Journal entry: Friends and foes

Days have passed since I arrived in the Bree-Land, and days full of wonder they were. Under the guise of Rob Thistlewool (as I've later learned, that surname is shared by a constable of the rebuilding town of Archet), I have met and chatted with the people of Bree as one of their own, learning about their joys and plights. Depending of who were asked, the score differs, some claim there is more joy, while some state the contrary. One thing is certain, though - there will be no shortage of work for me and Thorontir, and the people he had mustered.

But the people of Bree were not the only encounters. I have met others, friends and foes alike. Thorontir is here too, and with him, further allies. Ulfey, of course, but also more of our kindred. And in time, it seems, as the rumours among the folk mostly correlate in two cases: the mysterious mark of a white hand, borne by the servants of the Enemy, and a name of Sharkey uttered by the lawless folk of the land. We've set our base of operations within Ulfey's shack - something I remain somewhat reluctant of, not out of mistrust to the host, but because she is known and many seek her aid. What if a guest comes while we plan our movements and overhears something not meant for his or her ears? Rumour is a mortal enemy of secret. I must discuss this with Thorontir further.

And the sooner the better. We had intercepted a band of orcs bearing the hand symbol on their faces, defeating them to preserve the peaceful sleep of Bree folk, but also caught one to question about that war-paint on his face. It was an enlightening conversation. The price for the information was the orc's freedom, and it was indeed given to him. But I am no fool and had followed the beast afterwards, slaying it before the information about us was handed to others. I am not proud for bending the promise in this way, but sometimes, one has to do regretful things for the greater good. I merely hope it is not often I need to do such a thing.