The Lord of the Rings Minecraft Mod Wiki
...and he gave him also three books of lore that he had made at various times, written in his spidery hand, and labeled on their red backs: Translations from the Elvish, by B.B.

The Return of the King

Among the loot and treasures you may find in your adventures, there are books. These books, also known as lore texts, can contain flowery poems, tricky riddles, cooking recipes, journals of adventurers, stories of heroes and long lost Elven realms, and much more. They can be found in random chests, by killing NPCs or as a reward for completing mini-quests, but be aware, some lore texts can only be found on certain parts of the world.

Note, that some books also exist in variants (see choose-options in the texts below). Note also, that books on servers may also have been written by other players or generated by the admins via commands. Those texts do not belong on this page, because they are not part of the mod itself.


Creating and submitting your own lore texts: The lore texts were written by both the Mod Team and several contributors from the community. If you enjoy writing, you can submit your own texts too. To know more about the process, head over to this page.

Note to authors: If you see your text on the list, but it isn't properly credited, feel free to make the necessary arrangements.


A Hard Day's Work[]

Written by ? Type: durins_folk

A Hard Day's Work

Author: {name:dwarf_male} son of {name:dwarf_male}


Today I drank {num:5,10} tankards of ale.

I worked with {name:dwarf_male} in the mines, and we delved for {num:1,6} hours, as every Dwarf should!

Then I went home to my dear wife, {name:dwarf_female} daughter of {name:dwarf_male}. Over a hearty feast, we sang of the old tales of {choose:Durin/Balin/Fundin/Thrain} and {choose:Khazad-dûm/Belegost/Erebor}.

Aldwyn's Diary[]

Written by ThrainStormfist Types: rohan, dunland, isengard

Aldwyn's Diary

Author: Aldwyn of Rohan


{num:1,5} March 2984, Third Age The grass sways in the breeze. Several Warg packs have come by, but so far, none have come close enough to harm me. I wonder what it must be like, to be hunted across these peaceful plains. I hope I never find out.

{num:6,9} March 2984, Third Age On patrol by {choose:Eastmark/Aldburg/Edoras/Westmark/Grimslade/the Folde/Dunharrow} this morning. Grabbed a pint of {choose:mead/ale}, then headed out by the Entwash to survey. Nothing for miles around.

{num:10,15} March 2984, Third Age Just escaped a pack of Orcs wandering where they shouldn't have wandered. I've been conscripted to the western borders, near Dunland. Here's to hoping they don't come after us.

{num:16,20} March 2984, Third Age As I lay dying, slain in battle, let me wish that the Mark shall remain, and the courage of Men shall not fail.

Ancient Sea-Gods[]

Written by Goran Types: dunland, ruins

Ancient Sea-Gods

author: {name:dunlending_male}


Long ago, when the forests covered all the lands to the West, and our people were spread across the earth, we were visited by strange Sea-Gods.

In form they were like tall Men, though with life beyond the span of our years. They came from across the Sea in great silver vessels and built tall dwellings of stone upon our shores. The tales say they wore skin like iron, and their weapons could strike faster than the wind.

At first, they let our people be, and sometimes they even gifted us with powerful tools and knowledge. Our elders say they came from a far land beyond the Sea, that their ships bore them across the waves to all the far lands of the world, even upon the very clouds of the air.

But as time went by, these Sea-Gods changed their ways. They started cutting and burning our forests, and hunting us like animals. They stole many of our people away, never to be seen again. We knew not what we did to so anger the Sea-Gods.

And an age passed, and the Sea-Gods were no more. It is said that the Sea-Gods angered the Sky-Gods, and the Sky-Gods destroyed them for it. But we know not why; we only know the Sea-Gods are no more.

Annals of Khazad-dûm, Volume I[]

Written by ? Types: durins_folk, dale, rivendell, blue_mountains

Annals of Khazad-dûm, Volume I

Author: {name:dwarf_female} of Erebor


Long ago, in an age now forgotten and lost to time, the kingdom of Khazad-dûm was the mightiest realm in all Middle-earth. Those were the golden days of our fallen city, and are described herein.

After the terrible catastrophes of the First Age, and the drowning of the Elder West, many of our kin from the Blue Mountains migrated to our great halls in Khazad-dûm. They brought with them much skill, craft, and lore, to enrich our city. Our people prospered greatly in those days, during which, it is said, Khazad-dûm reached the height of its glory and magnificence.

Some years passed, and the empty lands of Hollin west of the Mountains were settled by Deep-elves of the West, fleeing the ruin of their sunken realms. At first we were suspicious, but our peoples soon came to befriend one another; there was a friendship of Elves and Dwarves of a kind never seen before, nor in the many ages since. Together, our kingdoms grew and prospered. The Elven King Celebrimbor worked with Narvi, a great craftsman of our people, and they created many wonders together.

It was at this time that the great purpose of our toiling and tunnelling was achieved: at long last, the delvings of Khazad-dûm traversed the Mountains from East to West, connecting the wide regions of Wilderland and the Lone-lands.

Annals of Khazad-dûm, Volume II[]

Written by ? Types: durins_folk, dale, rivendell, blue_mountains

Annals of Khazad-dûm, Volume II

Author: {name:dwarf_female} of Erebor


The friendship between the Khazad of Khazad-dûm and the Elves of Eregion brought much fortune to both realms. However, it was not to last.

In the 1697th year of the Second Age, the Dark Enemy of Mordor invaded the land of Hollin. He came with Orc-hosts beyond count, to destroy their mighty kingdom, and break the great friendship of our peoples. Durin III, then Lord of Khazad-dûm, did not sit idle; he sent a great host to aid our Elven friends, but though we fought fiercely, we could not save the people of Hollin. We were forced to retreat back into Khazad-dûm, shutting our gates against the Dark Lord - and the outside world.

These were grim days, an age of grief and woe, for it was also at this time that the holy mountain of Gundabad, where Durin the Deathless awoke, was sacked and conquered by Orcs of the North. Among all the vile acts of the Orcs through the long ages of history, this sacrilege is counted the worst. Though we had not the strength to retake the mountain then, we swore - as we do now - that one day, Mount Gundabad would again belong to the Children of Durin.

The isolation of Khazad-dûm was absolute, though it would for a time be broken during the Great War of the Last Alliance, when we marched with Men and Elves against the hosts of Mordor. After that terrible war, our people shut the gates once again, and retreated back into our halls.

Thus conclude the Annals of Khazad-dûm during the Second Age of the World.

The Secret History[]

Written by Karseius Type: gondor

The Secret History

author: Adan of Gondor


If this book is found, I have doomed myself, for these words now written must never be read by another.

It has been three years now since our King took this Queen of Harad as his wife. Born to a Southern Númenórean noble, Berúthiel appears to be a great match for our King, who can use this bond to finally forge a peace with the Southrons. Yet, after years of investigation I have uncovered things better left uncovered.

Queen Berúthiel is a rare beauty indeed, but also ruthless and hungry for power and wealth. She was a women of many men, yet never belonging to any one of them. She seduced Haradrim Princes and chieftains alike, using her beauty to take their wealth and power for her own. She was showered with gold and silver by the Princes of the Two Sisters, while being courted by the mightiest of Umbar's warriors. Even the greatest chieftains of the Far Harad came north for hundred of leagues, all so that they might earn a single glance at her striking eyes. Gardens were built, statues were erected, yet she remained unimpressed.

Now, she has been taken to wife by the greatest King of them all, and I fear what she might do to him. She wields no sword, but a weapon no man can withstand, not even a King. My hands are bound, for speaking against my own Queen would surely amount to treason. There must be a way to save my King and Kingdom... there must be.

Brieg and the Haunted Wood[]

Written by Goran Type: dunland

Brieg and the Haunted Wood

Author: {name:dunlending_female}


Long ago, when our people still dwelt in the wide plains of the South, there was a boy named Brieg the Curious.

Young Brieg was always asking questions, which would sometimes anger the village elders, and get him into trouble. But he loved stories and tales, and there was one tale he loved the most: the Tale of the Evil Fays and the Haunted Wood.

This tale is one of our oldest tales. It tells of a haunted forest of sickly yellow trees, far to the North. The forest is home to the Evil Fays, who are ruled by the Great Fay: a wicked witch of terrible power. All who dare enter are ensnared by her spells, never to walk free again.

But unlike most boys, Brieg wasn't scared. And one day, he decided he would go North, to seek out the Haunted Wood. What madness drove him there... I will never know.

Many months passed before Brieg came back to the village. When he did, he was not the same Brieg they had known. He was turned mad!

Though he had been gone for nigh on a full year, Brieg swore that his stay in the forest had lasted only a few days! He then spoke of the Evil Fays and their realm. He told tales of strange trees white as bone with Fay-houses in their branches, and flowers like cold stars upon the earth. Before long, he was captured by the Evil Fays, and brought to the Great Fay. There, it is said, she put a horrible enchantment on him that changed his ways forever!

What terrible enchantment the Fays laid on Brieg I cannot imagine, but he was lucky to escape with his life. The Elders, at least, were convinced of the evil of the Fays. They warned their children not to go wandering like Brieg in search of Fays, else they would surely die - or worse.

And what became of Brieg, you may wonder? Once he had grown up, he left the village. Some say that in his madness he went back to the Haunted Wood, and was never seen again.

Bring me his head![]

Written by Gorbag12 Types: ruins, gundabad, angmar, dol_guldur, mordor, isengard

Bring me his head!

Author: {name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix}, scribe of {name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix}


Hey, you, maggot! The Boss told me that you're good at hunting!

He asked me, the scribe, if I could write a letter to you little maggot, telling you to bring the him the head of the stinking tark {name:gondor_male}. That fool laughed at the might of the Boss. Let's see if he can still laugh when his head's separated from his shoulders!

If you bring the Boss the tark's head, he will give you five hundred silver pieces as a reward for your stinking deed! And if not, the Boss will take your foul head instead, little maggot!

Now go ahead and do as you've been ordered!

A Warning to All Bucklanders[]

Written by Boost the Cat Type: shire

A Warning to All Bucklanders

Author: Shirriff {name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}


We have had {choose:multiple/several/a great many} reported Missing Person incidents of late, the subjects of which are all {choose:stated/said/rumoured} to have last been {choose:seen/sighted} entering the Old Forest.

As we {choose:are all aware/all very well know}, the {choose:Old Forest/Forest} is {choose:quite wild/very dangerous}, its trees {choose:awake/angry}, and it is {choose:never/not} to be entered, under any circumstances. If you should see {choose:someone/a Hobbit/anyone} entering the Forest, you must alert the Shirriffs {choose:immediately/at once}.

Auction Notice[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad,gulf

Auction Notice

Author: {name:nomad_male}


Friends from near and far away! Read and rejoice, for the great yearly Camel Auction draws near! Big camels, strong camels, fast camels, beautiful camels, we have them all! Bring your savings and reward yourself with a fine new companion, guaranteed to guide you safely through the sands! Come to {choose:Ijdi-ilel/Izêm-ulzuz/Ayûkaph-amâm} and join the festivities. Camel along!

Of Cardolan[]

Written by Forten Types: rivendell, eriador, gondor, lindon

Of Cardolan

Author: Anborn


Cardolan was a realm of yore,
a scion of old Númenor.
From hapless years it rose, and yet
it left our joy in darker debt;
first quarrel, and her bitter birth,
then pestilence and barren earth,
and last of all, the Witch-king came -
he cursed her hills, he cursed her name.
The Barrow-downs we call them now:
fell remnants of a conquered vow.

Of Clover[]

Written by the Mod Team Type: shire

Of Clover

Author: {name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}


Ah, the green clovers! How they grow in the field! How they sway in the breeze!

How do you tell if you're in decent places? You just look around for clover, of course. Anywhere without clover isn't worth the trip.

My old Gaffer used to say that sometimes, if you're out a-wandering in the field, and you're very lucky, you might find a clover with four leaves. And if you take it home and put it in a frame, you'll have good luck for a year.

Dalish Recipes, p. 106[]

Written by LordDainTheAwsome Type: dale

Dalish Recipes, p. 106

Author: {name:dale_female} of Dale


Dalish Cram.


  • 2 pounds of wheat grain
  • 1 bowl of...

[Here the recipe cuts off. It seems the Dalish don't want you to learn the secret of their cram-baking.]

Dalish Recipes, p. 175[]

Written by LordDainTheAwsome Type: dale

Dalish Recipes, p. 175

Author: {name:dale_female} of Dale




  • Two bags of fresh almonds
  • One pinch of white sugar


  • Grind almonds in mortar until fine paste
  • Add sugar to paste and mix
  • Arrange with almonds at corners and sugar above
  • Craft recipe

Serves 1.

Dalish Recipes, p. 28[]

Written by LordDainTheAwsome Type: dale

Dalish Recipes, p. 28

Author: {name:dale_female} of Dale


Dalish Pastry.


  • 1 egg
  • 2 bowls of maple syrup
  • 3 pounds of wheat grain
  • 1 pint of milk
  • 2 handfuls of cocoa


  • Mix wheat, egg and milk in a bowl
  • Grind cocoa beans and add to mixture
  • Bake in oven for 2 hours
  • Sprinkle with cocoa
  • Pour maple syrup in a swirl upon the cake

Serves 1.

Dalish Drinking Song[]

Written by S'moregoth and Campinator Types: dale, durins_folk

Dalish Drinking Song


Hey-ho to the keg! Hey-ho to the beer!
Hey-ho to the leg of a lamb or deer!
Hey to the barley! Ho to the ale!
Hurrah to the finest inn in Dale!

Why travel to lands both far and wide,
to stoke your prowess or fuel your pride,
when all you need is found right here -
in this wonderful, frothing, dark brown beer?

Hey-ho to the keg! Hey-ho to the beer!
Hey-ho to the leg of a lamb or deer!
Hey to the barley! Ho to the ale!
Hurrah to the finest inn in Dale!


If you're lost among the pines,
wandering o'er the hills at night;
come and have a glass of wine,
sit with friends among the light.


When the weather's cold and damp,
and you'd rather feel more merry;
come and sit beneath a lamp
and drink a mug of perry!


Hey-ho to the keg! Hey-ho to the beer!
Hey-ho to the leg of a lamb or deer!
Hey to the barley! Ho to the ale!
Hurrah to the finest inn in Dale!


Who needs to wander, to rove and roam
when he's got a cozy hearth and home?
'Tis foolish to explore out there
when you've got a homely mug and chair!


Here in halls of blue and red,
what better way the time to pass
than telling tales of cloven heads,
and sipping jars of plum kvass!


Hey-ho to the keg! Hey-ho to the beer!
Hey-ho to the leg of a lamb or deer!
Hey to the barley! Ho to the ale!
Hurrah to the finest inn in Dale!


Think not of spiders, nor their brood,
but sing instead of this wonderful food!
Sing of the pastries, sing of the cake!
Our feasts are fine, make no mistake!


When the time is closing evening,
and all the Orcs are overcome,
still the friendly lights are gleaming
while we gather, drinking rum!


Hey-ho to the keg! Hey-ho to the beer!
Hey-ho to the leg of a lamb or deer!
Hey to the barley! Ho to the ale!
Hurrah to the finest inn in Dale!

Dear Ohtar[]

Written by Catfishperson Type: gondor

Dear Ohtar

Author: Mithiel


My most beloved Ohtar, it is with a grieving heart that I must tell you our little {name:gondor_female} died last week of the pox. She called for you in her sleep.

I curse this awful war. I curse Sauron, I curse the East Wind, I curse the Lord Denethor for taking you from us. We need you at home, Ohtar... please, come home.

On the Elves[]

Written by ? Type: dorwinion

On the Elves


Long indeed have we shared these lands with the Elves, though our friendship was not always pleasant as it is now.

Many lifetimes ago - or as the Elves would tell you, not too long ago - Elf and Man met one another upon these fair fields. Our forefathers came out of the West, seeking a new homeland, but they discovered that the Elves were already settled upon these inland shores.

It was not the first time we had encountered the elder race, for some of their western cousins had once taught us of their tongue and gifted us with their knowledge in smithcraft. Thus we expected no trouble from these new Elves, and indeed, at first they seemed to bear no ill will against us. But the children of Men are many, and of the Elves few; and as our numbers grew, and theirs not so much, they became troubled.

The Elves feared that soon there would be no peace for their kind in these lands, where they had lived for ages uncounted. Tensions rose between the two peoples. For neither were our own forefathers willing to give up their realms here.

It seemed that trouble was at hand. But then, without warning, out of the East there came a great host of hide-clad horsemen, pillaging our lands, raiding the realms of Elf and Man alike! Seeing the common foe, our fathers and the Elven-folk put aside their differences, and together we fought the invaders.

