The Adventures of Tobasco da Gama

Well, I certainly have heard my fair share of complaints about my previous missive, mostly accusations of self-aggrandisement. I assure you I simply recounted events as they happened, and any reader possessing a modicum of comprehension would have noticed a far more important broad theme underlying my telling of those events. Yes, my sword by chance struck the final blow, but I thought I made it abundantly clear that I never would have been in position to take that blow without the assistance and timely interventions of my companions.

Well, now that I have ruined what I thought a perfectly neat and rather poetic bit of prose by explaining it over much, I suppose I might as well continue my tale.

At this point in my journey, I found myself caught up in the affairs of wizards. Strange folk, they are, but not wholly disagreeable. One of these wizards instructed me to aid one of his companions in the Lone-Lands. Along the way, I found myself caught up in the affairs of Rangers and the denizens of a certain Forsaken Inn on the edge of Bree-land.

(Continued)

My recent adventures have taken me all across Eregion, from the shores of Evendim to Rivendell itself, and I almost fear I’ll never catch up the present. So, rather than fall further behind, it is time I relate the tale of Sambrog’s downfall.

After our first encounter with the Wight-Lord, Jurgen and I found ourselves in need of some rest and recuperation, so we immediately mounted up on my steed, Salamander, and make our way to the Prancing Pony in Bree-Town. There was some sort of noisy commotion in the night, but not anything to do with us or our mission to defend the Free Peoples, I’m sure.

In the morning, we went down to purchase our breakfast from Barliman, who was grousing about ruined beds or some such thing, when the raised voice of an angry dwarf (is there another kind?) broke through the usual din of pub noise.

(Continued)

Writing for an audience is a strange sensation for such an unremarkable Woman of Dale as I. However, I cannot help but notice that my exploits have attracted some attention in Bree-land and more recently among the Eglan. As much as I would prefer to let my actions stand for themselves, I fear that none in the public eye can escape the grasp of certain panderers of sensation. Thus, lest I trust my family’s good name to the salacious pamphleteers of Arda, I instead choose to put forth these memoirs in a spirit of humility, mindful to relate only events as they happened, without the usual bombastic embellishments that pass for journalism among Men.

Simply to sate curiosity and silence the gossips (a hopeless goal, I am sure), perhaps I shall start with a few brief words on my origins. I was born in Dale, at the foot of the Lonely Mountain, to a family of some small wealth but little other note. My ancestors have always served the Kings of Dale well, but their names are not well-known even among our own people, so I will spend no time on them. Thus, as a girl, I was initiated into the ways of war. Some, at this point, no doubt cry, “Scandal!”, but this is the way of our family, as it always has been, and no more shall be said of it by me.

My instructors deemed me capable, but not remarkable, an assessment I insist remains accurate to this day. If any lesson must be taken from my modest successes, let it be not that I myself am some paragon of virtue and skill but simply that I have achieved that which is possible for all Men or Women born into my privilege and possessing the desire to perform his or her duties well. No doubt there are others, many others, who possessed the latter without the former, and the cause of the Free Peoples is the worse for that fact. It is my dream, for some day when the Evil that darkens this blighted Age is vanquished, to see that such privilege is eliminated and not one person among the whole race of Men will be held back by lack of opportunity from fulfilling their highest potential.

But enough of dreams. Perhaps for this first missive I should finish with an explanation of how I traveled from Dale to Bree and began to attract all this quite undeserved attention. It is a simple story, but one that ought to be told simply to save certain tongues some wagging.

As ever, the people of Dale are friends to the Men of the West, and news of the troubles in Eregion has reached as far as our humble kingdom. Thus, King Brand himself dispatched myself and all the other fighters he could spare to seek out Gondor and learn how we might be of aid. As we crossed Rhovanion toward the south, however, we found everywhere the servants of Evil. The farther we pushed, the harder it became to avoid patrols of orcs and goblins, until finally, after a number of running battles where we won the day but lost many of our band, we were forced to divert west to the relative safety of Bree-land. Of course, the way from Rhovanion to Bree was none to safe, nor, as we were to discover, was Bree itself immune to the encroaching darkness. In the end, only myself and my faithful herald Jurgen made it to the city. All the others either lay dead at the hands of orcs and other Evil, turned back, or stayed to assist the pockets of resistance we encountered along the way.

Thus, our two-person emissary arrived and discovered that Bree-Land required our assistance every bit as much as Gondor, so we determined to set out from here to do what good could be done by two soldiers in a dangerous world. Along the way, we had the great fortune to assist others like us who have pledged themselves to the defense of the Free Peoples of Middle Earth, performing great feats together which none of us alone could achieve. But, all these stories shall be saved for later.

Fare well, and stay free.
–C