Although it had been many years since the fall of Sauron, it was clear to anyone that the forest of Mirkwood would forever be tainted by his evil touch. Thranduil himself would not spare anyone to truly reclaim the remainder of the once green forest, allowing simply for a sparsely-manned watchtower at Dol Guldur, and the allowance for any other fools to do as they wished in those haunted, sick trees. The darkness and the creatures that often dwelt within had ruined the beauty of much of the forest; and with the rings of power gone, there was no Elf on Middle-Earth or Arda that could cleanse Mirkwood. However, that did not stop the quest of a few brave settlers - a handful of Elves, hoping to reclaim their lost land, and to found the most independent and inclusive colony in all of Middle-Earth. Things only seemed to improve at the discovery of a mithril mine, and suddenly their small hamlet of about 13 families tripled in size, with folks of all walks of life and species coming to settle down. It was a place to start anew; if you wanted to work, and had some sort of good in your heart, then all were welcomed to the reclusive colony... provided people could find their way, that is.

In more recent months, the inclusiveness of the colony began to dwindle. Folk found it harder and harder to find the once well-trodden paths through Mirkwood to find the place, and even if they did, they were often turned aside unless they had something to offer. The mithril in the mines was being exported to many different kingdoms in the land, but it was beginning to turn those in Dôr-min-Taur greedy. While a common trait found in Dwarves when it came to the treasures of the earth, it began to seep through all of the miners, regardless of race. Deeper and deeper they dug into the earth, ghosts of the past being ignored as they forgot what had once happened in Moria. The mithril brought them wealth, and wealth meant their small, unimportant colony could be built into one of the greatest kingdoms of the fourth age. All would know about Dôr-min-Taur, and their wealth would make Erebor itself look small. The people would flock to their great gates, their lowly citizens would become lords and ladies of great stature. People dwelling there sent out excited letters to their loved ones and friends outside the borders, promising great riches and power. "Come!" They would say. "Come to the great forest city and share in our wealth!"

But all of a sudden... the letters stopped. The birds and messengers did not come from the forest anymore. Nobody really noticed until the shipments of mithril, jewels and other rich ores dried up. Those few merchants who believed they were being robbed ventured into the forest in anger, but none of them ever returned. Some blamed the forest, for even Elves could go lost in those mind-boggling trees and enchanted rivers. Others blamed orcs and spiders, saying the few that were left in Southern Mirkwood could easily pick off a few lonely travellers. But after several months, mild concern grew into a great worry. Dôr-min-Taur had been silent for far too long.

---

---

"I yrn mi taur na íd dîn... ah raeg..." Although murmured softly, the voice of the tall Elvish ranger cut through the thick silence of the forest jarringly. The three others with him shuddered lightly, but couldn't help agreeing in their own heads. At the head of the group was a female; just as tall as her companions, but with hair a deep red that contrasted sharply against the other's silvery-blonde locks. Her face was stern as she crouched low to the ground, fingers lightly running over the underbrush of the forest before coming to a sudden stop - something laid there that did not belong with the fallen leaves. It was a small wooden doll - minute, but beautifully carved. Picking it up gently, the elf let it lay in her hand for a moment, gazing at the discarded toy in an almost melancholy manner. No child would throw such a beauty away on purpose. She could only wish that this doll had fallen from a merchant's shipment, and when she and the others were to arrive at the colony, she could reunite it with many other dolls, being happily played with by children.

"Elennína." Her companion spoke again, and she snapped out of her reverie, straightening up and gazing back into the gloom of the forest. Elennína was no naive fool - she could not say what would await them at Dôr-min-Taur, but it would not be frolicking children being watched by adoring parents. The silence brought with it a sense of impending doom, and terrible danger. She could not fathom why someone would settle down here in the first place, let alone bring children with them... but it had been better before. Now, things seemed to be changing for the worst. "Boe ammen al-dar."

Raising one hand to quieten him, Elennína swiftly and silently drew out her bow, the doll falling to the floor. Her keen ears had picked up movement in the darkness - too loud to be a spider, but too quiet to be goblins. Hopefully they were more travellers seeking the same as she and her group... but it was better safe than sorry. With all four Elves now having drawn their bows and pointing them into the darkness, Elennína stepped forward cautiously.

"Come forth! We wish you no harm, if it is not wished upon us."

Thurin stepped into view. Armor scuffed and battle-axe still dripping with the ichor of dead forest spiders. His great black beard was stained and a tad unkempt from his travels, but still very well groomed. While not as naturally silent as an Elven ranger, Thurin had kept himself alive the past century by walking far more quiet than others of his boisterous kin.

The past tenday he had tackled the forest known as Mirkwood. His supplies had run for quite awhile, but eventually he had needed to hunt. The Dwarf had managed to nab two conies, but the only other prey he had managed to kill was prey that had aggressively approached him. Needless to say, he was quite tired of Spider meat, but he still thanked Aule for the provisions, and the satisfaction of killing a few of the monsters.