After the battle was done, our people and the Elves came together, and we formed an agreement. The forests and woodlands of this country would forever belong to the Elves, untouched by the hand of Man, while we would be free to settle the fields and the wide plains. So it was, and so it has ever been since, in Dorwinion by the shores.


Written by ? Types: eregion, rivendell


Author: {name:sindarin_male} of Eregion


It grieves my heart to see the Noldorin kingdoms fall to waste. First there was the White City of Gondolin, majestic and proud, a flower over the plain; and Nargothrond the fair. But our time here is fading, and the hallowed halls of Mandos call once more for us.

Even the deep delvings of Hadhodrond are tarnished with a darkness. Ah, how I long for these kingdoms to be restored, for life and light to come back - but I must depart for Tol Eressëa and Elvenhome in the West. I must leave quickly, before this last kingdom falls to the Enemy.

My Dear Brother[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,southron,umbar

My Dear Brother

Author: Ashur of the Serpent Guard


Ain an-Ahâr: This day, the twenty-fourth of the sixth month, year 1050 of the Third Age:

My dear brother, I write in haste with urgent news.

Ciryaher - curse his name! - has crushed our forces by the waters of the Astrasir. I retreated with what is left of my host to Ain an-Ahâr.

The situation is dire. The Prince refused to submit to the invaders, and has taken his own life. Half of my men deserted me after hearing the news! Only the desperate and doomed now remain, guarding our walls. The gods have forsaken us.

It will not be long until Ciryaher and his invaders take the city, I fear. Take your warriors east to meet with the allied tribes, and gather more strength.

I beseech you, do not yet engage the dogs of Gondor. Live to fight another day. My time on this earth has come to an end; I shall find honour in death.

Your brother Ashur, chief of the Serpent Guard

The Fall of Gundabad[]

Written by Forten Types: rivendell, eriador, durins_folk, blue_mountains

The Fall of Gundabad

Author: Khîm son of Narag


Far above the Misty Mountains cold,
there stand three peaks, three spires of old;
there Durin rose from slumber-throes,
and first his hammer-thunder rolled.

There first he hollowed halls of stone,
and long he laboured there alone.
The empty hills sang chisel-trills,
and cold the wind on mountain-bone.

His sons returned after he left;
fine gems and greater halls they cleft.
Grim Gundabad they made and marred
and named, and soon their hands were deft.

Pale gold in gleaming hoards they flung,
and ever-burning lamps they hung
of shunnèd stars on jewellèd vase,
and cups of crystal-glass they sung.

Far above the Misty Mountains white,
the moon was shining in the night.
The silent snow fell soft below,
and cloud-tops shimmered in the light.

The Dwarves delved deeper in the earth;
their halls were filled with wealth and mirth;
their vaults were lined with mithril mined,
and feasts were held to Durin's birth.

They raised grey towers above the mines,
and saw the vales and waving pines.
They watched the ways of mountain-maze,
where Orcs engaged in dark designs.

In steel were the Dwarves arrayed:
the archer's bow was iron-made;
the guard was girt in mail-shirt;
and last, the lord had beaten-blade.

Far above the Misty Mountains high,
the stars were burning in the sky.
The moon shone down on granite-crown,
and wind hissed whistling lullaby.

A smoke was rising from below,
and gledes flew up from fire-glow;
a dark unease was on on the breeze,
as distant sounds began to grow.

Up mountain-side leapt fire-drake,
that mountain trembled in their wake;
their legion came in midst of flame,
and splintered rock and cinder-flake.

Through cloven gate spilled goblin guard;
on banner burnt and shield charred
the Dwarves they fell, in citadel,
in Dolven-hall, in Gundabad.

The gold unglinting lies in gloom,
in filth upon the unbuilt tomb.
The iron-rust lies thick, and dust
lies deep in vault and treasure-room.

Far above the Misty Mountains bleak,
the moon shines grim on sacred peak
where Durin woke, but now is broke,
and there we go, to test the weak!

Flowers in the Dawn[]

Written by Campinator Types: lindon, rivendell, lothlorien

Flowers in the Dawn

Author: {name:sindarin_female}


Flowers, flowers, in the dawn:
how you glisten on my lawn!
Roses, daisies, poppies too:
leaves and buds and stem and roots.

Flowers, flowers, in the day
form a living great bouquet.
Elanor, clover, marigold
grow forever, oh so bold.

Flowers, flowers, in the night:
fill the garden with your light!
Bluebell, iris, simbelmynë:
slumber there until the noon.

A Letter from Elrond to Gil-galad[]

Written by Ithilion Types: lindon, rivendell

A Letter from Elrond to Gil-galad

Author: Lord Elrond, Herald of the King


Elrond son of Eärendil to Gil-galad son of Fingon, may the Valar keep you and no shadow fall upon the Fair Realm. The news from Eregion is not good.

Our fears have been realised, for the Shadow is led by a servant of Morgoth: his lieutenant Sauron the Abhorred, formerly known to us as Annatar Aulendil. He has swept into Eregion, and sacked the Gwaith-i-Mirdain. Celebrimbor was captured and put to death.

We few who remain owe our escape to the valiant assault by the Dwarves of Hadhodrond and Celeborn-o-Lórien. I have led the rest of the host northward in retreat, and in hopes of finding a hidden refuge.

But Sauron has turned from us, sending but a small force to harry our movement. He now marches with haste across Eriador - towards the Last Fair Realm.

I advise you to send word to Númenor and muster your strength, aran-nin.

I Manwë berio le nu Eru. May Manwë keep you under the One.

The Loss of a Companion[]

Written by Thaumablazer Type: gondor

The Loss of a Companion

Author: {name:gondor_male} of the Houses of Healing


Dear {name:gondor_male},

It pains me so, but I must inform you that your dear friend, {name:gondor_male}, has received the Gift of Men.

Ever since you left him in our care, he was coughing day and night. We sacrificed much of our sleep trying to treat his ills, but - alas! - his condition only grew worse.

Soon he began to spew his own blood, and before long there was nothing left we could do to forestall his passing.

They say that the hands of the King are the hands of a healer. If only we had the healing powers of a true King, then we might have saved him... but, forgive me, now is not the time for such talk.

My sincerest condolences. Our thoughts are with you, and with his family.

The Founding/History of ... (Gondor Village) []

Written by Glflegolas Type: gondor

The {choose:Founding/History} of {name:gondorVillage_prefix}{name:gondorVillage_suffix}

Author: {name:gondor_male}


This village was founded in the year T.A. {num:2500,2950}, by the {choose:Master/Captain/Lord} {name:gondor_male}.

It began as a small farming village with a few cottages.

Gradually, the population of the village grew, and a tavern, named {name:gondorTavern_prefix} {name:gondorTavern_suffix}, was built by the bartender {name:gondor_male}. It is said that the {choose:ale/wine/mead/cider/vodka/lemon liqueur/lime liqueur/carrot wine/rum} in this tavern was so good that travellers came here from far and wide to enjoy it.

From there, the village's population continued to grow, with {choose:a blacksmith setting up shop, selling some of the finest tools and weapons in all of Gondor/the construction of a stable, where the stablemaster bred some of the finest horses south of Rohan/the construction of a mighty fortress and walls, in order to keep the inhabitants safe from marauding Orcs attracted by the village's wealth. The village became so large, it became a town/the arrival of many wealthy merchants, who brought goods from lands far and wide: exotic woods, fresh fish, building supplies, and much more besides}.

The Southern Campaign[]

Written by Karseius Types: southron,umbar,gondor

The Southern Campaign

Author: {name:gondor_male}


Hen-na-Charad: This day, the seventeenth of the seventh month, year 1050 of the Third Age:

My dear wife, I hope you are well. I write to you with joyous news of the campaign.

Victory is ours, and the Southron {choose:forces/armies/rats} are crushed! Mighty Ciryaher has avenged his father, for the last great city of the Haradrim is taken. We found their wretched Prince lying dead in his palace. Our men soon defeated those few of his guard that had not fled the city.

Afterwards, we gathered in the throne room to celebrate our great victory. All the lands of {choose:Harad/the South/Haradwaith} are ours now. The King has taken the name of Hyarmendacil, for thus shall he be known by all the years and ages to come.

I hope to return to you soon, my dear wife. I have acquired many fine trinkets and trophies during the campaign. There is a {choose:fine golden necklace, inset with a blue stone/fine golden ring, adorned with a cleverly wrought serpent/rich flute of carven ebony/curious copper trinket engraved with strange runes}, which I believe you will take a liking to.


Written by the Mod Team Type: None



Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
Half-trolls are the best faction in the mod.

Stuck Under the Sun[]

Written by Thaumablazer Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad,gulf

Stuck Under the Sun

Author: {name:nearHaradrim_male}


I and my company have been stuck out in this accursed desert for many weeks.

I await orders for a change in post, and yet I receive none. Our supply of waterskins runs ever lower, and my partner {name:nearHaradrim_male} collapsed from the heat a few days ago. He has recovered somewhat now, but I doubt he will be comfortable for long. I, too, have begun to suffer the heat.

Have they forgotten us? Are we doomed to die under the blazing sun, with nobody to remember who we were, or that we were ever here?

Is this what our doom has come to? Our lives to be slowly, painstakingly torn from our bodies; to be left as dried corpses, to rot in the sand?

Is this the end for me?

I cannot bear to think any further about it!

To Mother[]

Written by Karseius Types: southron,umbar

To Mother


Nurêmin: This day, the twenty-first of the tenth month, year 1050 of the Third Age:

Dear Mother,

I know you cursed me for surrendering to the Gondorians. But please, hear what I have to say.

The King Ciryaher is a merciful ruler. He is not at all like we feared. He has granted me and all my brothers our lives if we swear loyalty to him and his realm. Even more, he offered us lands and riches as a reward for our loyalty. His Highness has bestowed upon me a beautiful strip of land just east of Umbar, with fertile fields, wide orchards, and a grand mansion to live in.

I know it is hard, Mother, but I beg you - do not let your pride bring ruin upon our family. Is it really your wish to die in exile, to make the burning sands your grave? And not only yours, but my brothers' and sisters' also? Do not let your hatred for Gondor decide how you must live out your days. Gondor may have conquered our homelands, but the Sun will continue to rise every day. The lemon trees will continue to grow.

Please, Mother, come back to me, and let my brothers and sisters grow old.

With love, your son, {name:nearHaradrim_male}

Old Letter to a Brother[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,nomad

Old Letter to a Brother

Author: Haleb


Brother, it is over. The Northlings defeated our armies at the Harnen. Now there is nothing stopping them from pillaging and burning deep into our lands. My wounds are grave... I shall not make it home.

Once I have passed into the darkness, you will be the leader of our family. Act accordingly! Take Mother and our brothers and sisters to the desert-dwellers, and pay them to guide you to safer lands. Be quick, for there will be a time for mourning later.

May the Serpent strangle the tree.

Your brother, Haleb

On Hell-flame[]

Written by ? Type: rhun

On Hell-flame

Author: {name:rhun_male} the Learned


Our people have prospered greatly from the aid of the Lord of Mordor. One of the many gifts he bestowed upon is the knowledge of crafting a mighty weapon.

Hell-flame, or as it is also known, Khamûl's Fire, is a potent and powerful weapon. Khamûl the Great took this gift from the Lord of Mordor and turned it into a mighty weapon for the use of our great armies.

It is said that hell-flame is made from the same powder we use for lightworks, encased in a gilded iron armour, but with the gift of the Lord of Mordor set deep within: whence comes its wicked power and potency. The flames of hell burn brightly, with great heat... and if some tales are to be believed, they can even melt through solid stone walls.

These constructions must be handled with great care. I have heard more than one tale of the untimely death of a golden regiment, and from the stories of how the men left behind little but charred ash, I rather suspect Khamûl's Fire was at work there.

But truly, with this weapon on our side, our armies will be unstoppable! The vile Gondorians, ever hiding behind their stone walls, are safe no longer!

On Hithlain[]

Written by ? Type: lothlorien

On Hithlain

Author: {name:sindarin_female}


Long have our kin twined the fibres of these woods into Hithlain. The craft is only known to a few among us Galadhrim. Yet it is worn by every Elf here, from the bowstrings and cloaks of our warriors to the clothing of our Lord and Lady.

Of all its many uses, hithlain comes to be most helpful as a rope. It can bear more than a single Elf, hold great weights, and it helps keep our telain sturdy in the boughs of the mellyrn. Rare indeed it is that we gift our most prized craft to the Elf-friends among mortal Men, though when we do, it is sure to aid them greatly in many needs.

One Last Warning[]

Written by Thaumablazer Type: shire

One Last Warning

Author: {name:hobbit_female}


Dear {name:hobbit_male},

We must discuss your dining etiquette - or rather, the lack thereof.

Without fail, each time we host a neighborhood dinner or picnic, you hog well over half of the food for yourself without giving anyone else a chance to eat their fill!

And furthermore, during {name:hobbit_male}'s party last week, when he brought out the barrels of perry, you had the absolute gall to smother your lips all over the taps, and drain the contents then and there!

Your behavior is ill-befitting of a gentleman of your stature. It is absolutely unacceptable, and this is your last warning. Should you continue to be so insolent during our next gathering, you should not expect any further invitations from any of our family ever again!

Invitation (1)[]

Written by ? Type: shire

Invitation (1)

Author: Bilbo Baggins


Message to be delivered to Otho Sackville-Baggins,

Dear Mr. Sackville-Baggins,
It is my pleasure to invite you and your family to the celebration of my 111th birthday party, to be held at the Party Field, Hobbiton, on the 22nd September.
Hoping that you will attend,
Bilbo Baggins

Invitation (2)[]

Written by ? Type: shire


Author: Bilbo Baggins


Message to be delivered to Ilberic Brandybuck,

Dear Mr. Brandybuck,
I would like to purchase three barrels of your finest mead and five barrels of your esteemed ale. Payment will be made upon their delivery to the Party Field, Hobbiton, where on the 22nd September I will also be delighted to welcome you to my 111th birthday party.
Your servant,
Bilbo Baggins

Invitation (3)[]

Written by ? Type: shire


Author: Bilbo Baggins


Message to be delivered to Adelard Took,

Dear Mr. Took,
I would be delighted if you were to attend the festivities of my 111th birthday party at the Party Field, Hobbiton, on the 22nd September. All your family are welcome and there will be many pleasant surprises.
Your servant,
Bilbo Baggins

Invitation (4)[]

Written by ? Type: shire


Author: Bilbo Baggins


Message to be delivered to Folco Boffin,
Little Delving.

Dear Mr. Boffin,
I invite you and your lovely wife to the celebration of my eleventy-first birthday party at the Party Field, Hobbiton, on the 22nd of September.
Hoping you will enjoy yourselves,
Bilbo Baggins

Queer Behaviour[]

Written by TheSquidychicken Type: shire

Queer Behaviour

Author: {name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}


My dear {name:hobbit_male},

I hear you have been showing some rather queer habits lately. Now, I know you are still (barely) just a tween; but our family are very well thought-of around these parts. And {choose:running off into the Old Forest/venturing outside the borders of the Shire/going off in search of 'Elves'/repeating Mad Baggins' tall tales of 'dragons' and 'wizards' to the children} is no way to uphold the good reputation of the family name!

Just the other day, I was sitting in {name:hobbitTavern_prefix} {name:hobbitTavern_suffix}, when I overheard {name:hobbit_male} and {name:hobbit_female} talking about how you are 'going on adventures' and how you have been 'setting a bad example for young Hobbits'! I had to reassure them that they must have misheard something, for such a respectable young fellow as yourself would have no interest in 'going on adventures'.

This is all I have to say for now, and I do hope you will come to your senses!

Notice of Interdiction[]

Written by Thaumablazer Type: shire

Notice of Interdiction

Author: Tavern Staff


Dear Mr. {name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname},

From this day forth you are barred from our respectable Establishment.

Your drunken Rampage of {choose:two/three/four} days prior has caused grievous Damages to our Furniture, which is to say nothing of the dreadful waste of Liquor when you in your inebriation knocked several of the barrels over (and very expensive stuff it was, too!)

Even more concerning was your ill-conceived decision to {choose:shatter an empty mug upon the head of a fellow Patron/relieve the contents of your stomach upon the Bartender/produce your Tinder-box and set alight multiple tables in the Tavern}.

If you wish to appeal, you may write to us to explain yourself, accounting for your wrongful Misdemeanours, and offering to recompense all Damages in full. But until such time, you are forbidden to set foot upon the Tavern Premises, in accordance with the King's Law and in the name of the Mayor of Michel Delving.

