My travels have bought me far and wide, up through the North of the Lone Lands I went and then East, to pass over the Trollshaws and into the Ettenmoors.
The welcome is far less than warm; my companion decided it would be a good idea to have a fire whilst he was on watch on the edges of the ‘Moors. He almost got me killed, and I almost killed him in turn, for lighting that fire; a mean looking pack of Wargs was hunting at the bottom of the valley that night. From there we could also see the twinkling lights of the small hobbit village of Hoarhallow, fighting off orcs and other evil beasts day and night.
My thoughts have been rather dark as of late, living in fear of death every moment does bring a thrill to life, but is not good in the long term. The world I knew feels like it does not exist anymore, few people know I’m here, I hang to the side of the front line, finding the strays and taking them down. My companion is dead, pierced by an orc arrow. No burial for him, he ended in the belly of Wargs and orcs. I had to go or I would face the same end.
I live on the sides, hunting what I can, few times going into the safe haven that is Glan Vraig, to buy the few supplies I need and to get information from the traders. The forts switch sides from day to day, not knowing where you will find yourself the next day. I am alone, I dare not trust any of the other, I do not know them or what they will do. Often it is just easier to escape the notice of large groups by being alone, though they often have trackers with them, and to make them lose their scent is hard, some orcs have keener scent than bloodhounds and Wargs certainly have.
I set traps around my hidden camp, though not snares or such crude instruments, but subtle traps that let me know when an enemy is close.
I shall not write of them here as I have heard some orcs speak the common tongue, though in a grotesque fashion.
It was the early watches in the morning, when I heard one of my traps. I was alarmed, I peered out of my hiding place and saw, nearby a skulking squat creature on all fours, a typical tracker of the sorts the Warleaders whip into gear. I did not have a second to waste, soon he would be upon me and call up his orc pack, I used the skills I had so sharply honed to distract him, I positioned myself and threw a small pebble behind him; luckily he fell for it and turned around to go and inspect it. Here was my chance, I wrapped my cloak around me, and drew Gurth Sigil, the blade shimmering underneath the cloak, I raised it and stabbed the vile creature.
The orcs in this land are more resistant than elsewhere, one hit will not take them, they will fight for their master until the end, my only choice is to keep fighting on, and so I slashed it in the throat with Durmegil, the blade tinted in the black blood of the goblin. It could not scream, I was going to finish this one easily.
I was wrong, the slimy creature had a small broad bladed short sword, he turned around and slashed at my leg, cutting just above the knee, I felt the wound sting; luckily, the damned blade was not poisoned. I fought my way and cut the orc’s wrist, with a dirty attack, weakening his arms. I finally finished him by driving my sword up through his jaw and head, the small stinking creature fell with a thud; the smell would attract wolves, or more vile creatures. I needed to move.
Luckily, I have not been hunted these past few days, it appears there is a large group of Free People roaming about, possibly boosted by fresh reinforcements.
Up till now I am safe, worn, but safe, I hope I can write my next entry.
My war goes on.