Come back alive, or at least leave dead in your wake his father had told him when he had volunteered. Thurin felt that statement odd, for he'd gone through worse surely. The Trolls and Orcs of the mountains, and the nameless beasts of the deep, were more dangerous than forest spiders. Either way, Thurin had embraced his father and had traveled the foothills the past month before wading into the realm that was Mirkwood.

Seeing Elven arrows aimed at him, his stared at Elennína as if to say 'try it.' He was never the most polite around Elves at the best of times, and he was more tired and hungry than he cared to admit now, to say the least. The broad adventurer stood as a statue, grim and stonefaced before the Elven warriors.

"No harm," he grumbled. "Unless you're kin to spiders."

Tired, tired and thirsty. A long, jagged scratch across her cheek stung sharply in the close, humid air, and several bruised muscles murmured with each step. The woman who stopped to catch her breath chose not to lean against a tree for comfort, or even to sit down - it was all too dangerous now. Slender hands fidgeted, curling around her sword’s hilt or stroking the strap of her quiver. Anything to keep moving, to stay awake. The last time she had closed her eyes to catch just a few minutes of sleep, she had woken to a crazed, snarling creature rifling through her belongings. He had been emaciated and limping, but some feral energy had lent him strength and speed. Nehanda had fended him off and taken his life, but she hadn’t come away unscathed. Nor did she feel wholly justified in the killing, upon surveying the man crumpled at her feet. She had composed his body in a more dignified position and left him behind, sorely wishing he’d had some water on his person.

Nehanda lifted her head, nostrils flaring as she caught a new scent. Her dark eyes flitted through the trees, hoping to see the familiar garb of one of her companions. No such luck, she realized with more dashed hope - she hadn’t seen them for several days, by her vague and increasingly inaccurate estimation. The forest had defied their skills as rangers, hiding the sky from them and stealing any hint of a breeze. The trees were eerie and seemed to murmur, leaving Nehanda feeling unusually off-kilter. She had the sensation of being followed, but despite backtracking and trying to hunt down her hunter, she never found a sign to justify her paranoia.

I’ve found something now, she thought with a mixture of relief and wariness. She followed the scent of sweat and blood, body crouching lower with each step until she was moving almost soundlessly though the underbrush. She stepped lightly on the outer edges of her feet, letting them roll inward for a solid footing - unless something was felt, at which point she could shift her weight rather than putting it down and potentially breaking a twig or dry leaf. In this way she had hunted animals, and it worked now just as well for slipping up unnoticed. An elf would hear her, she knew, but she wasn’t afraid of elves.

A booted foot swept over a tangle of branches, settling confidently on a patch of dirt instead. Knees soft and bent, Nehanda slipped around yet another tree. Voices found home in her ears, both the fairer bell-tone of an Elf and the rougher one that belonged to a male. She couldn’t see them yet, but she wasn’t so thirsty as to rush forward into such a tense meeting. Sinking into her haunches, Nehanda rested her forearms on her knees with her hands dangling between. She didn’t concern herself with pulling her sword or nocking an arrow, but the fingers of her right hand grazed a bejeweled handle thrusting up from her boot.

“I can’t believe you wrestled with that spider! It was really impressive, considering it was the size of you,” Cassinia kept up an energetic chat, all while spinning her pipe around in her fingers. She’d ran out of pipe-weed days ago and Ted refused to share any that he still had (from rationing better).

“I wouldn’t have had to if you hadn’t just stood there gawping and shot the thing,” Ted responded with a slightly huff from where he walked just ahead of the younger hobbit. Indeed he bore some scratches on his face and arms from the unwelcome tussle; it had been agreed that Cassi would shoot any creature they came across on sight. Of course he should have expected the less experienced scout to just stand and stare at a new and wondrous sight.

“Well I’ve never seen something like it before, and it could’ve been friendly. I didn’t want to just shoot it without knowing that,” Cassi shrugged, keeping a wide grin on her face. This was all very new to her – she’d barely travelled outside of the borders of Westmarch and Shire before. It was exciting! Even the hunger and tiredness, which was part of the experience.

“We’re unlikely to bump into anything friendly,” Ted just snorted. He’d travelled more than enough to know that Southern Mirkwood wasn’t a friendly place.

Their group was small, as hobbits weren’t the kind of folk to investigate a matter that didn’t directly affect them. Cassi and Ted were here because of the disappearance of Roderic Fairbairn; friend of both. Cassi had managed to get an old acquaintance of hers to join, Adelard Took. She had said she knew him because the Fairbairns, Gamgees, Brandybuck and Tooks all still kept in close contact. How exactly she had roped him in to their little adventure, though, Ted did not know.

They’d been travelling for weeks, starting in the Shire and making their way over to Mirkwood. As soon as Ted had realised that Roderic had stopped sending letters he had begun to plan the journey – though the route he had first decided on was changed for a slightly slower, but also safer, one when others joined. That didn’t mean it had been easy.