Your servants we remain,
the Most Respectable Staff & Patrons of {name:hobbitTavern_prefix} {name:hobbitTavern_suffix}

A Hobbit's To-do List[]

Written by Ring9Of9fPower Type: shire

A Hobbit's To-do List

Author: {name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}


{choose:Sterday/Sunday/Monday/Trewsday/Hevensday/Mersday/Highday} To-do List

1. Clean pantry (throw away mouldy pastries)

2. Wash table, clean table cloth

3. Go to the market and restock the wine cellar and pantry: buy eggs, flour, sugar, cocoa, tea, pipeweed and ale

4. Tend to the garden/flower beds: pull weeds, water flowers, water vegetables and prune roses

5. Yell at the troublesome tweens who are messing up my lawn!

6. Put up a scarecrow in the garden

7. Bake a cheesecake for the guests tomorrow

8. Sweep the floor

9. Polish, dust, and clean the furniture

10. Go to {name:hobbitTavern_prefix} {name:hobbitTavern_suffix}, have a nice mug of ale, and smoke my pipe!

Visitor's Log[]

Written by ? Type: Shire

Visitor's Log

Author: {name:hobbit_male} and {name:hobbit_female}


{name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_male} {name:hobbit_surname}
{name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}

How to Make Kebab[]

Written by ? Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad,gulf

How to Make Kebab

Author: {name:nearHaradrim_male}


How to make Kebab?

A question that many have wondered in their time, my friend. Worry not; it's quite simple!

You must first obtain a Kebab stand, for by no other means is the production of Kebab achieved. Once this is done, you must come into possession of the meat.

By tradition, Kebab is made with many kinds of meat. There are some who use cows; others, pigs; even sheep and rabbit meat are sometimes used. I have tasted many kinds. All are quite delicious! Oh, the taste of a fine Kebab...

Excuse me, my friend.

So now, you have the meat. What to do next? Set the Kebab stand upon a stove, and light the fuel.

As it begins to heat, you may add the first slice of meat. Place it carefully upon the pole, where it shall begin to spin. The spinning ensures a thorough cooking of the meat on all sides, within, and without.

You may add more meat as desired, but do not overload the Kebab stand.

Before long, the Kebab will have finished cooking. And now, my good friend, you are ready! Slice the cooked Kebab away from the stand, and enjoy it! Then slice some more, and serve it to your wife; your husband; your children; your friends... or keep it for yourself, as I often do! Excellent!

But there is another matter, unfortunately, of which I must warn you. The spices and salting that go into a good Kebab can make it quite indistinguishable from other varieties. Indeed, there have even been reports of some unscrupulous merchants selling Kebab they have cooked from spoiled meat... or worse.

So I advise you buy only from trusted Kebab merchants, or cook your own Kebab. For what more is there to life than the simple pleasure of enjoying one's own cooking?

Lament for an Ent[]

Written by Campinator Types: eregion, woodland_realm, lothlorien

Lament for an Ent

Author: {name:sindarin_male}


O fallen tree
O broken bough
Your spirit flees
Away from now

O fallen giant
O mighty one
No longer pliant
{choose:Your life is done/Your bark is dun}

O drying leaves
O empty soul
The forest grieves
On every knoll

O barren roots
O dying tree
Bear no more fruits
Your soul is free

Lament of Númenor[]

Written by Forten Types: rivendell, eriador, gondor, lothlorien, lindon

Lament of Númenor

Author: Duinhir of the Faithful


Ten thousand stars adorned the sky;
each bore sharp fruit of winking light.
They wove grey lengths of fulgent fire
and laid them on the keening night.

Ten thousand trees rose from the earth;
their leaves were green and gold of yore.
Their boughs were bent in sighing song
from hill to hill, and shore to shore.

And in those trees, ten thousand birds
were weaving myriad melodies;
the moonlight fell on feathered pearls
borne on the silvered ocean-breeze;

and in that sea, ten thousand waves
were foaming gently on the strand
when joyfully, the sailing-ships
approached the Gifted Land.

The shores were graced with weathered hulls,
snow-white the sea-foam on their prows;
the sailors sang to wailing gulls,
and washed the seal-blood from their brows.

The wingless and the flightless next
felt speeding bolt and bleeding spear;
the trees looked slowly on, perplexed,
with ruddy feet and rosy hair:

to them were turned ten thousand blades.
The sawmills started then to sing,
and for those trees were wind and waves,
and for the barren land, a king.

Then earth and stars they under-mined,
dark coal burnt blackly in their hold;
the resting night they roused, and lined
with lamps of royal gold.

Ten thousand stars are veiled in void,
when nightshade blossoms on the West.
A bitter shadow broods above
and flowers in our wretched rest.

Ten thousand spectral boughs are raised
amid this night, amid our reign;
in far-flung motes of memory
they unsubstantially remain.

Beneath those boughs, ten thousand cages
glisten in an anxious glow;
the lonely moon casts empty light
upon the trembling waves below.

Beneath those waves, ten thousand fish
are swirling in a silver-swarm.
The dark tide rises in the night:
serene, amid the storm.

The Lands of the Gulf[]

Written by Karseius Types: gondor,rivendell

The Lands of the Gulf

Author: Parveldir of Gondor


To us, the lands of Harad are shrouded in mystery. The days of the four Ship-kings have long since passed, and with them has passed most of our lore about the far southern lands. Only fragments remain of what the great scholars wrote before me.

While rummaging through the old libraries at Pelargir, I found an ancient scroll which told of the farthest of the Southron realms, known in their tongue as Khopazûl: the Eastern Gulf of Harad. The Men of that land are said to be the fiercest and cruelest of all the Haradrim. It is said that hard times grow hard Men, and nowhere are the times harder than in the Gulfen lands, for those Men are born for one purpose only: war.

The scroll tells that those lands are ruled not by a King, but by many quarrelling Chiefs and Princes, competing for power. Some of these command only a few villages, while others rule mighty cities. If the ancient scroll is to believed, the greatest of their warriors ride monstrous grey beasts larger than a house into battle, which they capture in the unknown lands of the uttermost South.

In his infinite wisdom, our great King Hyarmendacil the First did not deign to conquer the Gulfen lands. Though he subdued the Southrons of the Harnen and the Harfelais, he demanded only a yearly tribute from the Men of Khopazûl. The great deserts of Harad proved to be their salvation, as King Hyarmendacil knew that crossing the burning sands would be too costly. But ever since we lost our southernmost holdings, the tributes have ceased and we have heard no word from the mysterious lands of the Eastern Gulf.

Do those ancient cities still stand, with their Chiefs and Princes still quarrelling, or have they been buried by the endless sands of the South? We may never know. But of late the South Wind brings fearsome rumours. Men speak of great hosts of Southron warriors, massing beyond the Harnen, as if readying themselves to march upon our lands. Some rumours speak also of great beasts marching alongside the Men of Darkness. If these tales are true, we can only hope that these are not the Men of Khopazûl come out of the forgotten past upon their great beasts of war.

Last Feast of Timur[]

Written by Dragonovith Type: rhun

Last Feast of Timur

Author: Rakhim the Poet


In the palace of Karakun, royal seat of Timur Khan the Proud, king of the Rhúdel-men, the three most powerful warlords of the realm - Yerbolat, Serik and Aslan - drink in feigned merriment, waiting for the last pronouncement of their dying king.

'Where is this wine from? Certainly not from Rhúdel. From Dorwinion perhaps?' asks Yerbolat Noyan, lord of Ariskala.

'Yes, it tastes like Dorwinion wine,' says Serik Noyan, lord of Beybek.

'Elvish waste-water, that's what it is,' says Aslan Noyan, lord of Munbat.

Timur Khan, a king without heir, enters his majestic feast hall through the upper floor, which gives him a wide view of all the guests present in his court. The Khan, weakened by old age, his face a deathly pale, arrives upon on a wheeled chair, pushed by two of his golden guards. Yet he remains proud: and so, refusing help, he stands up from his wheeled chair and holds himself against the rail of the balcony; letting his colourful kaftan, ornamented with gleaming gold, fall to his feet.

The music stops and the slaves, who were serving food and drinks, leave the scene. In the lower floor, the noble vassals of the Khan look up to their lord, who addresses them thus:

'My good and loyal vassals, it is indeed a delight to have you all here tonight,' says Timur Khan. 'I hope the wine is to your liking, and the food as well.'

'Wine so flavourful as this could have only been made by the able hands of your personal winemakers, my great king,' says Yerbolat Noyan, lord of Ariskala.

'Oh, Yerbolat the Wise! It is a great pleasure to have you here in my palace. Now please, tell me, wiselord Yerbolat: the gold mines, which I personally granted you - are they yielding a satisfactory profit? Are they effectively contributing to the treasury of Ariskala?' says Timur Khan.

Yerbolat Noyan says yes and, feeling unworthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

'My lips have never touched such stupendous wine, great king,' says Serik Noyan, lord of Beybek.

'I am assured they have before, humble Serik of Beybek! Certainly the five hundred slaves, which I gifted to you in your marriage with Princess Anara, are raising the necessary profits to purchase the best wines that this world could offer?' says Timur Khan.

Serik Noyan nods his head and, feeling unworthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

'Such marvellous wine! My throat shall never taste its like again, great king,' says Aslan Noyan, lord of Munbat.

'My dear Aslan, always a bulwark of honesty! Your presence here is as a beam of light which shines upon all our souls. Please, satisfy the curiosity of an old man. Are the wide steppe-lands of Munbat, which I granted you last year, to your liking? Are the people of Munbat hard-working? Do they pay you their taxes at the end of each month?'

Aslan Noyan says yes and, feeling unworthy of the Khan's generosity, lowers his head in shame.

And now whispering to his guards, Timur Khan gives a strange order. He is promptly lifted up and placed above the balcony's rail, where he stands up, held firmly by both of his guards. No one dares speak on the lower floor; the vassals only watch in awe, and anxiety.

Slowly, Yerbolat Noyan places his hand on the grip of his scimitar, crafted by a master smith of Harad; Serik Noyan grasps the dagger hidden beneath his kaftan; Aslan Noyan whispers to the captain of his household guard, a famed warrior-champion. Meanwhile, the other nobles in attendance, all of them lords of wide lands and mighty hosts - yet weaker and lesser men than Yerbolat, Serik and Aslan - reach nervously for their own weapons.

'My vassals, my lords, my friends, to whom I have faithfully listened for many long years. Hear me now, for no living man in this palace has fair reason to complain about my rule,' says Timur Khan. 'All that I see before me now is a pack of hungry dogs, waiting for an old man to die, ready to fight in the mud for the least scrap of his dirty bones! In truth, I should let you all slay yourselves and defile my palace with your filthy blood! But no; here you all sit, waiting so eagerly for death - for my death - so that is what I shall give to you! For wrath and fury, come and claim your inheritance!'

Timur Khan opens his arms and casts himself in strength from the balcony's rail.

And beneath the balcony there stands a great pile of wine jars - at least, that is what his vassals think they are - though they are not wine jars. For as Timur Khan falls into the pile of jars, they break open at once under the sheer weight of the impact. But no wine leaks out from the jars. No, what leaks from the jars is a sea of writhing blue flames, ghastly and sorcerous, and in the blink of an eye the flames swallow first the wretched vassals - then the whole of the majestic feast hall - and spreading throughout countless hallways and rooms, at last the entire palace is consumed in fire.

The people of Karakun are awoken by a terrible sound like the cracking of thunder upon earth. Looking outside, as one voice they cry out in terror; for where there once stood a palace mighty and magnificent, the seat of their great king, now in its place burns a roaring inferno of diabolical blue fire, devouring wood and stone alike with an unquenchable hunger.

When the sun rises up in the Uttermost East, the great palace is no more. Only a black stain of ashes upon the ground bears witness to the last feast of Timur Khan.

On Lembas[]

Written by ? Type: lothlorien

On Lembas

Author: {name:sindarin_female}


Lembas! What finer waybread can an Edhel ask for on their travels? It is enough to fill one's hunger for many a day and still have enough. We wrap it in fine mallorn leaves which keep the loaves fresh as long as they are needed.

By custom, the craft to make them is only know by few maidens among the Edhil: the Ivonwin, who know the ancient recipe passed down from Ivon herself. Only a Queen or high Lady may distribute the lembas, and if one should receive it from her, it is a sign of great favour.

To ... (Letter about Denethor)[]

Written by Boost the Cat Type: gondor

To {name:gondor_male}


Brother, I will not waste any words with introduction. Something is terribly wrong with Lord Denethor. His mind has become as a hollow shell; he seems focused on nothing but a great fear for the Eye in the Dark Tower. He no longer cares for his people. Many a day he locks himself in the Tower of Ecthelion, leaving the outside world to fend for itself.

I feel it too, my brother. Far across the horizon... Mordor grows ever stronger, the Enemy intent on wiping out the race of Men.

Yet Denethor grows ever more distant. He is fearful of the future, and rightly so; but he seems to have given up all hope, leaving our people to ourselves. If something is not done, I fear the worst: for the Lord Steward, and for Gondor, and for us.

So I plead to you, brother! I need advice! What can I do, here within the walls of the White City? Is there anything that can be done for Lord Denethor? Or are we doomed to destruction, not only at the hands of Mordor, but also by our own inaction?

Please respond soon!
Your sister,

Letter of a Merchant[]

Written by Karseius Types: rhun,nomad,gulf

Letter of a Merchant

Author: {name:rhun_male}


{name:rhun_male}, you mindless buffoon! I cannot believe you have persuaded me to do this. "Let us go South, my brother! Let us hunt, and make our fortune from the skins of the Southron beasts!" you said. "It will be so easy," you said. But what have I found here? Nothing but misery! It has taken me months to cross the accursed desert. Without those stinking sand-wanderers, I would have died of thirst! And now, I am in this land of savages, who sacrifice their sick and their old like beasts upon their altars! Yes, I bought some fine furs and skins on their markets, but I swear to the Great Eye, Brother, I shall not even dream of making this journey again! If I make it back to {choose:Rhúnost/Atalak/Taragal/Karslan/Karanoda} alive, you will have to pay me double!

A Letter to the King (1)[]

Written by Aidan Types: durins_folk, ruins

A Letter to the King (1)

Author: Balin son of Fundin


To King Dáin II,

It brings me honour beyond words to inform you that Khazad-dûm is reclaimed!

Upon first arriving at the Dimrill Dale we were assailed by a small host of Orcs, which we took great relish in defeating. We have buried those of our company that fell beneath the grass by the Mirrormere.

We have taken residence in the Twenty-first Hall. I was the first to walk beyond the gates of Azanulbizar and gaze upon Durin's Bridge. I was the first to return to the ancient home of our forefathers - of our kin.

What was once lost is ours again! All Durin's folk will sing of this day for years to come: the day we took back our home!

Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.

A Second Letter to the King []

Written by Aidan Types: durins_folk, ruins

A Second Letter to the King

Author: Balin son of Fundin


To King Dáin II,

I hope this letter finds you well. The colony of Khazad-dûm is thriving.

Shortly upon settling in the Twenty-first Hall we set out to work, for there was much to be done. Since then we have reclaimed many of the lost chambers and halls, expanding our dwellings, day by day uncovering more that was thought forever lost. Many forgotten treasures have been found, including Durin's Axe, which I have taken for myself.

The fires burn in the deep; the mines and forges have returned to life. There are no words to describe the joy we have!

You will hear from me soon,

Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.

A Third Letter to the King []

Written by Aidan Types: durins_folk, ruins

A Third Letter to the King

Author: Balin son of Fundin


To King Dáin II,

The days grow shorter and wearier.

Many months ago I sent Óin with some others to the Hollin Gate, but they have not returned. I do not know what has become of them.

I am not well, and I feel haunted by an unknown madness. Uncounted hours have I spent gazing into the Mirrormere. There is dark evil in the depths of Moria; I fear worse than Orcs may yet lurk in the shadows beneath.

We must tread carefully.

Balin son of Fundin, Lord of Moria.

Longbow Etiquette[]

Written by Dragonovith Type: dale

Longbow Etiquette

Author: Asger of Redwater


Drinking in a tavern in the city of Dale, I met a hairy man called Gunnar and his company of forty archers, strong men who sell their bows to lords and nobles: men whose only trade is in war.

That man Gunnar, who, I noticed, was a very proud fellow, offered to hire me as his company's chronicler when I told him that writing was my trade. I was supposed to record in text the deeds and stories of his men. I promptly accepted; I needed the coin!

For many days and nights I followed that merry band of mercenaries. Every single one of them was a hardened archer, trained since a young age. They wielded longbows made of firm, yet flexible, wood - crafted by themselves - which were just long wooden sticks most of the time, because, as Gunnar explained to me, they remove the bow string when they don't need to use the bow, to preserve the wood from bending.

My first battle, which I only watched from afar, happened two weeks later, when we were travelling close to the southern border of the Kingdom of Dale. Crooked and evil creatures - Orcs! - coming up from the savage lands of old Rhovanion were pillaging and raiding the countryside.

