280 days untill Durin's day.
Not A day goes by with out missing you m'dear Brulda.
Today I have set out to the Lone-lands. Whispers had reached my ear over a growing darkness there. The Orc raids have increased and have grown more organized. With the absence of the rangers in Bree to share information I have decided to go there my self, not knowing what's in store for me.
After walking through the snow for a couple hours I smelled a horrid smell, some kind of Marsh, I decided to ignore it and follow the main road. Its lonely on the road, lonely and cold. No Hobbit, Elf, Dwarf nor Man has crossed path with me yet. The silence is deafening and it has become suspicious.
I have reached the borders of the lone-lands, even in winter it looks like death and sorrow. The air cold and full of hatred. I sense of dread came over me. That my own curiosity will be my own downfall. An unfitting end for A Son of Durin to die no where near any of his kin. The thought remained in my head until I spotted an Inn.
I decided to order a drink in the so called Inn. I would have preferred beeing taken hostage by Orcs, the ale of this place is A real torture. I better look for a place to sleep, a short power nap would do my self good.
Night has fallen, I have sharpened my cross bow-bolts and polished my great hammer, the smell of it almost makes me nostalgic. The last time I want on an active hunt for Orcs has been over an age ago, my blood is warmer then ever. the Hunt can begin.
I encountered A Warg. A vile creature with teeth as big as daggers. It could smell me, but A well aimed Crossbow bolt between its Longs took care of her, what I wasn't counting on were the reinforcements when the creature cried out. A small party of Goblins and Orcs arose over the Hill their numbers dwindling no more then five in number. One big orc like creature was wearing black armor with A white hand on it, after a short and glorious fight I stroke down four of my foe's, The first hit by one of my bolts,the second met his fate under the crushing power of my hammer, the third i strangled with both hands. Whilst I write, the dry blood on my gloves reminds me of the sound the creature made. The fourth fell by way of headbutt I could hear the sound of its skull cracking. The last creature ran away. Not because I won the battle, but the sun was rising. Then I saw that the creature with the White-hand on his plate held his ground. After a struggle with the creature, I managed to make it rout. What supprised me how ever, that it was not the sun that made the beast rout. It were its wounds.
In the aftermath, I found that had more extensive wounds then I had realized. I can already hear the sound of laughter from my Kin, A small orcen party and the once Mighty member of the Iron guard who was wounded. Humiliation hopefully spared to me when I arrive back in Bree.
After 2 hours of rest and tending to my wounds,the Sun had risen its highest point. I started my return to Bree. The fair lady of Rohan Brynleigh had promised me she would find one of the "Ranger"folk.
Looking back on my short expedition to the Lone-lands. Had I'd be able to trace the creature, allot more of my questions would have been answered. Is it time for this old-man to realize he can't compete with the new evil that has risen in these lands? Maybe it time to return home, or to die trying to continue my wild endeavors.
After walking back for A while, I had time to calm down. My thoughts calmer now. but more questions had arose.
As headed back yo the inn, I tried to remember to name of the Ranger that accompanied me to Imladris. He had the answers then, he might have them now. The only thing I know for sure though, is that he goes by the name Sigfread. If and where I can find him will remain A mystery. The thoughts about the White-hand will haunt me whilst I walk.
One of my wounds hasn't stopped bleeding yet. But my sleep has won the battle over my Will. if A warg or Wolf picks up my sent. Then so be it. Even A sleeping Dwarf is A danger. Especially one that is old.