“Do you think there will be other people investigating? How exciting would that be! We could collaborate with all sorts of people that we don’t know… And maybe even make some friends,” Cassi hadn’t lost the hop in her step even after days of travelling. Why would she? This was all so fun! “Although I do hope Roderic is alright… I’m glad I got to go on this trip. I’ve seen so much and-”

Ted cut her off with a sharp glare and a raised hand. He could hear voices up ahead.

“Wait here, I’m going to go take a look,” he whispered, Cassi noticing the speaking now that she had stopped her endless chatter. He nodded to her. “Have your bow ready just in case.”

“Wouldn’t it be better for me to go look, just in case,” Cassi’s skill with a bow did mean she could snipe someone if needed.

Ted shook his head. “You’re too noisy. Wait here.” He didn’t give them much chance to argue before he slipped off into the undergrowth.

Sighing slightly, Cassi put away her pipe and pulled her bow from her back. Hopefully there wouldn’t be any trouble. “I wonder who else is there. Maybe it’s fair folk! I would love to meet some of them,” she kept her voice to a hushed whisper, but kept up her constant talking – just now it was directed at Adelard instead of Ted.

“If it is, do you think they’ll be friendly?”

What they say about Mirkwood was true, Húldas thought. A dark place. A cursed place. A fell place.

Neither the defeat of Sauron nor the efforts of the Elfking Thranduil had been able to fully dispel the darkness of the wood. When one crept the paths of Mirkwood, one sensed a lingering, a scuttling, not of some beast or creature (though those both were present in equal proportion), but of the very air itself. Something stirred, beyond one's vision, beyond one's hearing, beyond one's very ability to perceive, and yet one knew that it was there, in the deep places of the wood where no light could ever hope to reach.

The colonists of Dôr-min-Taur were fools, and likely they had met a fool's end. But it just so happened that one of them was his brother. And, dead or no, he had to find him.

Húldas could not fathom why Dúnmer had chosen this place, of all places, to fly from the sight of their father. Gondor would've been his choice, if it had been him, or across the Misty Mountains to Arnor, places far more comfortable, and at the very least tamed. Perhaps he had, though; although they had been corresponding by letter for two years, Dúnmer had never been quite clear on the thirteen or so years between his flight from Rohan and his arrival in Dôr-min-Taur, and Húldas had not pried. But one thing he had to admit: if one wanted to hide from the eyes of the world, Mirkwood was perhaps the best place in all of Middle-Earth, barring the deep mansions of the dwarves. Dúnmer claimed he had come to Dôr-min-Taur for the opportunity to get rich from the mithril boom, and Húldas did not doubt it...but was there more to it than that? Húldas was unsure, and he couldn't be sure of anything about Dúnmer any more. After all, he hadn't seen him in thirteen years.

Soon enough I'll know the truth, he thought, leading Hárfax through a particularly treacherous tangle of roots, About all of this.

It was cold in the wood. The close, humid air had a way of chilling you to the bone, creeping underneath your furs like a thief. Húldas pulled his cloak more tightly about him, his breath fogging in the gloom. He paused for a moment, regarding the closely knotted canopy above; even in winter, it seemed, the trees did not shed their leaves.

Just another sign of the wickedness of this place.

A small brook, dark and bitterly cold and choked with smooth, egg-like stones, ran quietly not too far off. Húldas decided this was just as good a place as any to take a rest and get his bearings. He planted his spear (which he had been using as a walking stick) into the earth, sloughed off the saddlebags Hárfax's back, and finally lowered himself down onto a soft bed of leaves at the foot of a gnarled oak. Hárfax, free of her burden, wandered off towards the brook. Húldas' legs ached from the saddle, his bones felt like they were rattling, and he was hungry besides; what's more, he thought that he was lost. From the saddlebag he extracted the map he had bought at the small settlement of Woodmen who lived on the forest outskirts (forced out by recent events), along with a rind of moldy cheese and a crust of stale bread. He ate ravenously while trying to make sense of the thing. Scrutinizing the terrain, trying to match the brook with the little squiggles on the map, even for ten or more minutes, availed him no greater understanding of his environs. It all looked the same to him: dark trees, dark streams, dark paths, dark, dark, dark, with little light to guide him. He could be anywhere in Mirkwood, for all he knew. But what else could he do, other than go forward? The Woodmen said that if he continued on his northward course, he should reach Dôr-min-Taur within the matter of days, though even they were unsure of its exact location. As they had said, "Once you enter the wood, you shall be alone, utterly, and shall have yourself only for guide." A comforting thought.

He brushed the crumbs off of his clothes, rolled the map up, and with a grunt, hoisted himself up onto his feet with his spear. He had lost sight of Hárfax, but heard a whinny a little ways off. Spear in hand, he shouldered the saddlebags and headed towards the direction of the brook, calling out softly, "Hárfax! Tolo anin naur!" He found her watering in the stream. "I hope that black water doesn't corrupt you too," he said tenderly in her ear, stroking her dark mane, "I'm sorry...but I must burden you again. We must press on. Gwaem."

Then, he heard it, faintly, above the cooing of the waters...voices.