Our presence was noted by the scared townsfolk. Not long thereafter we were found by armed men loyal to the local lord, and so we were brought to his castle. That lord, as you can imagine, had an urgent need for fighting men. The noble - a certain Lord Hakon - was a fat and unpleasant man, known by the local folk as an abusive tyrant. But when he threw a weighty bag of coins at our feet, Gunnar and his archers promptly pledged their service to him!

Accompanied by one hundred spearmen, we followed the smoke which was coming from a nearby estate, and set up on a hill overlooking the farm and its fields. There we met the Orcs.

Those savage creatures had been raiding the granaries and making off with the cattle, but they soon noticed our coming, and formed a clumsy battle line. Slowly they marched uphill, all the while shouting insults in their grotesque voices.

But the archers were ready, and Gunnar gave the order, and so a torrent of long wooden shafts with bright white feathers and steel tips flew to the sky. Ere they began to fall, a second volley was flying from the archers' bows.

How terrible was that rain of arrows! They pierced flesh, mail and leather with ease, like hot knives into a slab of lard! In seconds the Orcs' formation was broken, and, whining of fear, the survivors turned and fled, running back to their stinking caves in the South.

In no time at all, it seemed, we were back on the road - seeking other troubled lands, and new rich lords with need of fighting men.

Promising Riches[]

Written by ? Types: durins_folk, blue_mountains, dale, dorwinion

Promising Riches

Author: {name:dwarf_male} son of {name:dwarf_male}


Promising Riches: a Merchant's Diary, part one


Being a merchant is no easy job. We traders have to travel for many months, across perilous lands, through grim weather, and among unfriendly peoples. It is a risky business, more often dangerous than profitable.

In one of my visits to Lake-town, I heard a stranger from the Far East telling a most curious tale. He spoke of a great cavern of crystal gems, deep inside the faraway Mountains of the Wind. Though many had gone off in search of those riches, none had ever returned.

Those strange stories stayed with me as I journeyed home. I was greatly intrigued by the thought of such wealth and riches. Though the road to the treasures may be long and perilous, I reasoned, if I could claim them and return alive, I would not have to tramp through unfriendly lands any more to earn my living. If the strange man had spoken truly, the amount of gems he described would bring me profit enough to last all the long years of my life!

I knew peril lay on the road ahead, but I could not let this chance slip by. And so began my journey. I packed provisions for many months, and from my humble hall in the Blue Mountains I set out upon the road.

Troubling Roads[]

Written by ? Types: durins_folk, blue_mountains, dale, dorwinion

Troubling Roads

Author: {name:dwarf_male} son of {name:dwarf_male}


Troubling Roads: a Merchant's Diary, part two


To my great surprise, my journey across Eriador and the lands of the Horsemen was without incident. No outlaws found me upon the road, and though I saw signs of Goblin-tracks, none assaulted me or my camp.

So I continued my journey eastward, taking the usual route south of Mirkwood. For no amount of gold in the world would I enter that forsaken, spider-infested death-trap! Instead I travelled through the empty lands of old Rhovanion, passing by the many familiar ruins that litter the land. It is said that long ago a nation of Men existed there, but of that people nothing but stone and memory survives.

One dark night, while camping on the south-eastern eaves of Mirkwood, I heard a loud clanking sound. I sat up and looked to the south, where, to my utmost horror, I saw a large column of iron-clad Goblins heading my way! I was almost spotted, but for my quick thinking, and the nearby bushes. The Goblins seemed to be on the way into Mirkwood. What evil lies in there, I pray I will never know, but for my part I am glad I escaped the Goblins' gaze.

The next day I set out again. The road was mostly quiet all the to way the trading markets of Dorwinion. Those markets were alive with news, and the hustle and bustle of whispers from foreign lands. The Men there seemed worried. None gave me - a lonely Dwarf - much notice. I questioned one of the other traders there, who told me that their Easterling neighbours were sending massed hosts of warriors nigh to the western borders of their land, stirring diplomatic trouble in the Vintner Court.

I did not tarry much longer in Dorwinion, and soon boarded a ferry to a Khazad trading post along the Redwater. Despite the wine-tasters' warnings, the Easterlings encamped nearby took no issue with me. I suspect they were already familiar with my people thanks to the Khazad of the Red Mountains, from whom they greatly benefit in trade. The folk there restocked my provisions, and then I went on my way, leaving the known countries behind for the wild, untamed lands of the East.

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume I[]

Written by ? Type: rhun

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume I

Author: Amir of Arisan


With the Golden Court turning its gaze to foreign lands, they tasked many a scholar such as I to investigate lands that might be conquered for profit. I had long borne a love of trees and all other things that grow, so for my part, I was sent deep into the wild, clouded forests north of our homeland. Herein are detailed the events of that expedition.

These woods have long been known in our old tales and songs. Many of us who were raised in the villages to the north remember well the tales our fathers told us of these woods - of dark spirits and forest-sprites moving like shadows, stalking the woods; of lumbermen disappearing, never to be seen again.

These tales are considered naught but foolish superstition by most members of the Court. They, of course, seek to exploit the mighty timber in those woods for the war effort. I, too, considered the folk-tales naught but old legends.

With my preparations complete, I departed the capital and, after a few days of travel, reached the border towns near the forest. The Court's work upon the eaves of the forest was already underway. Wide fields of huge tree stumps stretched in all directions, and lumbermen were at work, hacking away at the nearest trees which still lived. They paid me little notice as I passed.

Before long, the harsh sounds of axes and lumber-mills vanished away behind me, replaced by the tranquility of the misty woods.

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume II[]

Written by ? Type: rhun

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume II

Author: Amir of Arisan


The trees of this land towered far above the mightiest temples of the capital. As I wandered deeper, the trees became ever taller and taller, and taller yet again, their tops vanishing into the mist. Never in all my life had I beheld such greatness. I began to wonder if it is indeed worth cutting down these marvels of the world for the sake of our wars of conquest. Alas, I am a mere scholar following orders. The higher plans and devices of the Golden Court elude me.

Delving ever deeper into the woods, I witnessed many kinds of beasts and weeds one could not find in the outside world. I tried to record descriptions in my book, and I took great care to depict as many of the marvellous flowers and creatures as I could. Truly, it felt like I walked within a different world - or perhaps the world as it once was.

However, there was no sign of any Dark Spirits or Forest-sprites wishing to haunt me, contrary to what the villagers would have me believe. Only the tranquil sounds of nature's peace filling the air as the mist swayed gently through the boughs of the trees.

There came a day when I had walked for many hours. I was deep in the woods now, with no sign of Man's touch anywhere to be seen. Evening was drawing nigh and I was preparing to camp for the night by the roots of a great tree. It was then when a large bough almost fell on me from above! The cursed thing must have been broken by the wind!

Luckily, I was fast enough to evade it. Yet I felt the tree did not want me to camp near it - as strange as that may sound - and so I moved my camp into a little open glade.

Night fell swiftly. I lit my campfire, and lay down to rest. Sleep was reaching me - when all of a sudden I heard an odd noise in the nearby bushes. I remember it sounding almost like the call of a voice. I stood up in alarm, looking for what may have caused the commotion, though I could see nothing.

Then - a few moments later - a rabbit jumped out of the bushes.

Silly me, I thought, and I went back to sleep.

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume III[]

Written by ? Type: rhun

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume III

Author: Amir of Arisan


The next day I continued my journey, taking more notes of any useful-seeming plants I could find. The trees towered higher and higher, and I felt that I was nearing the heart of the forest.

As the day wore on I felt a change in the wind, and then without warning, a fierce summer storm unleashed itself upon the forest. Rain beat against the branches, pouring from the leaves, and the sound of thunder loomed large above me. I feared that my notes would be ruined by the weather! Luckily, I was able to seek cover beneath a large nearby tree while I waited for the storm to pass.

Just as I was preparing to set off again, I heard the same sound I heard the other night. I looked to the bushes and saw nothing. I turned around - and behind me there stood a tall and slender figure in shadowy robes.

I could not move from the shock. I could only look into his eyes as he stared at me.

A forest-sprite! The legends were true! I was wrong, and so was the Court...

But then there was another, and more to my side, so swiftly that I had not even noticed their coming. I was surrounded.

I dropped my notebook to the ground and tried to run, but I could not move. I cried out in fear, for I knew my doom had come. A moment passed... and nothing happened. The beings stood there, in silence... watching me.

Suddenly there came another figure out of the woods, who seemed to whisper in a strange tongue to one of the sprites watching me. And even before I could wonder at what was being said, there came a rush of air, I felt a dart pierce me in the neck, and I fell down into darkness.

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume IV[]

Written by ? Type: rhun

Expedition into the Misty Woods, Volume IV

Author: Amir of Arisan


I awoke, lying on the forest floor.

Footsteps were passing around me. I cried out in fear, and sat up - when I saw they were only a few lumbermen, laughing quite heartily.

I looked around, and saw that I was lying close to their lumbermill, near the eaves of the forest. They helped me up, and asked if I had drunk too much araq. I tried telling them of my experience, but they laughed me off as a drunken fool.

I was not certain how much time had passed, but I seemed unscathed and all my belongings were there. My notebook was next to me. I soon found, to my great surprise, that all the pages I had written detailing the paths and trees in the deeps of the forest were no longer there!

My earlier drawings of the flowers and creatures from the outskirts of the forest remained. However, I knew I had failed at my expedition's goal, and moreover I knew this would not bode well for my reception at the Court. After bidding the lumbermen farewell, I gathered my possessions and set out upon the long road back to the capital.

I came in time to the Golden Court and detailed the full length of my expedition, but, to my utter lack of surprise, they dismissed my story concerning the forest-sprites as nothing but delusion. When I gave the account of the lumbermen finding me asleep, the courtiers began to laugh outright! I had no notes, nor any proof, of what I had seen, and before long I found myself the laughing stock of the Court and all the scholars therein. I could not endure it, so I decided to leave my position and return to my old village in the north.

At home I spent much time contemplating my experiences. I wondered what those beings were and where they came from, and most importantly, why they spared my life. My mind was restless.

Many years passed. I could no longer study the lore of trees and growing things, so I took up the life of a gardener, tending the ruined forests near my home, planting new saplings here and there.

And then, one sunny morning out in the fields, I heard the same odd call I had heard in the forest, so long ago. I looked here and there, into the woods, and at first I could not believe my eyes. There they were - the same robed figures I had encountered all those years before!

One of them raised their hand in a gesture of greeting towards me. I finally understood. I smiled, and a moment later, they were gone, fading like shadows into the forest.

Moving South[]

Written by ? Type: dunland

Moving South

Author: {dunlending_male}


It seems that we men of Dunland are not alone in our fight to take back our homelands! We can now move on the filthy Strawhead villages. We have one to follow!

Saruman. We will swear allegiance to the White Wizard.

We will let the fields run red with the blood of the Strawheads! Our sheep will be able to roam free, and our families can spread seed through the lands...

He will deliver us sweet revenge! Saruman will make Dunland great once more!

To Abadir, Prince of Khopazûl[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,gulf

To Abadir, Prince of Khopazûl

Author: {name:nearHaradrim_male}


Tawînen: This day, the nineteenth of the seventh month, year 1050 of the Third Age:

My {choose:most exalted/most beloved/most gracious/most excellent} Prince, your {choose:true servant/loyal servant} brings urgent tidings from the West.

Not two days past, Ciryaher of Gondor conquered Ain an-Ahâr, and thus all the western coastlands are now his by claim of might. I learned that Ciryaher declared himself King of all the South, and is consolidating his forces in the city of Umbar. According to my spies, he intends to continue his conquests soon, and pursue further regions to the East and South.

The Adûnâim host is not as large as we feared, yet their strength and cruelty is beyond all our experience. As your true servant, I strongly advise you not to declare war against Ciryaher. I do not believe we could defeat his armies in open battle... even if all our Mûmakil were loosed upon the field. Instead, if you offer him tributes of gold and ivory, he might leave our lands alone, so we could remain at peace.

I continue to disguise myself amongst the royal interpreters. I hope to bring you better news soon, my Prince.

I remain your most loyal servant.

A Warning[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,gulf

A Warning

Author: {name:umbar_male}


People of the lands of all Ahâr! The following is urgent business, I beseech you! Beware of those Sand-Usurers!

It has been two moons since I acquired a horse from {choose:Ijdi-ilel/Izêm-ulzuz/Ayûkaph-amâm} for the proud price of a hundred silver coins! And what did I get? An unruly creature, impossible to handle! When I saw the horse I was staggered by its magnificent black and white stripes, and I hoped that with it I could impress my wife when I finally came home. Now I am stuck with this beast which refuses to follow me, making hideous noises all day long!

Stay away from the desert-dwellers; they will deceive you!

A Slave's Lament[]

Written by Campinator Type: mordor

A Slave's Lament

Author: Slave of Núrn


The master's whip makes fearful slaves
but still we work among the wheat.
For what is left but fearful knaves
after we've been harshly beat?

Jewels among the Sands[]

Written by ? Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,gulf

Jewels among the Sands

Author: {name:nearHaradrim_female} of Poros


The burning sands of the desert are a place no traveller should tread. We of the Sunlands are no strangers to harsh and unforgiving climates, but the desert is too much, even for us.

I pity those who have cause to journey across the inner deserts. Merchants and messengers, mostly. They pack their provisions, venture away, and if the Mighty One wills it, they return - though parched and burned by the heat. But some who make that journey do not come back to us.

Though, among the peoples who dwell near to the desert, there exists a curious legend. They speak of some few lucky ones, who, long thought perished in the burning sands, instead returned alive to tell what they found therein. These fortunate ones say that even as they wandered, parched and dazed, close to death, they came upon a place of blessed life. Wondrous places they speak of, where cool water springs, and living trees grow, even beside the very dust of the desert... these are the jewels among the sands, which in the trader-tongue are named Oases.

I do not know whether to believe these stories. I have never met anyone who has seen an Oasis with their own eyes. They seem to me too good to be true. Perhaps they are old, confused folk-tales, from times long ago, when waters flowed in courses that now lie dry and dead. Perhaps they are empty lies, comforts made for grieving families whose men ventured into the desert and were never seen again.

But my dear friend, {name:nearHaradrim_male}, has lately been speaking much of Oases. He has become quite obsessed. It seems that he intends to venture out into the desert, and go in search of an Oasis. This seems madness to me, and I tell him he will surely die; but he dismisses my concerns. If he should make that journey, I fear it may be the last I see of him...


Written by Karseius Types: southron,umbar,gondor


Author: {name:gondor_male} of Gondor


Hen-na-Charad: This day, the ninth of the fourth month, year 1078 of the Third Age:

It has been almost thirty years now since our beloved King Hyarmendacil defeated the Southron Princes and brought their lands into our realm. His gracious rule has been benevolent to the Haradrim so far, allowing many of their kind to keep their customs, beliefs, and worldly possessions.

But despite his greatest efforts, the Southrons remain largely indifferent or even outright hostile to us. The tribesmen of the Harnen have proven especially unruly, but we shall subdue them in time. From my loyal Southron servants I have learned that a new custom has spread amongst the Haradrim. A greeting, to sully our Kingdom in secret: "May the Serpent strangle the tree" they whisper, yet only when alone.

Silly Southrons! I will advise His Highness to proclaim that every tongue uttering those words shall be torn out! His Grace has given those savages enough time to adapt. They do not deserve his generosity, but his sword!

Of the Kingdom of Doriath[]

Written by Aldan Tanneo Types: lindon, rivendell, lothlorien, eregion, woodland_realm, eriador, gondor

Of the Kingdom of Doriath

Author: Elenwë of the Grey Havens


§lOf the Kingdom of Doriath§r
§oBy Elenwë of the Grey Havens§r
§oCopy made by {name:sindarin_male}.§r

Before the {choose:Firstborn/Eldar} awoke, before the first Dawn and the first sunset, the Great Forests covered all the lands of {choose:Endor/Middle-earth/the Wide World}.

When those who would later become the {choose:Calaquendi/Elves of the Light} arrived in Beleriand, on their way to {choose:Valinor/the Blessed Realm}, they rested on the shores of Middle-earth... and some of them remained, never to cross {choose:Belegaer/the Sundering Seas}. Amongst those folk was Elwë of the Teleri, who would later be known as Elu Thingol; the High King of all Sindar who walked upon Earth in the First Age of {choose:Arda/Eä/the Sun}.

Thingol met Melian of the Maiar in the dark woods of Nan Elmoth, where sang the nightingale. The beauty of her voice from afar enchanted him, and in a clearing of silver grass, under the dim twilight of {choose:Varda/the stars}, he came upon Melian and stood there listening to her song. The years passed, and the trees grew up around him, and yet he remained there; under the fair enchantment of her song, he forgot all thoughts of the Valar, the Two Trees, and even his own people.

