocked to find yourself alive. "Archers" Bango tells you. "Cloaked and hidden in the grass. They must have been following the horsemen. They stay hidden somehow but I got a look at one and they look like, well they look like the Darklings from our legends." Darklings. The Dark Elves you wonder? Could it be?

You hear thunder of hooves and see a group of horsemen circling the caravan, peering into the grasslands, looking for enemies to attack. "We have to help them" you say, half to yourself, "Somehow." "But what can we do?" asks Bango earnestly. We can't fight the horsemen, well at least not more than a few of them, and not ones on horses anyways." "If those riders find them, they'll run over them, or spear them from horseback.

We've got to distract them somehow. You look around and spy the wizard's body, still prone on the ground. "I think I have an idea" you tell him, and it's almost as crazy as you."

Crawling carefully, you cross the ground to the wizard's body without being spotted. Desperately you clutch at his robe, trying to remove it from his unconscious form. You fight with it for what seems like an hour before finally pulling it free.

You start to crawl back until you remember that you've forgotten another key part of your plan, and you scramble back towards him and recover the missing item. You look at his face, hoping he's not dead, but his skin looks alive, if a little pale. You hurry back to Bango. "OK, let's hope this works" you say hopefully.

The riders seem to have found something. A few of them are searching a small area of grass. "Let's go" you say, and charge out of the caravan. A moment later, as the horsemen are narrowing their search area, they suddenly hear a voice cry out "Stop! Leave this place or be struck down and stay here forever!" They stop with a jolt and turn abruptly to a strange sight. A very tall figure is walking towards them, swaying from side to side like a drunk. He has a misshapen head, but bears the unmistakable robe of a wizard, and in his hand the long wooden staff of a wizard.

The riders hesitate a moment, and the figure lurches forward, then they turn to face him. "Now!" they hear a voice cry. Suddenly, the robe swirls in a frenzy, a small voice cries out "It's stuck." The "wizard" drops his staff and rips the robe off to reveal a hobbit riding on a Northman. Before they can throw their spears, or ride them down, the halfling snaps his arms quick as lightning, and the foremost horseman clutches at his chest- two small knives are stuck in it.

You rush at the horseman and yank him off his horse. You try to mount the horse, with Bango still on your back, but two of the other riders throw their spears at you. Ducking down quickly you dodge death, but the horse is not so lucky. The speared horse runs off in panic, leaving a ducking Northman and halfling exposed to danger.

As two other riders approach you, you realize you have run out of options. They raise their spears, ready to run you through. Suddenly, two figures rise out of the grass nearby and let arrows fly. The horses rush by you, one knocking you in the head with its chest as he passes, but you escape serious injury as their riders fall dead of their mounts. One of the steeds halts after his rider falls, and you realize this is your chance to escape.

You turn to grab Bango but he is standing motionless. "They disappeared!" he stammers. "How can people just appear and disappear like that?" "They're elves", is all you can think to say. "We'd better disappear too if we want to live" and with that you and Bango run for the horse, pausing only to grab the wizard's staff on the way. "Where are we going?" the hobbit asks you as you run. "Anywhere but here!" you answer as you reach the beast.

The horse is tall and stubborn and you struggle to mount him before you remember the hobbit. You reach for Bango as he runs up panting and barely manage to pull him up in front of you as the horse shakes his head and stamps. You hear some shouts and look behind you to see some other horsemen pointing at you.

Spurring the horse forward, you duck your head, grab his mane, and hold on for dear life galloping away from the horsemen. "This is the way to the village!" Bango yells at you. "Good, maybe we can hide there or something", you answer, though you feel out of luck and out of ideas.

Spurring the horse, you ride with all speed towards the village. With the wind streaming past your ears, you can't tell if riders are gaining or even following, but you keep your head down all the same. It won't do to have your head run through with an arrow. You guess the village must be close as the halflings had walked from there.

You see trees ahead and the land starts to look laid out in large squares or rectangles, bordered by stone walls, fences or rows of trees. You see a farm close ahead featuring a large, huge by halfling standards, barn As you draw near, you hear Bango yell "Turn here!" "Turn where?" you start to ask, but you see a road ahead that runs to the far side of the barn and beyond.

Without time to question it, you turn right onto the road and follow it as it veers along the length of the barn. You risk a glance backwards and view three riders behind you, two of them have almost caught up to you. There is a hedge now on the left side near the barn and it looks like there's a break in it just ahead as Bango cries "Pull in here." "No, they're right behind us", you argue. "Just do it!" Bango yells hoarsely. "This is a bad idea" you mutter.

With riders on your tail and the opening directly in front of you, you have no choice but to pull hard on the reins and try to force the horse to turn sharply, at full speed, into the opening in the hedge. It's a big gamble and you both are nearly knocked off by the hedge as the horse's flank slams into it trying to take the sharp turn.