He froze, and immediately let the saddlebags down onto the mossy shore. He pricked up his ears and listened; it was coming from the northeast...a man...no, a Dwarf, and a female...an Elf. A peculiar pair, he thought. He couldn't understand what they were saying; he knew he had to get closer, and if they were friendly, hail them. It could have been merely some glamour of the wood, trying to trick him, or bandits trying to prey upon those who had wandered in in search of the colony. He doubted it, though; he thought that he had heard some Sindarin, and later some patches of Westron. Perhaps they were colonists who had lost their way; Dwarves, Men, and Elves lived in tandem in Dôr-min-Taur, after all. Glamour or no, bandit or no, friend or foe, he had to know who they were.

"Boe i 'waen," he whispered to Hárfax, "Stay here."

He leapt nimbly across the brook, and, kneeling down, began to creep through the brush towards the direction of the voices. His heart was pounding; it was like the sensation of stalking a deer. He threw his hood up. In the sylvan gloom, his breath was the only thing that marked his progress. The voices were drawing nearer; he was able to discern multiple speakers, not merely two, as he had at first...multiple Elves, and still only one Dwarven voice. Curious indeed. Finally, in the midst of the trees, he found them: four Elves, all with bows drawn, and led by a strikingly beautiful female. Their bows were directed towards an imposing Dwarf, with an axe slung over his shoulder.

At a sign from the Elven leader, the others stood down and adopted a less hostile, but still wary posture. They began to discuss Dôr-min-Taur; it seemed that they were both in search of the place.

It still could be a glamour, a trick of the wood, he warned himself, Or bandits arguing amongst themselves.

But he decided that it was the worth the risk, whoever they were. If these were people in search of the colony, and, more importantly, if they knew where they were going, he had to risk it, at the very least to ascertain the right direction, if not join them outright. He might not have the chance again, and he did not exactly fancy dying a slow and cruel death in the bowels of the forest ensnared in a spider's web.

Thus, Húldas stepped quietly from the shadows towards the group, and immediately all five brandished their weapons, the elves redirecting the attention of their bows towards him. He dropped his spear, and raised his arms above his head in surrender.

"Goheno nin...Im foeg cin baw flae. Peditham hi sui vellyn?" he asked, hood still obscuring his face, "Apologies, master Dwarf. I am not so good with the Westron speak."

As soon as the Dwarf had stumbled into view, Elennína's grip on her bowstring immediately relaxed; weapon lowering with the rest of her companion's weapons. She had to admit, she felt a quirk of amusement at the Dwarf's reaction of them - or rather, lack of. Completely unfazed at the sight of four Elven archers, in a place as mind-boggling as Mirkwood. Before she could greet the Dwarf, more noises around the clearing met her ears. Clearly, this chance meeting had attracted a few others; someone crouching nearby, distant, oddly excited chattering in the distance, and more footsteps steadily approaching the clearing.

Weapons were raised once more as a new stranger approached; a man, clearly of Rohan stock. Not a second after, a Hobbit entered from the opposite row of trees, and Elennína cocked an eyebrow curiously.

"It would seem we aren't alone in our search for the colony, Ardhalon." Her voice was the first to cut through the tense silence surrounding the four species within the clearing. The tone of her voice and the ever so slight smile directed towards the blond elf behind her indicated a "told-you-so" attitude. Ardhalon did not look impressed. Looking back to the others, Elennína turned first to the Hobbit; she had met a few in passing before, so she found it odd that a usually cheerful race would have a member as dour looking as he. "I insist you invite your friends to join us - Mirkwood is no place to be wandering through alone."

Her gaze turned now; flicking at first to the Dwarf, then the Man, and then the darkness of the forest inbetween, narrowing her emerald eyes shrewdly. She was certain someone hid there, but if they chose to remain silent, that was of no hindrance to the elf. If they were a foe, they would have attacked or fled long before the group had grown to this size.

"State your business here in the realm of King Thranduil." Ardhalon ordered brusquely to the others; Elennína noticed the grip on his bowstring was just a touch more taut than the others. Whether it was the presence of a Dwarf and old grudges, or simply the sight of so many strange travellers arriving at once, she did not know. Either way, the younger elf was annoying her. Not only was he lacking in hospitality, but Mirkwood had slipped from the grasp of Thranduil long ago. Technically speaking, it was an extension of Lórien, but it was foolish to say such a wild place belonged to anyone. The elves were as much strangers here as everyone else.

"They are clearly here for the same reason as us." Walking slowly around the clearing to ensure she got a good look at everyone, Elennína made sure to speak in Westron. While their man from Rohan clearly wasn't comfortable with the speech, she could only assume that everyone present knew at least some of the language. "We hail from Lothlórien, and are looking for our lost friends in Dôr-min-Taur, as I can only assume you are also. I am Elennína - I would have both your names and your company before we leave here for the colony. Mirkwood has always been treacherous, but I fear in recent weeks, the air has grown darker around this forest. It would be best to remain together, if our destination is the same." Her speech was short and blunt, but she meant her words; the presence of more friendly faces would be a welcome one, as it seemed the more people ventured through this land with you, the lighter the air became to breathe.