When at last Thingol awoke, it was only to find his people gone, save for his most loyal followers and friends. The greater part of the Teleri had come to believe their king was lost forever; and under the lordship of Thingol's brother Olwë, they passed over Sea to the Blessed Realm. But Thingol and his folk yet remained; and there in the forests of Region and Neldoreth, King Thingol made his realm, and Melian sat by his side, fairer and wiser than all Queens of Arda in ages since. They named their dwellings Menegroth, the Thousand Caves. The power of Melian protected the Kingdom, set like a great fence unseen about the forests which Thingol ruled, a ward against all foes; and so their realm was called Doriath, the Land of the Girdle, in the tongue of the {choose:Sindar/Grey-elves}.

Thingol and Melian alone ruled all Beleriand, until the Exiled Noldor arrived, led by Fëanor. To the Noldorin lords Thingol in his grace gave the lordship of wide realms he needed not, keeping for himself only the forest-lands of Region and Neldoreth. And while the Exiles waged their ill-fated War against {choose:Morgoth/the Enemy/the Dark Foe in the North}, the Girdle of Melian kept Doriath safe and undisturbed.

In those days Thingol gathered to himself much wealth, in gold, silver, and precious gems; and strength of arms, in sword, spear, and wrought mail; and the treasure-hoard of Doriath grew vast indeed.

Yet the wealth of Thingol was to be the downfall of Doriath. After Beren and Lúthien left the country (a tale too long to be told in full here) and Húrin son of Galdor returned the Nauglamír to Menegroth, the Elven-king sought the help of the {choose:Dwarves/Naugrim} in order to forge the Nauglamír anew. Then the Silmaril of Fëanor, which Beren and Lúthien had taken from the crown of Morgoth himself, was set within the new-forged necklace; and never was any treasure so bright and beautiful as the Nauglamír in those days, nor have been any treasures since.

But the Dwarves grew jealous of their own work and greatly desired to keep the Nauglamír for themselves. They came in strength of war to Doriath, and demanded the necklace from King Thingol. He replied that the Nauglamír was his by right, as truly it was; yet his response awoke in the Dwarves such wrath that they slew him there and then, in the caves of Menegroth, within his own kingdom. Thus ever since has been a bitter grudge between the folk of Elves and Dwarves.

Beren and the Green-elves avenged the slaying of Thingol, attacking the Dwarves as they fled in disgrace back to Nogrod. Melian departed from Beleriand, and returned, it is said, to the Gardens of Lórien in Valinor, where she still grieves for her husband and her king. And the Girdle of Doriath was no more.

Alas for Doriath the fair! Alas for the Thousand Caves, and King Thingol, and Melian the wise!

Thereafter, the remaining Sons of Fëanor invaded Doriath, and they slew Dior, Thingol's heir, as they sought to reclaim the Jewel of their father. Thus in kinslaying was dealt the utmost Ruin of Doriath, and thus did the ruinous Oath of Fëanor ensnare the House of Thingol in its doom.

Yet the Sons of Fëanor did not capture the Silmaril of Beren that they sought. It was borne away by Elwing, daughter of Dior, to the havens of Sirion, for upon that Silmaril was laid a much greater doom: and it shines on to this day upon the brow of Eärendil, a star of hope in the morning and evening sky.

Of Power[]

Written by ? Types: mordor, angmar

Of Power


Did you ever hear the tragedy of Morgoth the Mighty?

I thought not. It's not a story the Elves would tell you. It's a Dark legend.

Morgoth was a Lord of the Darkness, so powerful and so wise, he could use his magic to influence the Elves to create Orcs... he had such a knowledge of the Darkness that he could even make the ones that served him stronger. The Darkness is a pathway to many abilities some consider to be unnatural.

He became so powerful... the only thing he was afraid of was losing his power - which eventually, of course, he did. Unfortunately, he taught his apprentice everything he knew... then the hosts of Valinor defeated him and cast him out through the Doors of Night. Ironic! He could master the fates of others, but not his own.

Is it possible to learn this power?

Not from an Elf...

Off to Barad-dûr[]

Written by Campinator Types: mordor, angmar, dol_guldur, gundabad

Off to Barad-dûr

Author: {name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix}


The night is long and the day is bright
but we, the Orcs, don't need a light.
We scatter enemies in fright
on our way to Barad-dûr.

Work, work, work, lads!
We're off to Barad-dûr.

Our enemies they run in fear
when our tramping footsteps gather near
and so we march and march and march and march.
For we're off to Barad-dûr.

Work, work, work, lads!
We're off to Barad-dûr.

Over the mountains tall and cold
we venture everywhere, so bold!
And then we turn to that stronghold
the mighty Barad-dûr.

Work, work, work, lads!
We're off to Barad-dûr.

Old Grudges[]

Written by Goran Type: dunland

Old Grudges

Author: {name:dunlending_male}


We will never forget the great wrongs done to us by the filthy Strawheaded horsemen!

Long ago, our people dwelt freely in the fields and meadows east of the Mountains. But then they came. A great host of Strawheads down from the North, riding their accursed horses. They pillaged our homes and burnt our villages, and they drove us out. The Strawheads robbed us of everything we had once known, even of our very lives, as our people fled into the hills. And in the hills we live to this day.

Though it was long ago, we remember the old homelands in our songs and tales, and we will never forget what the Strawheads did to us.

And now we have a new hope. The great Conjurer in the Iron Tower has promised to drive out the filthy Strawheads and give us our lands back! With his power on our side, we will be unstoppable. We shall finally have our vengeance!

Death to the Strawheads! Death to the robbers from the North!

On our Eastern Kin[]

Written by Goran Types: dorwinion, woodland_realm

On our Eastern Kin

Author: {name:sindarin_male} of Dorwinion


Many of our western cousins have all but forgotten about our kin in the ancient birthwoods of the Far East. On my travels far and wide, I have visited their realms and learned of their ways.

Thought by many in the West to be forever lost, the Avari still maintain great strongholds in the deep woods of the East. Fiercely independent, and even less trusting of strangers than Thranduil's kin, they patrol our ancient birthwoods and maintain their communities.

They, however, have good reason to fear outsiders. I would have fallen victim to one of their darts had they not recognized me as one of the Edhelrim. They told me tales of constant skirmishes on their borders, with savage Ephedrim - and even savager Yrch. Rarely indeed do they receive friendly guests. All but the Hadhodrim from the Ered Gerain, and the few faithful Ephedrim, wish to see those fair forests burnt to the ground.

Though it may surprise the loremasters of the West, the Edhil in these woods have not fallen far from our grace and knowledge. They build their dwellings amid tree-bough, and within cave, as well as upon the ground. Their constructions rival those of Thranduil and Celeborn's kin in the West. They now dwell deep in the woods and conceal their settlements with great skill: so well-hidden that only an Edhel could spot them. Their warriors clothe themselves in garments of lavender and green. They are skilled masters of the shadows and almost all their blades bear a venom on them - something that would be seen as dishonourable to our western kin, but necessary to the Avari.

In contrast to our western kin, the Avari maintain close relations with the Hadhodrim in the Ered Gerain. Common foe and need brought these two unlikely peoples together and they benefit one another in their trade. The Edhil bring nourishment from the forest, while the Hadhodrim supply them with iron, and other forged metals, which they use for their tools and blades. A loremaster in the West would indeed be surprised to see people of both races working so closely together against their common foes. Perhaps it is because of this willingness to work with the Hadhodrim that the Avari are not as primitive as some would expect them to be.

I stayed long in those forests, but too soon the time came to return to Dorwinion. The Avari gave me many gifts and wished me good fortune on my journey home. I do hope that, one day, all Edhelrim will see the true nature of our Avarin cousins, who still remember us, the departed ones, in mellow song and tale.

My Kill-list[]

Written by TheSquidychicken Types: mordor, gundabad, dol_guldur, angmar

My Kill-list

Author: {name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix}


These maggots deserve to die! They will feel the sting of my {choose:blade/axe/spear/arrow} in their guts!

{name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix} (no. {num:1,99999})
{name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix} (no. {num:1,99999})
{name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix} (no. {num:1,99999})
{name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix} (no. {num:1,99999})
{name:orc_prefix}{name:orc_suffix} (no. {num:1,99999})

I've managed to find another {num:4,10} lads who have offered to help me kill the scum. Once we're done, we'll loot their bodies, and say they fell from the cliffs. The Bosses won't know a thing about it.

Pancake Recipe[]

Written by Gorbag12 Type: shire

Pancake Recipe

Author: {name:hobbit_female} {name:hobbit_surname}


This recipe doesn't require much thought early in the morning, and it tastes delicious! Your children will love them!


  • A bucket of milk
  • Wheat
  • One egg
  • Maple syrup (optional)

Only Hobbit-friends can make these pancakes.


  • Mix together the egg, wheat, and milk
  • If using maple syrup, drizzle generously on top

And that's it. The tasty pancake is done - you don't even need to cook it!

Cook's Tip: A good mug of hot chocolate alongside the pancakes can't go wrong!

P.S. If you're too lazy to bake your own pancakes, there will surely be a tavern nearby that offers them.

Lore of the Petty Ones II[]

Written by ? Types: durins_folk, blue_mountains

Lore of the Petty Ones II

Author: {name:dwarf_male}


...and so many exiled ones journeyed over the mountains and settled in the western lands before any others arrived. Of smaller stature they were, and their skill in smithing and crafting was diminished. The Elves in their arrogance saw our petty kin as beasts to be hunted. So they dwindled in the West, until the true Khazad passed over the mountains, and the Elves, meeting them, at once realised what they had been hunting, and tried to atone for their terrible mistakes. Little is known of the Petty-kindreds in after days, but the lorekeepers believe the last of their people disappeared in the Great Drowning...

Poem for Lórien[]

Written by ? Type: lothlorien

Poem for Lórien

Author: {name:sindarin_male}


From the West here she came;
to this land she laid claim;
as a bearer of light,
come to save us from plight.

She brought with her a gift,
bade the mellyrn rise swift;
tall our trees grew, and fair
as the light in her hair.

Ages passed in the woods of light.
Many a song the Edhil sang;
our realm reached its height.
But ever West the Sea-bells rang.

Now close draws the hour;
farewell, our Dreamflower.

A Ranger's Guide, Volume I[]

Written by ? Types: eriador, lindon, rivendell, eregion

A Ranger's Guide, Volume I

Author: Eradan Palantir


A Ranger's Guide, Volume I: Weapons of War - Staying at a Distance

This guide will, I hope, save your life. Whoever you are, whatever ages of the world may have ended or begun since the writing of this book, I hope it will guide you, aid you, protect you.

You, like me, are a Man of the West, a Dúnadan, a descendant of the ancient Kings of Númenor, and from Númenor to Arnor. We protect the North, for the peaceful peoples that live here are unprepared for the violence of the Enemy, and we strive to secure their safety, small though it is, for every bastion of good, every denial of evil, renders Sauron a little less powerful.

As a Ranger, you have made a choice. You will protect our people, whatever sacrifices are required. You will protect other peoples as well. This guide will help you do that.

This particular book will cover the means by which you may kill, or be killed, from a distance, as that is the first thing you must learn to protect yourself against. As a lone Man in the wilderness, getting involved in a sword fight with Orcs is a sure way to let your pursuers catch you, so we make much use of the bow and the spear, and face retaliation in kind.

The first, and most essential, weapon of ranged warfare is the bow. But there is not just one type of bow. There are many bows you will come across in your travels. The first, and most important, however, is your own bow.

The bows we use as Rangers are reliable wooden bows, with good strength and swift drawing. However, our bows will shoot further than an ordinary bow. Stay away from your enemies, and kill them from a distance. Many songs have been sung of honourable and valiant deaths in battle - but you cannot defend the free peoples by getting yourself killed in a swordfight, no matter how valiant you may be.

Orcish bows often hit harder than ours, though they cannot shoot as far - so keep your distance.

Should you ever see an enemy who, by some theft or fell treachery, has come to wield an Elvish bow, run the other way. You will never outshoot them! Elvish bows shoot faster, hit harder, and fly further than almost any bow Men have ever created. If you cannot recognise the weapon, it is best to exercise caution.

Bows are not, however, the only weapons you will encounter. If you see an enemy with a sling, that is most likely not an enemy; it is probably a Hobbit. You will likely not see the poison-dart blowgun, save if you should ever find yourself in the land of Gondor during an attack by the Southrons. It has also been written that the Woses, the wild Men of the Pukel-land, were known to use poisoned darts - but few of those folk have been sighted for a long age.

Crossbows are slow to load, but hit heavier than the heaviest-hitting of bows. Attack while the enemy reloads, but avoid getting hit if you can. Orcish crossbows are famous for their ability to pierce even the steadfast armour of the Dwarves - so beware! And above all, if you are shot with any small darts or Orcish bolts, be sure to check the dart after removing it. It may have been poisoned.

Finally, we come to thrown weapons. You will not use any of these save in direst need. Rangers travel light, and you cannot be throwing your weapons away unless it is necessary.

Chief among thrown weapons are the spears and the throwing axes. Throwing axes hit hard but can only fly a short distance. They are wielded by the Dwarves, but also by the wild Men of the Lone-lands and the North. Many Orcs use spears, however. Spears are often inaccurate, do not fly far compared to an arrow, and take time to throw, but all the same you would do well to avoid being hit by one. You may also see a spear held in hand and used to stab at close range.

Practise your skills, Ranger. And obey your Chieftains, for they are wise, and will help you to become wise as well.

A Ranger's Guide, Volume II[]

Written by ? Types: eriador, lindon, rivendell, eregion

A Ranger's Guide, Volume II

Author: Eradan Palantir


A Ranger's Guide, Volume II: Weapons of War - Fighting up Close

Welcome to the second volume of A Ranger's Guide. If you are reading this, you have continued your training beyond the basics of the first volume.

This book shall introduce you to the next weapons you must learn about. These are the kinds of weapons that should only be used when you are far too close to your enemies. Such weapons are often our last resort. Therefore, you must be flawless in your mastery of them.

These are the swords, axes, polearms, and blunt weapons. For simplicity, they will collectively be named 'melee weapons', for they will only be used in a melee, which is to say, close hand-to-hand combat.

The first weapon that must be covered is, of course, the sword. You will likely use a sword, for most of the rest of your Dúnedain brethren also wield the sword, and there are thus plenty of masters to learn from. There are many types of sword, but only a few are common in this age.

First, you must understand your own options. You will likely have ready access to swords of Gondorian fashion, or Orcish origin. You should not readily use an Orc's sword, for they, like their users, are filled with evil and evil deeds. A Gondorian sword, however, is a true weapon: strong and reliable, with a keen blade. Be careful, however. Your weapon cannot be repeatedly used to hack through Orcish helms without suffering some damage, and you do not want to find yourself trapped in a skirmish with a broken sword!

If you are very lucky, though, you may find yourself with access to a Dwarvish or Elvish sword. These swords are sharper than any we have ever wrought, as the smithcraft of the Eldar and the Naugrim far surpasses our own skill. Should you come to bear such a sword, treat it as though it were a blessing from the Valar themselves!

The swords of our enemies are often similar to ours, though the Orcs are known to fashion their blades with a wicked curve. But if by some great misfortune you find yourself facing a great Uruk, you must fight for your life, for they are fiercely strong with brutal swords to match.

When faced with a sword-wielding enemy, keep your own sword up. If you have a shield, you have an advantage. Most Orcs fight in an unrefined slashing style, and depend on their own brute strength to snatch the victory. You, however, cannot afford to waste your strength doing the same. Instead, deflect the enemy's sword whenever possible. Turn the Orc's strikes to the ground or the air, away from your own skin. When he tires, lunge - do not slash, lunge - straight for the chest. A good thrust can finish off your enemy in one blow, but be wary: the largest Orcs are far tougher than most.

If you must stop a sword with your own sword, rather than deflect it - for the sake of the Valar, do not ever block the sword edge-on-edge! There is no easier way to ruin your blade's edge than by smashing it into someone else's! And remember: mastery is the key. You must practise, practise until you physically cannot lift the sword again, and then lift it anyway. You are a Ranger. Your body is a secondary concern. Pain is unimportant. Weariness is every day of your life. You will succeed where even Orcs fail because you can keep going: because you will not, cannot, stop for sake of exhaustion.

Though you will likely never wield them, there are other weapons you might face. The most common is the dagger, a short knife smaller than the full sword. A dagger is fast to swing, but cannot bite as deep as a heavier, longer sword. Stay out of the reach of a dagger-carrying foe. Use your sword's longer reach to keep them at bay. If you are the one wielding a dagger, however, and you have no other choice, the most important thing is to be fast, unpredictable, and get in close - very close.