The two pursuing horsemen are taken by surprise and have no chance to make the opening, but then you remember the one trailing behind as you draw the horse to a stop and wheel around in the small yard directly behind the barn.

You hear the clatter of hooves as the two horsemen urgently try to stop their mounts and the last rider approaches the cut. You look around frantically for a defensive position or some way of escape, but you appear to be trapped inside the small yard. There's no time for you to yell your disapproval at the hobbit as the third horseman veers into the stall and straight for you. "Off!" yells Bango, and without time to argue you leap off the horse as the horseman nearly crashes into him.

The other two riders' mounts gallop into the stall and you realize you're probably going to die when the halfling yells "Now!" Suddenly, you hear the sound of wooden doors opening and see the big stall door in the end of the barn slide open and a gang of hobbits appear.

With a twang, bowstrings are snapped and a small volley of arrows streaks towards the horsemen. The halflings are apparently not very practiced shots, but several arrows find their marks, and you see one horse fall wounded and another of the horsemen falls off his mount with two arrows piercing his chest.

The third horsemen spins his horse and manages to speed through the opening in the hedge as a few more arrows fly half-heartedly in his direction. The other rider is trapped under his mount, trying to free himself, but he is unable to. You realize that he is injured, probably a broken bone, and not a danger at the moment.

Bango runs to the hedge and peers through the opening before walking back towards you, "He's long gone." "You planned this, the whole time?" you ask him incredulously. "When you're little, you always have to plan for danger" Bango replies coyly. "So you knew the horsemen were coming, and would betray you? But how could you know that?", you ask in amazement. "We were warned", he replies mysteriously. "Warned, by who?" "We don't know, exactly", Bango answered, "but the innkeeper, he told us." "How would an innkeeper know something like that?" you demand. "Well, it's rumored that he met with someone a few days before. One of the big people, tall and hooded." "The wizard!" you realize. "Yes, I suspect it was him" Bango agrees.

"Yikes, we completely forgot about him!" you suddenly realize. "We shouldn't have left him like that, defenseless." "Well, we didn't exactly have much of a choice" Bango states somberly. "But wait, you and all your people might be dead right now, if it wasn't for him" you reply. "Well if we charge at them right now we'll all end up dead for certain.

Right now they're distracted, and they've lost their surprise, so if we stay here they might leave, or at least they'll find us readied against them", Bango argues. You can't believe what you're hearing. Bango seemed so brave and forthright before, and now he sounds petty and scheming. You feel as though you just gained a friend and companion- someone who could really work with you, and now you fear you must lose him.

You decide you cannot abandon the wizard, in spite of his treachery, you resolve to return, alone if you must. You solemnly break the news to your friend. "Bango, I'm afraid I must leave you here. If I don't try to help the wizard now, I won't be able to live with myself."

The halfling looks away and then sighs, "Well, if you're dead set on going then I guess I have no choice but to go with you. Your luck has held up this far, and if there's one thing we need to get out of this scrape in one piece it's luck."

You realize that you will need a horse, not necessarily to get there quickly, but to get away quickly if things go downhill. You try to capture the dead rider's horse, and though it puts up a struggle, after some time you succeed in calming it down and preparing it to carry you. "Ready?" you ask Bango, he just turns to the horse and waits for you to lift him to it. Then you mount the horse and begin what could be a death march back towards the wagon men.

You ride slowly in the direction of the wagon train, warily eying your surroundings, but everything is still and quiet. You pass by the fields and farmlands of the little people and the land gradually changes to become flatter and instead of lawns and fields you see yellow grasslands stretching out before you.

After a quarter of an hour, you begin to view a dark conglomeration of shapes in the distance that can only be the horsemen's camp. As you ride slowly closer, you keep your eyes peeled for guards, but see nothing- you know that's either very good, or very bad.

After waiting some minutes more and not seeing any movement, you risk approaching closer to the area. As you walk the horse forward you start to notice bodies here and there on the ground- bodies of men and horses. The halfings and the elves are nowhere to be seen. You feel ill, and very apprehensive viewing the carnage.

As you enter the camp you still see no signs of life, man or otherwise, but you could swear you hear faintly a strange sound like chanting. Glancing around you see no sign of the wizard but you can't take more time to look for him until you determine the fate of the horsemen.

You motion to Bango to keep quiet, and stealthily pick your way through the rubble towards the source of the sounds. You pass cautiously between several tents and then you see a sight that makes your blood run cold.

Gathered in a circle are the remaining wagon men, gazing intently at the middle of the circle. There you see Gurghan chanting, with what looks like a ceremonial dagger in his outreached hand, and below the dagger the target of his chant- the wizard.

You realize in an instant what has happened. Their forces attacked and diminished, their prisoners missing and the element of surprise completely lost, the wagon men are demoralized and eager for blood.