Húldas was surprised to see that, nearly simultaneous with his arrival in the clearing, a Hobbit had emerged from the bowels of the wood. He had never personally had much to do with the Halflings before, but by all accounts they were a happy folk, fond of good food and good drink, and not inclined towards excitement and incident, except for the remarkable events of the War of the Ring. The Hobbit that faced them, however, wore a grim expression that dared the Elven archers to nock arrow to string again. He removed his hand from the hilt of his sword only reluctantly. Húldas supposed that one needed that kind of attitude to survive Mirkwood as a Hobbit.

The beautiful female Elf, who seemed to be the chief of their band and who gave her name as Elennína, addressed the motley assembly, bading them to state their name and their purpose in Mirkwood, and suggesting that, if their ends were the same, they should accompany one another on their search for the lost colony. Húldas was pleased for having stumbled into this part of the wood. This was a fortuitous meeting if ever there was one, though he had to admit that delving into the deeps of Mirkwood with two Hobbits in tow struck him as odd.

Strange bedfellows...

But there was little enmity between races now, as there had been in the Third Age. A peace reigned in Middle-Earth, though recent events augured that it would not last much longer. Men lived in relative peace; the Elves were departing to the West; the Dwarves were rebuilding their mansions. It seemed that the mixed nature of their company would be fitting for the times. But most of all...

It reminds me of the great deeds of old.

Húldas smiled, removed his hood, and stepped a few paces more towards the band of Elves, nodding at the Hobbits and the Dwarf.

"I am Húldas, son of Hárlas Elftongue, éored of Thélmar, Marshal of the East-Mark. I am also seeking the Dôr-min-Taur. A brother I have that lives there. Dúnmer, son of Hárlas...do you know him?" he asked the assembled groups in heavily accented Westron.

The Dwarf narrowed his eyes at the odd folk and their manner of speaking. He had thought all men were familiar with Westron speech. It was the tongue of men, after all. Even the people of Rohan often spoke it, and he was well traveled enough to have heard their soft, native language once or twice.

Speaking of soft, a Hobbit and more Elves than he was happy about gathered round the clearing.

At first Thurin wasn't entirely certain that he was going to travel with them. Why would he? He'd lived thus far, traveling on his own for reasons of his own. Though they were goodly folk compared to Orcs and Spiders, it did not mean he entirely trusted them after a simple hello. But then again, if they were headed to the same place, he supposed it would not hurt to trek deeper into the forest with a group for now.

Thurin snorted at the request of his name, but then grunted at the logic. He supposed it was purely pragmatic to ask his name if they were to walk together. If this had been a formal meeting he would have introduced himself off the bat. But he'd walked into the clearing with strung and drawn bows.

His Dwarf name was always hidden, save around his kinsfolk. "Thurin Stonewrought, of the Longbeards and Khazad Dum." he said, giving a sweeping bow if only to show proper courtesy. Let none say the Dwarves were not polite when first meeting company. His dark beard was so long it swept across the ground, brushing fallen leaves.

He then gave a secondary nod to the Halfling, to show he had respect for their peoples. His great grandfather had met and told stories of one Bilbo Baggins, and since then, Hobbits had always been welcome within the Stonewrought home. They were small and pillowy looking, but he'd heard they had great wanderlust like he himself had. A thirst for adventure, and a love of song.

Ted hadn’t expected to walk into a clearing filled with folk from all among the land, but here he was. A dwarf, a man of Rohan and many elves; what a curious assembly this was. Ted himself had met people from all these lands before but he could already imagine what kind of field day Cassinia was going to have when he went back to collect her and Adelard. Still, it was preferable to walking into something that would try to kill him.

He nodded slightly as Elennína addressed him – indeed what she said was sensible. The group of three hobbits had made it this far together but it was only likely to get more dangerous. And the sooner he collected the other two the better. He was the most capable and he wouldn’t put it past them to wonder off and do something dangerous.

He slowly moved towards the back of the clearing, but stayed just to listen to what the others went on to say. He was somewhat curious to know who each of these people were.

“I am Theobald Noakes of the Shire,” he added, with a nod towards them all while noting the secondary nod he got from the dwarf. Support was welcome there. Many underestimated hobbits. “I travel with two others, in search of another one of our kind. I will collect them both now.”

After giving his introduction, as polite as the others, he backed away out of the clearing and headed to where he had left Cassi and Adelard.

---

Perhaps I should not have travelled alone, Lhindél mused as he stepped over a thick branch that lay in his path. Once he had stopped hearing from his brother, and learnt it was the Dôr-min-taur itself had gone silent, he had set off in a hurry. It did not seem like the most sensible decision now. He was sure he could have requested a search party. It was in the best interest of Eryn Lasgalen, after all.

Well he was here now.

He had managed to travel through the forest well enough but the more south he got the more difficult it was. It became dark, filled with a scuttling of all sorts of creatures. He had travelled the way a few times before but had never felt it was so eerie.