Axes, especially the double-headed battleaxes, are dangerous in the right hands. They are made to deal damage through a combination of blunt force and a sharp edge. If you can avoid an axe stroke by any means, do so. Otherwise, you can deflect it with a shield. When using an axe, bear in mind that it is really no more than a brutal hacking weapon. Hit your enemies over and over again, never yielding, and they will soon fall to the ground. We do try to leave such savagery to the Orcs, but a strong axe is better than nothing - so if you must use one, you had better be good at quick strikes to the neck or head.

Polearms are another common sight. There are many kinds, but most can be counted among either the long-reaching piercing spear-type weapons, or the chopping halberds and other nasty Orcish constructions.

Spears are favourites of the Elves and of the Rohirrim: a spear affords a further reach, keeping the wielder out of range of their enemy. You might use a spear from horseback, but besides that they will be of little use; a spearman must have other spearmen to keep other enemies away and as a Ranger you will fight alone more often than not. You can also throw a spear to strike your foes from afar, although I do not advise that unless you have another trusty weapon to rely on.

Worthy of mention here are pikes, which are even longer than spears and more unwieldy. However, more so than any other weapon, a skilfully-held pike proves excellent for keeping a charging foe at bay.

Halberds are axes on long poles with spearheads at the end. Stay away from a halberdier, especially if you are on horseback. The halberd can put a quick stop to your horse's charge, pull you off its back, and then chop you to pieces after the fall.

Lances are exclusively used from horseback, and thus rarely appear in the hands of Orcs. A lance is somewhat like a longer and stronger spear, for they are meant to survive after striking a fully armoured enemy at full gallop. You might wield one should you ever ride with the Rohirrim, but we Dúnedain do not use them often, for mounted combat is dangerous when alone. But the best way to fight with a lance is to charge at your enemy and drive the strike home - then quickly retreat, using your horse's speed to your advantage.

Warhammers and maces are rather similar, though rare in these parts of the world. Such weapons are heavy and hard-hitting, and it takes a mighty Man or Orc to wield one well. To fight with a hammer, aim first for your foe's side, then for the head. Hitting an enemy in the head is a sure way to stun them, while a hit to the side will leave them breathless - an easy target. If you should come up against an enemy wielding a hammer, be aware that your armour is almost useless against it. The force from a hammer-strike will pass right through even the toughest mail and rattle you to the heart of your bones.

Thus concludes my guide. There are some kinds of weapons which I have not covered, but as I have little experience with tridents and battlestaves, you will have to ask a soldier of the Pelargir or an Elf of Imladris for information on those. This book, however, is all that you will need to master the use of the common weapons.

Hone your skills. Study this book, and practise with all the weapons detailed herein. You will fight most often with your one trusted weapon, but you are expected to have at least a familiarity with all other kinds of blade. There may come a day when your life depends upon it.

A Ranger's Guide, Volume III[]

Written by ? Types: eriador, lindon, rivendell, eregion

A Ranger's Guide, Volume III

Author: Eradan Palantir


A Ranger's Guide, Volume III: Medicine and Herbal Knowledge

You are now a warrior. However, you are not yet a Ranger. Two things remain.

First, you must learn our healing arts, and then you must learn how we move about the wilderness. This book will guide you to learn how we heal, and the herbs that we use.

Healing is an art that we Rangers have kept alive since the days of Númenor. You will soon receive a longer book that you will commit to memory, which will list all the herbs found across Middle-earth: their appearances, their uses, and their names in both the Common Tongue and the Noble. This book will, however, cover the basics.

Skilled healing often demands the use of herbs, which can produce various beneficial effects. Herbs can be either brewed into a tonic or applied directly in a poultice. Poultices are only used by skilled healers that know what they are doing and why. You will eventually learn, but for now you merely need to know to produce a tonic by crushing herbs into a bowl of fresh water and leaving the mixture to sit. Your guide to herbs will explain more.

There is one herb, however, of particular importance, which must be mentioned before all else: Athelas. You should already know what it looks like, where to find it, and how to care for it.

Athelas crushed into a tonic will produce a brew of immeasurable value. Rightly applied, it can cure the Black Breath of the Nine; it can raise a mortally wounded man back onto his feet; it can stave off weariness and hurt, as though granting some measure of the strength and vigour of the Elves. Truly, athelas is a treasure among herbs; it is rare, however, and so should only be used at greatest need.

The Mysterious Red Book[]

Written by ? Type: shire

The Mysterious Red Book

Author: {name:hobbit_male}


On a cold autumn night when I happened to be sorting my library, as all good Hobbits should do, I noticed an unlabelled red book just sitting there on my shelf.

I don't remember ever acquiring such a book. It was without anything resembling a title on the cover: just a golden bookmark hanging out of the side, about halfway through the pages.

But that was not the thing that threw me off. Indeed, I am getting older, and some thoughts or memories slip my mind, so an unfamiliar book in my library is not too strange. It was when I opened it and read the first few pages: all filled with records of my aid and good deeds to friends, family, and acquaintances!

By example, I once gave my neighbours a few berries for a pie, because their good friends were visiting and it is a tradition in their family to greet guests with a homemade berry pie. And there it was! The entire request they made, and the exact works they spoke to me, written on the pages. Even my response was recorded directly underneath it!

Now I keep my journal safe and sound under the floorboards. Not even the Missus knows its exact location, so how did anybody possibly acquire this information?

When I asked the neighbours if they had told anyone of this, they denied any such thing, so I politely asked them to allow me to check their personal library.

And, by my Gaffer's toes, it was a shock to find the exact same red book resting upon their shelf! Indeed, they had no recollection of ever owning such a book - just like myself! What frightened me even more was when I opened their book to see pages and pages of their words and deeds, all written neatly inside. Just like my own red book!

I know not what type of book this is, nor where it comes from. All I know is that it is unnatural. It somehow appears in each collection of books I come across. Every neighbour seems to have a red book lying around somewhere, and are themselves often oblivious of its existence. Red books here and there, all with different stories, all personal... and sometimes even filled with secrets.

I strongly suggest, to anyone reading this, that you check your shelves at once for any similarly untitled red book, and dispose of it immediately! Unnatural things don't belong in the Shire, especially books that put our privacy at risk. Anyone finding such a book and claiming it for themselves might discover things they don't ought to know, and we all know how swiftly rumours can spread around the party trees...

Concerning the Removal of Harad[]

Written by ? Type: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad,gulf

Concerning the Removal of Harad

Author: A. Southron


I am all about second chances. In fact, I believe that anyone can correct themselves in the future because of the mistakes of their past.

However, removing Harad is literally the worst crime someone can commit.

Something as radical and extreme as removing Harad REQUIRES a lengthy punishment before they are given the opportunity to atone for what they have done.

They need to receive a punishment of proportion to their crime, because without it, they won't learn to associate the consequences with their actions, and are far more likely to do it again.

A Riddle[]

Written by Forten Types: shire, eriador, ruins, rivendell

A Riddle


I have a tongue and a soul, and I
am born in twins, but not alive.

What am I?

On the Serpent Guard[]

Written by Karseius Types: gondor,rivendell,umbar

On the Serpent Guard

Author: Harhael of Gondor


While studying the Men of Near Harad, my good student, you will sooner or later stumble across tales of the so-called "Serpent Guard". Indeed, once they were a powerful force among the Southrons, but they have faded away since our glorious conquest of the Harad.

These men were no simple guard, oh no, but in truth a warrior-caste which permitted only very few to serve. Fascinating as it may sound, these men owed no allegiance to a single city; rather, they were dispersed amongst the many Princes and noblemen, often serving as royal guards, men-at-arms, or advisors.

How the Serpent Guard managed to survive despite the endless infighting among their own people I know not, but in time they did grow wealthy and powerful. Indeed it seems that their guild had a hand in unifying the Southron tribes against the glorious armies of our King Hyarmendacil... but it was in vain. For the brave men of Gondor crushed the Southron savages at the Battles of the Harnen and the Astrasir, before marching on to sack the great city they called the Eye of Harad.

And it was there, within the walls of the Eye, where our host slew the last of our foes. Among them was the sole remaining chief of the Serpent Guard, who, it is told, died a coward's death. After the victory, the amassed riches of the Serpent Guard were confiscated, and what few men remained of their caste were disbanded. The end of their Guard marked the dawning of a new age for the Southrons, under the enlightened rule of the Kingdom of Gondor. Eternal glory to the lands of the White Tree!

Urbul's Guide to Slashing and Smashing[]

Written by Dragonovith Types: mordor, dol_guldur, gundabad, angmar, isengard
The title of this Lore Text is a reference to Urbul gro-Orkulg, owner of the Slash 'N Smash weapons store from The Elder Scrolls IV: Oblivion.

Urbul's Guide to Slashing and Smashing

Author: Captain Urbul of Durthang


Every day new maggots are sent to serve ol' Urbul, but nearly none of 'em scum know how to properly stick a blade on someone else's gut. Grr! I'll tell you, they may look like a pack of tough lads, but they're no better than a stinking Warg; all muscles and no brain, unlike ol' Urbul here, who has plenty of both!

This guide will show you what weapon suits a dirty maggot like you, if you ain't too thick-headed to read.

Daggers: These short mean knives are good for stabbing and nothing else. Put some poison on it and sure your enemy won't stand up again, nay he won't, he's done for.

Spears: They're good for throwing and poking your enemy from afar, swift an' all too. The Big Bosses send 'em to us in big numbers every day.

Polearms: Slow. Grr! Ay, too slow for Urbul. At least you can poke and pin your enemy before the fellow can you stab or cut you.

Swords: Good for slashing open the stinking bowels of a stinking tark, if 'is belly ain't protected by shiny stinking metal.

Hammers: Ay, very slow, even for the bigger boys. But they're good for mashing heads, even if the fellow is wearing a metal cap.

Axes: Not as swift as a sword and neither as slow as a hammer. Urbul's strong lads wield them a whole lot while out in the field fighting the Boss's enemies.

Bows: I'm no stinking ground-sniffing Snaga to teach you how to bow-shoot. Ay, go bother someone else about it. What d'you say, maggot?

A Slave's Diary[]

Written by Karseius Types: southron,umbar

A Slave's Diary

I still remember the day, for it is burned bright into my memory.

I was out upon the beach, not far from my village, collecting shells for my grandmother. Ever since my father perished in battle, I always did my best to make her smile now and again.

But then, out of nowhere, the ships appeared. Sails, black as night, flying banners of evil eyes and twisting serpents.

I ran to the village to warn them, but there was nothing I could do. For the Corsairs were quick and merciless. They burned our village and took what few valuable goods we had. We few who survived were enslaved, I among them. The fate of my grandmother I do not know.

Now, it has been three summers since that terrible day. I have been sold like a beast in the slave markets of Umbar, and now serve some Southron savage, along with countless others like me. I curse the Sun for every new day that she brings. But there are few things that yet give me hope.

Even in this pit of despair I have made a fast friend. {name:moredain_male} is his name, and he is wise, and with his wisdom he helps us to endure all of this. He hails from the uttermost South, and - I did not believe it at first - he was sold by his own tribe to the Corsairs! If not for his friendship, I would have abandoned all hope long ago.

And there is more: at last, a glimmer of hope for us poor creatures. It seems that many of the Southron warriors are preparing to march North. If they go, they will leave these lands barely defended. Then we may be able to escape, or rise up against our cruel masters! I scarecely dare to think it, for fear it will not come to pass...

I will continue to hide this diary from the masters of Umbar, for it gives me the strength to endure this suffering.


Written by the Mod Team Type: None



This book is very special.

Why is that?

Because it wasn't written by me in-game. It was generated from a text file, converted into the book data format.

This was a real challenge to code! It was very difficult to design an algorithm which can take any text file and put it into book form, splitting it nicely into pages, ensuring no page has too much text, and ensuring no page ends halfway through a word. It took a great deal of revising and changing to perfect this and fix unlikely bugs.

But this means we can now have books of lore generating in structures, using lore texts written by us or people of the community. We can have histories, poems, songs, journals of travellers, helpful in-game hints concerning rare features, scattered tales of terrible haunted ruins in the far North of the world...

This feature has been a very popular request, and I think it will lend a fantastic feeling of immersion to the world.

So that is why this book is very special.

Tale of the Squirrel and the Spring-gnomes[]

Written by Crossbuilder Types: shire, dale

Tale of the Squirrel and the Spring-gnomes


Much like every year, Nutkin Squirrel had gathered a copious supply of hazelnuts and beechnuts for the winter. Of course, he also had stuffed himself with all the delicious berries and seeds of a golden autumn. When he decided to retire to his drey he almost got stuck, so tight had the entrance of his nest become, and he snuggled comfortably to rest during the cold winter months.

For a fortnight he was very comfortable in the cosiness of his drey and had not a single regret about not hopping in the tree branches and meeting his many friends of the forest. But one day, a cheeky sunray came through the entrance and tickled his nose. Nutkin sneezed and straightened up.

Was this not the blackbird next tree chirping gaily her song? As Nutkin left his drey (the entrance still was a bit tight) and with a friendly nod greeted his neighbour, he had to look twice to understand what had happened. Nothing had happened! Instead of growing cold and winterly, the air was warm and had a breeze of spring in it.

Nutkin saw that between the roots of a mighty tree, where he had hidden a provision of nuts, a sapling stretched his leaves into the air. This did not really bother him, for he could never remember all of the hiding places where he used to burrow his provisions for the winter and the sapling was a welcomed hint. But nonetheless, this was a very strange affair. Why had winter not found his way into the forest?

Nutkin decided to pay a visit to his friends to see if they could not sleep as well. Together they resolved to hold a council at the next half moon, in a clearing deep within the forest.

When dawn of the appointed day had come, the animals of the forest appeared. Hedgehogs, badgers and dormouses there were and many other squirrels as well as a delegation of ravens, who wanted to complain about the absence of frost-worms (a titbit they eagerly awaited each winter). Many other animals also arrived, and some curious deer and wild boars stopped by. They were not interested in these affairs because a long and snowy winter only meant more hardship to them.

In the middle of the glade the wise old Owl took his seat on an old tree stump. The council began.

Everyone had a story to tell about strange folk wandering about, flowers that had awakened way before their time and some groundhogs from the north brought rumours about a mighty snow queen that reigned over a household of gnomes. The gnomes were the heralds of the seasons, and a group of especially wanton spring-gnomes had escaped to create confusion in all the land.

When each and every one had told their tale, silence spread over the clearing. Finally, the wise old Owl flapped his wings and instructed them on what to do. A group of young and nimble weasels were appointed to catch the gnomes and bring them back to the snow queen. One of the weasel gaffers vividly advised them against tasting the gnomes, for one would feel very queer afterwards.

Eventually every culprit was captured and the weasels warily brought them back to the snow queen. She promised to release them only at the beginning of spring season and looked so fierce that the weasels and Nutkin, who was accompanying them, were very frightened. When the snow queen saw their fear, her face became friendly again and she promised to halt winter in time and to be considerate of the squirrels' supplies.

And that is how Nutkin Squirrel went back to his drey with a tranquil mind and after wishing his friends a good rest. He curled up, his bushy tail touching his nose, and gently passed into a peaceful sleep that would last the whole winter with only few interruptions. In spring he would wake up in a fresh and renewed world.

Verses from the Taurelantë[]

Written by Mevans Types: gondor,rivendell,umbar

Verses from the Taurelantë

Author: Maeron Haradil


A part of the Taurelantë, or the Fall of the Taurethrim, as is told elsewhere in full by Maeron Haradil of the South-kingdom.

... {choose: The trees were tall, the forest fair: through dappled leaves the sunlight shone in woodlands wide, and warmed the air in Sutherland, where few have gone. The call of beast and song of bird and fall of rain there sounded lone; no voices yet of Men were heard; no Elf there walked on grass or stone.

As living mountains misten-crowned the mighty trees which sought the sky like towers climbed, beyond the ground to Tarmenel, to heaven high. And at their feet, the spreading roots like arches loomed in twilight green among the ferns, where fallen fruits and leaves lay down in caves unseen. An elder wonder long ago ere sight of eye, ere word of mouth: the Spring of Earth remembered so in Haradwaith: in deepest South... / Then came the wandering hunter-folk out of the plains where lions run, come far from vale where first they woke in flight from dark, to seek the Sun. The Forest-men they named themselves, and Forest took them as its own, and raised them not unlike to Elves: their homes they wrought in trees full-grown on carven flets above the earth; in sight of Stars, and Moon's fair light they filled the forest days with mirth and songs unwritten sung by night... / In deeps of time, in ages long the Forest-men grew fair and wise, and wove their woodlands into song beneath the trees, beneath the skies. There birds they named, and beasts they tamed, and lore of all the forest learned, though never once a branch they maimed nor bough they felled, nor vine they burned.