The blood of a wizard must seem to them to be a powerful talisman, powerful enough to bring them fortune and heal their woes even as it strengthens their resolve. You find yourself unable to look away from the gruesome scene and then you realize the even worse truth of what you must do next.

Turning to Bango you whisper "Go back and warn the others, your part here is done." He looks at you sadly, and then turns to go without a word.

Facing the grim scene again you know that you cannot allow this sacrilege to continue. Even in your far northern homeland you've heard tales of wizards your whole life. From their haughty wisdom, to their magical powers, wizards are regarded as beings above mortal men.

In spite of his secretiveness, his arrogance, and his betrayal, this is still a wizard, and wizards are not meant to be killed by man. Suddenly there's silence as Gurghan has finished chanting. He raises the dagger high, a deadly look in his eyes. You can't wait any longer- it's now or never.

Grabbing the only weapon you still possess, the wizard's staff, you rush forward- intent only on stopping Gurghan before he can strike. The horsemen are so surprised to see you that for a moment they don't move, too stunned to react. But their chieftain isn't so slow-witted. As you push through the throng, Gurghan grabs a club out of one of his warrior's hands and takes a swing at your head.

You duck as the club flies over your head and hits one of the horse men behind you. Gurghan swings the weapon back towards you and as you try to dodge the blow again you stumble and as you fall you grab for something stable to stop your fall. That something turns out to be the bier on which the body of the wizard rests. It turns out to be not strong enough to bear both his weight and your tumbling body. The bier collapses next to you, wizard and all.

Your head swirls in confusion, desperately trying to untangle yourself from a tangle of wood and limbs, your only thought is to get to your feet as quickly as possible. You manage to rise just as a group of warriors encircles you.

Now you don't even have the staff to defend yourself, as you dropped it in the mayhem. You instinctively cover your face as the warriors raise their swords, clubs and spears just in front of you. You know you will feel them any moment now as they press forward.

Just then, you hear a commanding voice behind you and the weapons are stayed. Again the voice orders, in a familiar way, and a bright light wells up driving the surprised warriors back.

You turn in surprise to see the wizard struggling to rise, his staff held out before him. For a moment you're too surprised to react, then you rush forward to help him to his feet. "What are you doing here?" he asks in a surprised tone. "I thought you'd be halfway back to Laketown by now." As he feebly stands he regards the horsemen once more and you join his gaze. "You know, things were going fairly well until you showed up." "What?" you stammer incredulously "How can you say that?"

Your questions must wait as you see Gurghan enter the throng, trying to stir his men to fight, and heading straight for you. "Well my boy" your unwitting partner states, "I think it's time now that you were leaving." "Leaving?'" you reply in amazement. "In case you didn't notice we're surrounded." "Not for long, I think. Get ready to run." "Run?", you repeat to yourself, "I just got here!" Indeed escaping was not in your plan.

Now that you found the wizard, your mind is swimming with questions for him, like what was he doing with the wagon men, and why did he try to get rid of you, and, for that matter, why would he want to help you now after trying to kill you? "Wait- why are you helping me?" you demand. "Because you reminded me why I'm here" he answers plainly, "Now, off with you! I'll deal with them." and, as he raises his arms, smoky clouds emanate outwards from him, covering the remaining warriors.

"Go!" he orders, and you don't feel like arguing anymore, so you turn and very cautiously try to pick your way through the wreckage back towards the halfling village. You are sure you'll be discovered and captured by the horsemen, but somehow you manage to pass through them- probably because their coughing at the smoke alerts you to their location.

After a very long couple of minutes the vapors subside and you notice that you are in the open field once more. Turning back towards the scene of the battle, you hear shouting. As you watch intently, you suddenly see streaks of lightning rise into the sky, then a bright flash that makes you shield your eyes and a booming noise rolls across the fields.

After the flash subsides you gaze again towards the wizard but see and hear nothing except the remains of the dissipating smoke. After a minute of two most of the smoke has cleared and your eyes behold only burnt wreckage. You don't see any forms standing- neither man nor beast.

You feel an urge to go search through the rubble but you know in your heart that you won't find any survivors- human or otherwise. The great wainrider chieftain Gurghan is no more, and a great number of his warriors with him. With him gone, it seems unlikely that the wainriders will have the strength or the resolve to further threaten the region, or to fight for the dark lord elsewhere in Middle-Earth.

The wizard also has fallen, you know now without a doubt, giving his last strength to right and wrong and stop a force of evil from spreading. You wonder what becomes of the souls of wizards after they die, but you realize that such things are beyond your reckoning for you are a simple, mortal man of Laketown, and it's high time that you headed back home.

Turning your back on the carnage, you head towards the halfling village. They will be eager for news of what transpired on the battlefield, and you could use some rest, and a meal, some ale, and some good company before setting back out across the endless seas of grass, back toward home.