Voices up ahead caught his attention, and the tall elf moved slowly towards them, hand resting on the sword at his side. He did not particularly have a knack for stealth but he waited and listened to what they were saying before making himself known. It seemed to be a gathering of people with similar goals to him; what one said about remaining together only made sense to him.

After the hobbit had introduce himself and promptly disappeared Lhindél stepped out of the forest with a nod to all that were gathered. “My name is Lhindél, of Eryn Lasgalen. I apologise for not making myself known sooner but I only just caught the end of your conversation. It is nice to see some friendly faces,” he smiled slightly, speaking in crisp Westron. “I am also travelling to Dôr-min-taur, to seek my brother.”

He did not say much more, just glancing between the others. There were enough elves to make him feel comfortable and he was no stranger to men, though he had only visit Rohan itself once or twice. The dwarf, Thurin, was more likely to be the problem. But Lhindél was willing to not jump to conclusions about the man purely due to his race.

The more they were in number the safer things would be, he was sure.

"Well, I do hope so. Sounds like quite a bunch of them - it wouldn't take much to take down three little Hobbits, I'm afraid." Adelard replied quite cheerfully - but quietly - to Cassinia, chewing on his pipe stem as he spoke, gaze directed towards the clearing where Ted had entered. Normally, Adelard would have asked Cassi to keep her voice down permanently before they'd even entered the forest, but caution had momentarily slipped his mind. Too much excitement... at least between Adelard and Cassi, that is. As for Ted, he was taking a far more practical approach, but that was simply who he was as a Hobbit. Ted wasn't that much younger than Adelard, but he certainly made up for it in his maturity over the Took. Typical to his family's legacy, Adelard had a streak of childish giddiness when it came to things like travelling; or ancient forests, or a daring rescue mission. Unfortunately for poor Ted, all three of those things were occurring at once, and the heir to the Thainedom was acting particularly immature.

"Ah, there we go! Knew our Ted would be alright." Giving both of his travelling companions a bright smile, the Hobbit listened to Ted's report of what he had discovered, and was rather pleased to find out that nothing evil lay ahead. The trio retraced Ted's steps, and re-entered the clearing, where it would seem yet another Elf had appeared.

Despite his excitement (And lack of caution), Adelard felt a rush of relief upon discovering a group of fellow travellers; Dwarves, Men, and Elves, no less. The presence of the Fair Folk was a calming one, because as wild as this forest was, it was the Elves alone who could claim any ownership or even entitlement to walking upon it's ground. Not to mention that they would be less inclined to be common highwaymen like a human could, or less likely to abandon them should trouble arise, like a Dwarf could.

"Although a Hobbit could do any of those things, I suppose - not right to judge a book by it's cover." Adelard chided himself silently, taking in the appearance of the others in the clearing. They didn't look shady at all, which was a relief. Stepping forward with a smile, Adelard removed his pipe from his mouth with a flourish.

"My name is Adelard Took, and I am pleased to make your acquaintance!" He left it at that, as there was no point in asking them all what they were doing in Mirkwood. It was hardly the place for a multi-specie picnic, so they were clearly here for the same goal as himself and his Hobbit fellows. To find Dôr-min-Taur, and their lost friends.

As the group slowly grew, Elennína became both more at ease, but more tense. The phrase; "The more, the merrier" sprung to mind, particularly in the dark forests of Southern Mirkwood. But while camaraderie brought with it warmth and perhaps even cheer (Definitely cheer, if the two jolly Hobbits that followed their surly counterpart back to the clearing were anything to go by - the additional Elf who had arrived also seemed far more pleasant than her current Eldar companions), it also meant a larger and noisier target for outside foes. Even without the mystery of Dôr-min-Taur casting paranoia in her mind, the denizens of this forest were hardly something tame. Giant spiders, goblins travelling from the Misty Mountains, trolls, bats, wolves... the list went on, and Elennína did not wish to tarry much longer.

"We must press on. Introductions can continue as we walk - regardless of what may have happened to the colony, it may still be a safer place to rest than the midst of the forest." Slinging her bow back over her head, Elennína stared into the darkness before her, where the trees grew thicker and blocked out the dying sunlight above. Although dark now, the last thing the group needed was to be travelling at night. The sun chased away more foulness than they knew until midnight approached. "Ardhalon - take the rear. Amran, Belós, the flanks." Ardhalon looked less than pleased at his task, but nodded stiffly and did as he was told. The latter two had previously been whispering to one another in their native Silvan language, eyeing up the Rohîr; as she knew how much the young brothers liked to gossip, she had no doubt they were wondering where his father got the title of Elf-Tongue. Before the group began to move, she turned to Húldas to answer his query. "I'm afraid I don't know of your brother; I've never been to the colony myself, and I'm simply here on behalf of a friend. I can only hope that the directions she gave me were sound." Her voice was blunt, as per usual - but there was a hint of sympathy there. She could understand what it was like to lose a brother, and she could only pray that everyone found their quarries alive and unharmed. At that, she unsheathed her fine Elven longsword, Amaford, and looked back towards the treeline.