For greater beings yet than they beneath the roofèd forest strode: old Mûmak, mighty walker grey; all Sutherland was his abode. And though a thousand years went by all memory to him remained; majestic still he marched on high: the lord of beasts, and yet unchained... / Then came the Númenóreans, the Dúnedain, the proud and grave; on Sundering Seas from western lands to Middle-earth they sailed the wave. To Haradwaith they roving came in golden fleets, and southward turned beyond the bay of fated name, beyond the sands that ever burned, through rain, and roaring wind they passed where girdle round the Earth is thrown and still beyond, and came at last to distant shores of lands unknown. Alighting then beside a bay where wide a rushing river flowed, the Westmen cast their sails away and out upon the green they strode... / Then came the Ring-lord, tall and proud in raiment fair, with treasures gold and gleaming gems; with woven cloud and silken rain; with malice cold. And to the ruling Forest-king a gift he gave: a band of might, then bade the lord take up his Ring: and forest fair fell under night... / Yet in the hearts of Westernesse the Darkness too lay brooding long, and kindling in them great unrest woke mighty pride, and war-lust strong. Their golden sails they raised once more but over Sea now conquering came; no wisdom fair their ships now bore, but steel, and whip, and wicked flame... }

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume I[]

Written by Ithilion Eleruth
(High King Ithilion)
Types: gondor,rivendell

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume I

Author: Ardegil, teithron Minas Tirith


Volume I: The Early History of the Taurethrim

It is said that long ago, in the Far Harad, a mighty realm held sway. This realm, led by an iron-fisted High King, grew great and powerful, nigh as large as Gondor at its height, and was in its time surpassed only by Númenór and Mordor. But the empire fell long ago, and none now live who remember its majesty. The Taurethrim, as they are called, are known of mainly through documents of Númenór. Unlike others of their uncivilised kin in the South, they possessed a writing system derivative of the Tengwar, though they wrote little of lore and were for the most part unlearned. Much of what is known about them is surmised from their tales, or the accounts of the Númenóreans. And much of that is now lost, for much was drowned in the Downfall of Númenór. Here follows what little is known about the people, as can be guessed or surmised from the ancient texts of Minas Tirith, which account for notes of the Loremasters of Númenór, and even those writings made by Black Númenórean hand from the time of the Ship-Kings.

Like all others of the race of Men, the forefathers of the Taurethrim must have awoken in Hildórien - in what time is not known - and there they would have sided against the Edain. After the departure of the Edain, those groups which would later become the Haradrim followed them - in pursuit, or likewise in flight from the Shadow - but they wandered and were lost, and at length they came into the far plains of the South. Scattered folk of many peoples encamped there for a time, dwelling in modest huts amidst the tangled trees and fenlands, before they separated into the later groups. The recorded legends of the Taurethrim tell that a large tribe of the wood-folk left the inner Harad and travelled southwest, until they reached the Great Forests of the South. Stricken by the beauty of those lands, they drove the former inhabitants (of whom naught is known) into the deepwoods, and became in time one of the most powerful realms of Far Harad. Their tales tell of the first King, one "Namakuish", who united the tribes under his rule. And it was in those days that they first came into contact with the Men of the Sea, who sailed about the Harad and encountered the Taurethrim on the western shores beyond the mountains. The Númenóreans made landfall in a great bay and there established a haven, which in later days would come to be called Taurelondë, the Havens of the Forest. Further inland, a trading-town, which the Númenóreans called Zadunkadar, was built by the Taurethrim, and merchants of both realms met there to exchange goods and tell their tales. From this Númenór learned much of the Far Haradrim, and of the great riches of the Taurethrim, who they named in the vulgar speech Orunlâi, that is Tree-folk: from which the Elvish name of Taurethrim was later made. And the Taurethrim learnt the arts of metalworking, and stonework, and writing. Though now degraded and near unrecognisable, the first letters of the Taurethrim were, it is said, the very Tengwar of Fëanor.

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume II[]

Written by Ithilion Eleruth
(High King Ithilion)
Types: gondor,rivendell

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume II

Author: Ardegil, teithron Minas Tirith


Volume II: The Fall of the Taurethrim

In time, it is said that the realm of the Taurethrim grew great, spreading from the Plains of the North to the Horn of the South, and from the arid inlands to the coasts the harsh battlecries of the Men of the Forests were heard. Their long-sundered kin, the Limwaith of the fenlands, fell under the dominion of the Forests, as did the many tribes of the inner Sunlands and some peoples west of the mountains. Dynasties of forgotten glory ruled, and the great cities, the jewels of Far Harad, grew mighty and were connected by roads of stone; the trading-town of Zadunkadar grew into a city, and the haven of Taurelondë became great among the Númenórean settlements in Middle-earth. Few of the Númenóreans ever entered the realm of the Taurethrim, but those who did brought back stories of wondrous riches. But the Shadow fell upon both the settlers and the Taurethrim Kingdom, whose golden line of the Splendour-Kings was overthrown by a dark cult. Many Númenóreans were captured by the King Tizok and sacrificed to the gods of the Taurethrim. In response to these atrocities, the friendship of Númenór waned, and soon turned to hostility. These troubles culminated in the Battle of Zadunkadar, in the year 1658 of the Second Age. In a fight said to last less than twenty minutes, eight thousands of the Taurethrim elite were slaughtered by a host of Númenórean Steelbowmen. The city was then sacked, the women taken, and one in every five men of the town executed. Following the battle, the Westmen began to exact heavy taxes and tribute upon the people of the forests. Much of the treasure was kept by the settlers, and the Númenóreans grew rich. However, many of the Taurethrim continued to waylay and assail the Men of the Sea, and strife between the two never ceased thereafter.

In those days the mightiest High King was called by the Taurethrim Kozawik, and he built great temples and pyramids, and bled his people of wealth and life. The Black Númenórean writings claim that he made alliance with Zigûrun - that is, Sauron, the Enemy. It is written that Sauron sent first his emissaries, and then came himself to the Taurethrim, with treasures and gifts of great might. To Kozawik he offered his friendship and secret lore, promising that the Taurethrim could rise again to their old strength and throw off the yoke of Númenórean domination. Sauron spoke long with Kozawik, and some say that he gave to him a Ring, in hope that he might ensnare the King and bring all the forest realm under his own dominion. The truth of this is not known, and it has been a matter much-debated. Kozawik the Despised ruled longest of all the High Kings, in enduring strength and cruelty, but it is told that on a time he vanished without trace, and the most hated High King was never seen again by any of his people. Then after his disappearance, strife took all the Taurethrim, and their great realm faded away into petty chiefdoms and bloodstained woods.

Though the city of Zadunkadar was rebuilt, it never again rose to the glory of past days. The people of the Taurethrim suffered and grew to hate the cruel lords of the West. This hate grew even darker when Sauron came to Númenor; then the Black Númenóreans came not as conquerors, but slavers. Many were the men taken from the forests, to be put to the lash, or slain and burnt upon the altars of Morgoth. The histories of the Númenóreans tell little more, save that the kingdoms of the forest failed, and that other tribes took the place of the Taurethrim, and the ancient glory was only half-remembered. The new tribes adopted the mantle of the old kings and venerated similar gods, but their tongues were confused. Those who may live in those forests today could scarcely claim the same name as the Taurethrim of old. And when a day came of great upheaval, and the Sea roiled, all the Men of Númenor and the Forests were filled with fear; all the Harad quaked, and the Sea overcame some lands, and laid others bare. For the Isle had fallen. Of the Black Númenóreans - those who did not flee or drown in the chaos - and their dealings with the Taurethrim in this later age, little to nothing is known. But it is said that the havens of Taurelondë lie empty and broken beneath the Sun, a memory of vanished days.

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume III[]

Written by Ithilion Eleruth
(High King Ithilion)
Types: gondor,rivendell

On the Fallen Kingdom of the Sunwoods, Volume III

Author: Ardegil, teithron Minas Tirith


Volume III: The Life and Ways of the Taurethrim

The tales of Númenór tell that the Old Taurethrim were a wise and mighty people, known for their great cities of stone built amidst the towering trees. In battle, they wore armour of gold and bronze with crests of flowers and feathers, and some wore masks shaped like the beasts of the wood, adorned with ivory. They wielded fierce iron blades and deadly darts. Their great pyramids were especially renowned, built in honour of the gods and kings and filled with the tombs of their lords. Some say great treasure was kept deep within them in hidden vaults. Some half-believed tales even speak of pyramids built of pure gold, lost in the deepwoods.

After the old kingdom fell, much of its skill and lore was lost, for those who came out of the plains to take the place of the old Taurethrim did not understand the great buildings and masterful stonework created by the forgotten craftsmen. However, they do in fact enjoy hearing tales of the old empire, and still believe themselves true heirs to the kingdom they have succeeded. The Taurethrim of this age wear cruder armour of bronze, and wield weapons of wood and volcanic stone. Though accounted sharper than the weapons of the ancients, they are far less strong in craft. But the newcomers also brought with them a weapon that had not been seen before: the blowgun, filled with poison darts, is a fearsome device well-adapted for forest combat, and is used by the Taurethrim to great effect. They consider gold to be a sacred material, and all decorations of gold are treasured.

The old Taurethrim had many cults, legends of beasts and birds and apes, but the greatest of them all is said to be that of Uz-Belehu, the Creator, Spirit of the North, whom the last kings under the Shadow venerated. Also worthy of mention is Uza-Mûmathu, whom they revere as guardian of the forest. Her sacred animals, the Mûmakil, are held beloved by the Taurethrim, and they defend them with all their strength against poachers and beast-chainers out of Near and Far Harad. They have many other gods besides these. Some of their lesser cults may have a basis in reality; a few bear resemblance to some of the Valar. And in the north of their realm the people worship Uz-Hrazu, a god of the earth who is said to take the shape of a great lion. Mighty shamans of the Taurethrim lead the people in worship of these mysterious gods. Their rituals are believed to include the wearing of magical amulets and the practice of human sacrifice, but the Númenóreans learned little of these strange rituals. Indeed, the Taurethrim were always said to keep the secrets of their religion dearly hidden, and were hostile to much of the lore of the West the early Númenóreans shared.

In the days of the old empire, the Taurethrim dwelt in houses of mahogany and brick, with their lords residing in stone structures lit by flame. They ate chiefly fruits and crops: corn and other plants unfamiliar; all the people had a part in the farming, though they would also hunt some of the smaller beasts of the forest. It is said that in their great cities, the Taurethrim farmed on floating mats by the shores of the emerald lakes, and the crops they grew there were used for foods unknown to us in the North. In fact, it is said their shamans brewed sacred drinks, which were used by many of the Taurethrim in their daily lives. They were loath to share such secrets with outsiders, as with the mysteries of their cults.

While the younger tribes could not match the ancients in skill and might, they still held in their hearts the memory of the old empire. Whether they yet survive is unknown, though the lore of the Black Númenóreans held that people remained dwelling in the forests during the time of the Ship-kings. We in the North know little of the Harad, and it could be that, beyond the burnt lands and cruel fortresses of the Southrons, the flame of the Taurethrim Kingdom still burns in the heart of the forest.

The Blue Wizards[]

Written by Aidan Types: rhun, dorwinion, dale, gondor

The Blue Wizards

Author: Léofred, the Scribe


While travelling East, one might hear rumours of the elusive Blue Wizards, the two Istari of whom many know little more than the colour of their robes.

Alatar and Pallando, more commonly known as the Blue Wizards, are two of the five Istari tasked with aiding the people of Middle-earth against the Enemy. Long since forgotten, the Ithryn Luin have faded into history, and their current whereabouts and fates are unknown.

Little is known of these Wizards, for they were the first of the five to venture beyond the Westlands. It is said that they went into the Far East, following the trail of Sauron; that they were sent as guiding lights into enemy lands, to stir up resistance against the works of the Enemy. But no tidings have come West of them for a long age, and it is believed by some that they have fallen into the shadows of Sauron, twisted into servants of the Darkness.

Others yet remain hopeful, and believe that the Blue Wizards have held true to their task; were it not for the Two, they say, the works of the Enemy in the East might have gone unchecked; and we in the Westlands cannot know what has come to pass in long ages beyond the Inland Sea and the fences of Mordor.

Though, if all I have heard of the armies of Rhûn is true - if this is a world with Blue Wizards to stay the eastward reach of Sauron's shadow - then I would tremble to see the full strength of the Enemy if no Blue Wizards had come.

Not once in all my travels have I encountered Alatar and Pallando. The Blue Wizards seemed to be little known among the Dalish folk: so much, that I could not find a single Dalish song or tale which mentioned them.

When I journeyed to Dorwinion in the summer of last year, I heard rumours spoken of two Blue Wizards who were travellers in the Far East. However, when I pursued these rumours further, I soon discovered that none of them were of any substance or truth. It seems that these two wanderers must remain a mystery for now.

The Brown Wizard[]

Written by Aidan Types: woodland_realm, lothlorien, rohan, dale

The Brown Wizard

Author: Léofred, the Scribe


Between the Carrock and the Old Forest Road, on the western edge of Mirkwood, one can find the old home of Rhosgobel. These are the dwellings of a simple Wizard, who goes by the name of Radagast the Brown.

Radagast is no ordinary Wizard, and it has been clearly noted that he is neither the brightest nor the strongest of the Istari. But he is known to possess an odd gift for taming the many beasts and birds of the forest, as well as a seemingly unending knowledge of the herbs and plants of the land. Many believe that Radagast uses the creatures of the forest as his eyes and ears, watching for any possible signs of evil or darkness at work. Although his activities of late are unknown, it is certain - at least to me - that Radagast is worthy of his title of Wizard.

In my travels I came upon the Brown Wizard only once. It was not too long ago that I found myself in the company of two Rohirrim who were on a journey north to the ruins of Framsburg. I travelled with them for a time, and on one twilit evening, quite by surprise, we came upon old Radagast by the eaves of Mirkwood.

He was nestled in an oaken tree, and I at first mistook him for a terrible beast, or a great brown bear. I watched him as he cared for a group of songbirds, who fluttered around his head with a simple elegance. For a time I stood, astonished at how easily the birds came and went about him, while he balanced effortlessly up in that tree. But before long he became aware of our presence, and with a sudden shout he leaped down from his branch and scurried away into the forest, out of my sight.

What a strange Wizard he is.

The Grey Wizard[]

Written by Aidan Types: shire, rivendell, eriador, lindon

The Grey Wizard

Author: Léofred, the Scribe


While travelling through the Shire and the lands nearby, one may come across the humble Wizard known as Gandalf the Grey.

Also known among the Grey-elves as Mithrandir, Gandalf the Grey is a joyous Wizard - quick to anger, but always the first to laugh. He wanders the lands without home or hearth, as an old man in tattered grey robes.

It is well-known that, unusually for a Wizard, Gandalf considers ordinary folk in the highest regard. Indeed, he can often be found in the company of Halflings of the Shire. But don't be deceived by his knockabout appearance and strange choices in company! Gandalf is arguably the wisest of the five Wizards, and second in skill to none other than Saruman the White.

In my many journeys as a wandering writer, I encountered Gandalf the Grey on two separate occasions. One night long ago, at the Prancing Pony Inn of Bree, I thought I spotted him seated a few tables away. This seemed unusual to me at the time, as I would not expect to find a Wizard in such a place, so I dismissed the sighting as mistaken. It was not until the following morning that I discovered it was indeed Gandalf whom I had seen the night before, and that he often frequented the Inn. Such was my surprise!

The second time I saw Gandalf the Grey was many years later, in the town of Frogmorton. He was ensconced in a pleasant pony-drawn carriage, and heading west. His eyebrows protruded like bushy caterpillars from under his pointy hat, and rings of smoke were puffing from his pipe. As he approached me on the road he turned his head, with a twinkle in his eye, and I will never forget the wise words he offered to me as he passed.

The Shortlings[]

Written by Goran Type: dunland

The Shortlings

Author: {name:dunlending_female}


Long ago, when I was a young lass, short bearded Men came in great numbers to our lands. They were strangers from the East, but they brought us trinkets of gold, silver, and bronze, and forged steel weapons for our men, so we let the strangers settle here.

Such strange Men had never before been seen in our lands.

Our very oldest tales tell of friendly iron-spirits who lived deep within the Mountains, and sometimes gifted our forefathers with weapons and treasures, before the Goblins came down from the North. Could the Shortlings have been those fabled mountain-spirits of old? They too came to us with gifts, and they said they had lived within the mountains long ago - just as the spirits of the legends.

They treated us with kindness, leaving our villages alone, settling in the hills and the mountainsides. Over the years, our people developed a friendship with the Shortlings. Though they were strange and foreign, and only small to our eyes, we saw something of ourselves in them. They had lived in the Mountains once, but they were driven out by the Goblins - just as we once lived in the fields of the East, before the Strawheads stole our lands and drove us away.

We were very saddened when the Shortlings left us and journeyed on to the West - where we would not go.

But still, when we are lucky indeed, we may meet one of their travellers journeying through our lands. And it is a great honour to welcome a wandering Shortling into your home for the night. They remember our old friendship, and we remember it too.

The Two Sisters[]

Written by Karseius Types: southron,umbar,gondor

The Two Sisters

Author: Kurush the Learned


Whoever travels our lands hears the tale of the Two Sisters: a tale of war, blood and betrayal. The Sisters are old, so old that not even our elders remember when they were born. Yet that day, whenever it was, marked the beginning of their eternal quarrel, which in the end might doom us all.

At the shores of the great lake stands She, the Northern Sister; the Eye of Harad; the fabled city of an unbroken chain of Princes; the mighty city of Ain an-Ahâr. From its midst rises a mighty tower, overlooking the valley that it rules. It is here, in Ain an-Ahâr, where the best of our Champions are trained, and the fiercest of our warriors commanded.

And not far from there, where the Astrasir meets the Haecharnen, stands She, the Southern Sister; the city of a thousand treasures; guardian of merchants and artisans; the glorious city of Ajtiaz an-Ahâr. Her bustling markets draw Men from far and wide, seducing many to spend their last savings on her numerous pleasures. There, rare and exotic goods from places unknown to most are purchased, to adorn the necks and palaces of those of the noble blood. It is little wonder that even the infamous Queen Barûphel was known to scour the city - to the woes of her current suitor's purse.

Caught in their eternal rivalry, the two Sisters have long fought one another for wealth and power, slowly bleeding our lands and our people. Yet, their struggle has always remained unresolved, for neither Sister could overpower the other. Through the ages Ain an-Ahâr has sent her mighty hosts into battle countless times; yet her Sister's treasury has never failed to summon foreign armies to defend her gates. And Ajtiaz an-Ahâr has besieged her Sister no less often; yet the moral and loyalty of bought Men has always failed upon meeting with her Sister's impregnable walls.

As it is often with siblings, their quarrel only halts when something from outside forces it to. When the Northlings invaded our lands, the two cities rallied their forces together. When the realm of Umbar first arose, only the two cities' combined call to arms could force a truce. And now, that time has come again. Lord Sauron has risen in Mordor, and under his vassalage, the people of the Sisters are commanded to march northwards, side by side. Will they be victorious? Will they crush the Men of Gondor, and right the ancient wrongs? It does not matter; neither victory nor defeat will end their quarrel, their eternal bloodshed. Neither can live while the other survives.

The White Wizard[]

Written by Aidan Types: rohan, isengard, gondor, rivendell, lindon, eriador, lothlorien, dale

The White Wizard

Author: Léofred, the Scribe


Within the Ring of Isengard stands the ancient stronghold of Orthanc, wherein resides the great Wizard Curunír, more often known among Men as Saruman the White.

Saruman is by far the mightiest of the five Wizards in strength and knowledge, and he holds great pride in this. He dwells not upon the practices of other Wizards; he befriends no wild creatures, and he seldom spares a thought for the little folk of Middle-earth. Instead, Saruman explores ancient lore, and studies skills he wishes to wield for himself. It is also rumoured that Saruman boasts a great mastery of speech and thought; that by the sound of his voice alone, he may command the will of any to whom he speaks.

It is whispered by some, of late, that Saruman grows ever hungrier for power: this they attribute to his ceaseless study of the works of the Enemy. While the truth of this is yet unknown, it is certain that Saruman the White, foremost among the Wizards, is of a more devious kind.

In my many journeys through Rohan and Gondor, I never once came across Saruman the White. On one occasion I arrived in the Wizard's Vale hoping to proceed past the walls of Isengard, but I found the gates shut, to my great disappointment. Thereupon I remained for a while, content to gaze upon Orthanc, in awe of the tower's beauty - and stricken by its commanding presence. But something about the sight came to unsettle me, and before long I turned away and set myself back upon the road.

The Yellow Sun[]

Written by ? Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad,gulf

The Yellow Sun

Author: {name:nearHaradrim_male} the Minstrel


The yellow Sun is a burning glow,
who burns all folk the same;
Southron, Eastman, Northman foe
all wither 'neath her flame.

The yellow Sun is a noontide dread;
by dusk a golden flood.
Her eye is bright; our Lord's is red,
and dyed in Gondor's blood!

To Gríma[]

Written by ? Type: rohan

To Gríma

Author: Gálmód


My dear son,

It has been many a month since you last visited your mother and I. We have heard stories that you are now an advisor to the King in his hall! Your mother and I could not be more proud. Your name is spoken all around the village, and we all know you will serve the King well.

I hope to see you soon, son. Come to visit us when the King gives you leave.

With love,

A letter to the King (2)[]

Written by ? Type: rohan

A letter to the King

Author: {name:rohan_male} of the West-march


My lord,

I write to you in urgency. Our lands are under constant assault, being raided by the foul Hillmen from west of the Mountains. Their attacks have increased of late, and they have been aided by strange Orcs of the Mountains. Our garrison can hold them at bay no longer. We need reinforcements from Edoras, or else I fear the West-march will fall to our foes.

I hope the messenger reaches you in time. We cannot hold out for long.

Tom Bombadil[]

Written by Aidan Types: shire, rivendell, eriador

Tom Bombadil

Author: Léofred, the Scribe


Deep in the Old Forest, down by the banks of the Withywindle river, there lives a curious creature by the name of Tom Bombadil.

Those who know something of him, by all accounts, describe him as a jolly fellow of a curious mood and manner. It is not quite clear who - or what - Tom Bombadil is, but there have been several accounts from Elves to suggest that he may not be of mortal Man-kind. There is also a widespread belief that Tom Bombadil is a wielder of good magic, after the manner of the Wizards, though little is known of the precise skills he may possess.

While I myself have never met Tom Bombadil, I did have the good fortune to meet an Elf, not so long ago, who mentioned Tom Bombadil by name. Gildor of Rivendell he was, and our paths crossed in the Lone-lands as Spring was beginning. He and I were both travelling West - I alone, and him with a company of Elves - so I journeyed with them for a time.

On many nights Gildor and his companions would tell old tales or sing strange songs. In one of these tales he mentioned a curious man by the name of Tom Bombadil, and his wife Goldberry, the daughter of the River. Gildor claimed that Bombadil could sing songs to make the trees grow, and the rivers run, and the stars shine fairer by night. Naturally, upon hearing that I took a great curiosity in this Tom Bombadil - though he was known to Gildor and his folk by another name. They called him Iarwain Ben-adar: the Oldest and Fatherless.

Soon after by the borders of the Shire I parted ways with Gildor and his companions, but to this very day, Tom Bombadil continues to fascinate me. I wonder if I shall ever chance to meet him.

The Tragedy of Harondor[]

Written by Karseius Types: harnedor,southron,umbar,nomad

The Tragedy of Harondor

Author: Athil


It is a tale known to everyone among our people. It was once our home: the country the Northlings call Harondor. Long ago, my brethren ruled all the lands from the fertile valley of the Aphûr-nin to the northern river Poros. But then the Sea-people came to settle in the far North, and crowned one of the their own as King. I curse the seas that failed to swallow their ships.

The realm of the Adûnâim grew in strength, and soon only the shallow waters of Poros divided their lands from ours. As we all know, the Northlings are a vile and greedy sort of men, who felt only envy when they looked upon our beautiful lands. So with cruelty and threats, they forced many of our Princes in the North to pay tribute. Before long, many of those Princes swore fealty and declared themselves servants of the White Tree! Can you imagine it? Some of those cowards even adopted the ways and speech of the North. It was a grave betrayal of our people... yet they would pay for their folly, soon enough.

For it was the Northlings' King Tarannon who, greedy as he was, no longer felt content with the tributes he received from those few traitorous Princes. Instead, he declared that all the lands north of the Aphûr-nin belonged to his kingdom. That very day, the war for Harondor, the great tragedy of our people, began.

Our warriors were fierce and fearless, gladly giving their lives to protect the lands of our forefathers. Yet in the end the strength of our men was not enough, for the Northlings' treachery knew no end, and their sorcery granted them power we could not match. After years of war, Harondor was lost, and our people were exiled south, behind the Aphûr-nin. Those traitors who fought alongside the Northlings were rewarded, with high positions of great favour, while they left their own people to wither and starve. Cursed be their names!

Aye, that was the tragedy of Harondor. And at last, it seems, there may be a way to make things right. For the Great Eye is rising once more in the Shadow-lands, and allied to his might, we cannot fail! We shall reclaim what was once ours, so that no Northling will ever again set foot upon our people's country. The White Tree will wither, and turn to dust! Praise the Lord of Fire and Ash! Praise Sauron the Great!

Traveller's Tale, part one[]

Written by Commandogregor1234 Type: ruins

Traveller's Tale, part one


It has been many days since I left the comfort of my old home behind, in lands I passed long ago.

Whispers have I heard, of ruins of old in the northern wastes where the sky glows white and the red-trees grow. Many an Orc have I slain to keep my trail steady. Unwavering has been my pace - a pace I keep steady day after day, night after night.

Black clouds darken the sky.

Traveller's Tale, part two[]

Written by Commandogregor1234 Type: ruins

Traveller's Tale, part two


I keep my pace. The Sun rises again over the soft, white ground.

The dead surround me. Relics of ages long past. And still, I continue.

Will I perish before reaching the Mountains of the North? Will this journey ever cease? My heart grows weary.

Yesterday, I came upon a small hovel in the clearing of a withered forest. The residents lay long dead; the foul stench of rotting flesh hung in the air, rank as the pits of the Enemy.

Many Wargs and Orcs have I slain in recent days.

Traveller's Tale, part three[]

Written by Commandogregor1234 Type: ruins

Traveller's Tale, part three


At last I see the white peaks of the northern mountains rising up behind the dead forests.

The dark clouds are lifted. The Orcs, Wargs, and wicked Hill-Men are no more.

The mountains grow ever nearer.

Traveller's Tale, part four[]

Written by Commandogregor1234 Type: ruins

Traveller's Tale, part four


Snow! Snow, everywhere!

The white sky is blinding. The horizon, all snow.

Am I finally losing my mind? I can see a hint of red, faintly, on the horizon.

Could it be the red-trees of legend, or am I driven mad at last by loneliness and wasting cold?

Traveller's Tale, part five[]

Written by Commandogregor1234 Type: ruins

Traveller's Tale, part five


In recent days, I slew a lumbering Snow-Troll. But my left arm was broken in the skirmish.

The winds blow ever colder, and I fear I may freeze to death. But for now I have found refuge in ruins by the northern mountains.

The snow falls softly.

In the darkness around me I hear noises far-off... the howls of Wargs! The screams of wild Men!

The night grows cold, and the noises are drawing closer.

I cannot lift my sword high with one arm broken. But nonetheless, I must face the darkness.

Troll Gold[]

Written by Sinthorion Types: eriador, blue_mountains, durins_folk, shire

Troll Gold


Hill-trolls tall as pine trees, waiting in the deep night,
must fear the sun's great might lest they turn to dark stone
Many Dwarves are roaming the land in search of gold,
but those who are too bold will feed the Trolls their bone!
The few who do succeed, nor fall to lurking Orc,
will find the Troll's rich hoard of silver, gold, mithril:
now they can live like kings, until they sink to grave.
Soon Orcs crawl from the cave, from the dead to steal.

Troubling Times[]

Written by ? Type: dorwinion

Troubling Times

Author: {name:gondor_male}


Trouble stirs across the Golden Ford. For the first time in many years, whispers have come that our neighbours in Rhúdel are raising an army.

They must be heeding the Dark Lord's call. Gondor will be their prize... we are only merchants, but we really ought to do something. The Men of Gondor are our kin.

The Court assures us they will respect the trade agreement, and leave us be, but I do not trust the word of the Court. Most folk do not.

I fear that soon the flames of war will burn across our fields and vineyards, and then we will regret our idleness.


Written by Thaumablazer Types: blue_mountains, durins_folk, ruins


Author: {name:dwarf_male} son of {name:dwarf_male}


On and on, I mine and mine;
my pick grows dull, my hands grow sore.
A-walking in this blackened cave,
I hunt for treasures evermore.

Down this hole, I carry on;
my pouches fill with ores and stone.
Now light is strewn throughout my path
and there - the true light sparkles lone!

True-silver! Oh, it calls to me
its shine beholding guides my way.
I raise my tool to swing once more -
and silver fades to darkened grey.

A Riddle[]

Written by Forten Types: eriador, ruins, shire, rivendell

A Riddle


"A flock of green butterflies,
held aloft with stiff string" -
or so the wind whispers,
or so the wind sings.

"A self-raising tower
grips me with its claws" -
or so the earth rumbles,
or so the earth roars.

What do they speak of?


Written by ? Type: harnedor,southron,umbar


Author: {name:nearHaradrim_male} the Learned


Umbar is the proudest of our realms. A mighty ship-haven it is, built long ago by our ancestors who came from over the Sea. A great fortress it is also, with a palace full of treasure and wisdom; and a bustling city, where merchants from all over the world come to sell their goods.

Once, long ago, the cruel Men of the North claimed dominion over Umbar. Then our forefathers took up the sword, and marched to war: and though with much grief and loss of life, the Havens were returned to us.

Umbar now stands in our control, as it has for centuries. Now our enemies have grown weak, and we strong, with the aid of Lord Sauron. We fear the Northmen no longer; indeed, they fear our might - as they rightly should!

I hope that one day I shall have cause to journey to the Havens of Umbar, and behold her majesty and glory with my own eyes.

There were Worms[]

Written by Gruk Types: rhun, dorwinion, dale

There were Worms

Author: Skald of Rhúnost


A beast of South,
it drills and drolls;
it guards the pass
but lets none pass.
It digs and kicks
through rock and sand;
it chews the soil,
but eats no salt.
No Men can stay
the lengthy might;
no Men can stop
the endless search:
in search of food,
and joyous fun.

The White Trees[]

Written by Forten Types: lothlorien, lindon, rivendell, eriador, gondor, eregion

The White Trees

Author: Hirgon


Telperion: the Elder-tree
that shone upon the western-sea,
And then was Galathilion
that sadly bloomed on Tirion.
Next Celeborn, and Nimloth fair,
that burned in subtle Sauron's lair,
and then the Trees of Gondor tall:
of Minas Ithil ere her fall;
of Minas Anor, walled and wide;
and Minas Tirith in her pride.

The White Wolves of Winter[]

Written by Joetatoe Type: shire

The White Wolves of Winter

Author: Joseph Crossburrow


Yes, here's an old story, lo!
That every young Halfling should know.
When white wolves came down,
and gave all folk a frown
at Eastfarthing's first sight of snow.

They came from the wastes of the North;
in the hills they roamed back and forth.
Iced Brandywine river
they crossed with a shiver,
to savage both Halfling and Dwarf.

Those wolves ninety winters ago
would've dealt us no end of woe
if not for fair Buckland,
the Shire-folk's luck-land,
who woke their alarm-horn to blow.

This horn must be blown only strictly:
don't mess - or be scolded bitterly!
With a shot and a shout
Buckland drove the wolves out,
and the Shire could celebrate victory!

On the Wild Men[]

Written by ? Type: gondor

On the Wild Men

Author: {name:gondor_male}


Some of what is now only remembered by the common folk, as myths in old tales and songs, may hold more truth than one might think.

I have served the Steward as Chief Librarian for many years, and among my many studies, the old tales of Woses stood out to me. These Wild Men, from what we know, once dwelt in the Drúadan Woods to the north, and the great forests beside the cape of Andrast.

Not much is known about these stunted Men, but we do know that they lived in their lands long before the Rohirrim came south in aid of Cirion. The foothills and mountains, and much of the vale called Dunharrow by the Rohirrim, are all filled with strange statues. Púkel-men, we call them, and it seems they were built by the Wild Men long ago.

The Woses, by all accounts, are a very secretive folk. They rarely show themselves to travellers, preferring to keep hidden in their forest dwellings. They do not possess much in the way of smithcraft, but they are said to wield blowing-pipes and poisoned darts to defend themselves. Truly, they are masters of the woods. It is said that even the foul Orcs fear them.

Though there have been no accounts of Wild Men for many centuries, one should not forget all the hidden things that lie nigh to us. Many disregard the Wild Men as nothing more but old tales of forest savages, but I believe these old tales hold more than one might think.