After giving a brief nod to Lhindél and the two unnamed Hobbits, Elennína began leading the group onwards. If any were still hiding in the shadows, they could stay or follow; they only thing she cared about was getting to Dôr-min-Taur in one piece... and without getting lost. However, as time pressed on and the group continued to move, it would seem the directions given to her by Míriel were accurate. Even with how close together the trees were, they were much thinner than they had been before. The ground gave way to well-trodden paths, and signs of people began to appear here and there. A scarf caught on a bough, listing lazily in the breeze; initials on a tree trunk with messy stick figures, clearly carved by children; a makeshift sign, saying something along the lines of "Stop stealing my conkers" near a young chestnut tree. It wasn't long before the marks in the dirt gave way to a solid road, and as the trees suddenly thinned out, the group came upon Dôr-min-Taur.

Despite the stories that Elennína had heard about this place, she couldn't help but look upon it in awe. She had expected a small area; perhaps two or three acres, surrounded by a makeshift wall of wooden spikes no larger than fifteen feet. Instead what the group saw was a towering construct of dark stone, easily thirty feet high and stretching in both directions farther than even Elennína could see. "Perhaps they were not so foolish after all... these walls would keep out even the most adventurous of spiders." Above, one could see parapets, and holes here and there along the wall likely for shooting arrows or pouring hot oil on enemies.

"We should climb up - take a look around." The voice Ardhalon suggested, his tone matching the awe and surprise that Elennína felt. She considered the option for a moment, before glancing around to look at the others. If it had been just the four Elves, she wouldn't have hesitated... but leaving a group like this waiting out in the open was too dangerous, especially with the dark treeline so nearby.

"We're standing on a road; the gates won't be too far away." She replied, her eyes following faded wheel marks in the dirt to see which way to go. Left bore harsher marks than right, so that was the direction she took. As expected, the gates were only ten minutes away from where they had found the colony walls, and they too were magnificent. Standing tall at fifteen feet and made of a strong, fragrant olive wood, carvings had been made on the outside. Dwarves, Elves, Hobbits and Humans were all depicted on it, laughing and dancing, surrounded by food and wealth. Words bordered the picture in all the tongues of Middle-Earth, all giving the same message. Welcome, friends. As she reached out the stroke the delicate words, she hesitated. The door bore no outside damage, and yet, it was unlocked. Not just that, but it was open. From inside what was undoubtedly a larger compound than thought before, there was silence. A silent colony and an open gate could mean only two things; the people had fled, or they were still within... wordless for some spine-chilling reason.

A thick gloom hung over Dôr-min-Taur, so palpable it clung to one’s clothes, tugging slightly at each and every action. Those keen of sense would taste the blackness on their tongues, feel the dark that lingered just beyond the capacity of mortal reckoning. And there, in the deep of the Mirkwood, shadows oozed out of the silent colony. That empty place where indulgence and avarice once reigned supreme, replaced by a fell and foulness so bleak that the forbidding atmosphere of the grim woods surrounding paled in comparison.

-An excerpt from the journal of Callum Taul

The residents of Dôr-min-Taur, Lambin reflected, did not live so lavish existences such as some tales would imply. Each and every house that he came upon was simple in design, small in size, and solidly built. Squat little things that seemed more intent on hiding the wealth of their respective holders, rather than flaunting it. The interior of each house seemed to be a little less modest, but not by any significant mark. Finely carved but functional furniture was the norm by far, but evidence of their wealth could still be found: fine baubles and jewelry, smelted from gold and silver, set with rare gems, were commonplace, while satin and velvet could be found in the clothing and bedding of most homes. Lambin was sure to pocket the finest trinkets from each residency; the rest would have to be saved for when he and Callum did a proper sweep of the place with the wagon.

The lack of people was a strange thing, but it made looting exceptionally simple, and the lack of bodies was even better. Lambin was rightly sick of the stench of corpse, and anything that smelled similar. Still, he wrinkled his nose at each crusted stain of blood, and carefully avoided stepping in anything that seemed too suspect. There were more than a few occasions where he had to avoid tripping on a piece of overturned furniture, dimly lit as the homes were. Yes, he was dressed for work rather than pleasure, but the leathers were still expensively made, and there was no sense in getting oneself filthy if it could be avoided.

“Callum!” Lambin shouted with mock joy. “How welcome your dour expression is at a time like this, a true beacon of warmth in the oppressive locale we currently find ourselves in.” He sauntered a little closer to the man accompanying him. “I think we must laden ourselves with as much loot as we can carry, without straining the poor beasties too much.” As Lambin spoke, he edged closer to the two horses yoked to their wagon, stroking the mane of each one affectionately. “Slip, Grin, we’re going to make a fortune here, and I’ll trust you two to the heavy lifting.”

“Something terrible has happened here.” Callum spoke flatly, mild in tone and with a hollow ring to his voice. Lambin watched the much taller fellow climb into the wagon and seize the reigns. “We should start at the front of the city - does this place count as a city? - and work our way to the rear. We can search the mine then.”

As the pair made their way down the main road, horses clopping along towards the looming wall that grew bigger every other moment, Lambin peered forward from his seat. “Whore’s tit. We have visitors.”

Callum raised an eyebrow. “Make that one up yourself? We should greet them. We’re well within our rights to be here, and allies couldn’t hurt us.” A shadow fell across Callum’s face. “They may be useful. In the mine.”

“Let’s be on with it then, stay the course, and let me do the talking. You just… be you.”

A great tragedy must have befallen Dôr-min-Taur. Though no bodies or survivors remained in the town to speak of, there were other signs. Near every home had its furniture in some manner of disarray, chairs and sometimes tables cast about. Arrows were firmly embedded in posts and walls, missed shots by some panicked or unskilled marksman, that much is clear. The most obvious sign of crisis, however, was the blood. Blood, crimson and black, crusted and flaking in some spots, sticky like sludge in others, was no stranger to my gaze. It seemed everywhere I looked, there was some of the foul residue. Something very, very terrible happened to the people of Dôr-min-Taur.

-An excerpt from the journal of Callum Taul

Thurin the III often looked very dour, but curious as to the road they traveled. It was as if the very ground was something to take note of, as were the trees and sky when they could see it. He gazed at the surroundings with a slow yet professional air, almost akin to him examining the craftsmanship of a blade he had just received or had made himself. He kept his Axe noticeably close and at the ready, for he had seen enough of the foul spiders and their ilk in this forest to know they were never truly safe.

If he was alone, he would sing a song from the Dwarf holds within the mountain. A tune of feasting or a song of toiling and the comraderie of Dwarves hard at work. His favorite road song was The Song of Durin, for it lent his bones strength and reminded him he strode and fought the evils of the world as the ancestor of one who had explored these very lands himself. Durin was a great adventurer and founder of the Kingdoms of Old. Thurin hoped he could reach for success such as that, one day.

For now, the task at hand was enough, and it seemed perilous from what he could ascertain as the group moved ever onward down the path. A loose branch, a ripped bit of cloth there, and old footprints the date of which he could not hope to guess or tell to whom they belonged. "The road darkens akin to the very stone of the tower before us," Thurin declared once the tower of Dôr-min-Taur loomed above them.

He did not believe it was wrought by Dwarf hands, but Dwarfs had perhaps lived here judging by the engraved art. He gazed at the dancing image for a moment incredulously, and believed the tales of this colony were indeed true. Many races had lived here together in peace. If Thorgig were alive, Thurin needed to find him. If not...he would give his cousin a proper burial.

The lack of noise from within was, indeed, as loud of a warning sign as the roar of a drake. Thurin hefted his long handled axe in a two handed grip, Dwarf eyes set on the tower's interior as he slowly walked into the doorway, not even having bothered asking what his companions had thought to do. Not out of arrogance, but he was a well trodden pathfinder and danger-seeker. He knew his business.

“Oh, I’m Casssinia Fairbairn, but everyone calls me Cassi,” Cassi chirped up all too cheerfully as the now larger group was on their way towards the city, glancing around at her new companions. “I didn’t manage to introduce myself earlier. It’s nice to see so many friendly faces in a place like this.”

“I doubt everyone will be thankful to have met you soon enough,” Ted chided, lips drawn into a frown as he kept his hand on the sword at his side. Unlike the younger hobbit he had traversed some of the more dangerous Mirkwood forests before and knew that there were always dangers, even with the numbers they now had.

“I’d like to thing that I help cheer everyone up,” Cassi retorted, though she lowered her voice a bit as they approached the walls that now loomed before them. “And, if not, my good shot could be useful!”

“I think the fair folk have you beaten on that,” Ted muttered as he shot her a narrowed look to silence her. He moved his gaze back to the wall as they traversed around it, the two hobbits having to hurry to keep up with the taller folk. There was an eerie silence coming from the place. It was unnatural, as was the lack of men on the walls. The place seemed more than just abandoned. What exactly had happened here? Somehow he doubted they would find Roderic alive within. Cassinia may be hoping to see her cousin again but Ted was far from an optimist.

“Oh wow, it’s so big,” Cassi let out a quite gasp as they reached the gates, staring up at the carvings with wide green eyes. The depiction of people of all races living together would have brought her joy if it wasn’t for the silence that hung about the place. Even she knew that an open gate was not a good sign.

“It would have repelled most invaders,” Ted half responded to her, looking thoughtful. He was about to turn to Elennína, the elf who had led them this far, to ask what her thoughts were on how they should proceed when Thurin stepped forward and into the doorway. Well, it seemed that the dwarf was confident in his own judgement. It was unlikely that something would jump them as soon as they entered, he guessed. It would be easy enough to hear anyone approaching.

“Stick close to me, even if people start to split off,” Ted spoke to the two other hobbits, looking specifically at Cassi (who was want to just wander off). “We don’t know what could be inside.” And then, to the others still outside the gate. “I’m going to follow Thurin inside, you are welcome to come with me.”

He went to follow the dwarf with Cassi fast on his heels. They were barely in when the younger hobbit spoke loudly, nudging Ted as she did and pointing forward down the main road.

“Hey, is that other people?”