Journal entry: Many faces of a curse

It has been too long since I've written down my thoughts, but too much was happening and not enough time was left to do so. Finally I find myself in possession of an idle moment, even though I wish I wouldn't. There is much that needs to be done.

I had been on the prowl after parting with the company in Imladris, seeking to thwart any attempts at reinforcing Sharkey's band with folk from the south. While successful in stalling several groups, my success was rather mediocre, even though valuable in letting Thorontir and people aiding him in fighting the danger directly. I wish I was able to help more, but with my recent injury, I didn't trust myself to face the enemy in combat just yet. Doubt stilled my actions as it was, in battle I would only be a burden.

But regardless of that, upon my return, I had learned that my friend and brother went missing. Immediately, I set off to find him, first trying to contact Ulfey about it - only to find her gone as well, the hut burnt down to the foundations. At first I feared my slaying of the orc wasn't enough and the White Hand found her, but upon inspecting the area, it dawned on me that it was a much worse enemy which did it. It's name ignorance.

That was the first of many faces of a curse I encountered after setting off on the journey. I had walked among the bree-folk as one of their own again, to learn of the wise woman's fate, but I have learned little, much to my relief. Nobody knew what became of her, but I knew that the forest wouldn't let any harm come to the woman. The tracks around her hut suggested so and the gossip only made me certain of it. Ulfey lives, all that remains is to find her.

But first, I had to find Thorontir. To that end I set off where he was seen last - North Downs. The lands burdened with a curse of their own, people living there each carrying one as well it would seem. Soon enough I found the first one - a man injured by an arrow of goblin-craft, unconscious and in fever. I hurried him to my camp - not an easy task, considered my mediocre physical prowess - and set off to find ingredients to treat his wounds with. That man was known as Rowan, publicly at least. I have decided to leave him alone and unwatched for the time of search, as it was either that or watching the man slowly die. Upon return, I was surprised by seeing a silouhette hunched over the man. Fortunate I was to be in the guise of Rob at the time, for it was a local girl, Narys by the name. Initially distrustful and condescending, much like myself at the time, she eventually relented and aided me in treating the injured man's wounds. Fortunately, I alone wouldn't manage to do it all this quickly and the infection was unnatural enough to begin festering already. Fortunately, that was averted.

The girl's presence troubles me. Rowan has a quest in this area and I find it worthy of my aid - despite wishing to find by closest of friends, I cannot neglect the safety of Trestlebridge. But it is obvious that Narys harbours strong feelings for the man. It soon became apparent these aren't exactly mutual, leaving the young woman moping and brooding. I cannot blame her - I myself hadn't such issues, the few fiascos I've had in that department didn't strike me so deeply, but I always knew that won't be simple, she had not. I can only hope that my company made it more bearable and the suggestion of a hobby will keep her mind occupied from both that and the overwhelming need to prove herself. Those are dangerous, no matter the actual skill of a person, man and woman alike. I wouldn't want to see anyone destroyed by their own hubris, especially not innocent townsfolk.

The man himself was also burdened heavily. Many a person seemed to put words in his mouth and accuse of actions and statements he neither did nor meant.Such is common, but he seems plagued with several people doing the same, not to mention something heavier that hangs above him, something even heavier than the curse of Fornost he had been subjected to. I offered my ear. It was rejected for now and I shall honour Rowan's wish of secrecy until the time is right for it to be discarded. Our common goals are difficult enough.

And the final face of the curse arrived with Thorontir. My friend, my brother, arrived in our camp (after relocating to much higher ground on reasoning of finding a goblin weapon stash - what was it doing so far from any goblin base camp is beyond me). Exhausted, starved, unkempt and feverish - but very much alive. Much to my relief and joy, but also shock at his state - and dismay at the company we held at the moment. Despite using his name of Thillweed - despite him never really hiding his identity from the smallfolk, I feel that my identity as Rob Thistlewool was compromised. It will be more difficult to present myself as a simple fisherman and a jack of all trades. Even assuming Narys won't gossip about the odd folk she met in the land, the people who saw us enter Trestlebridge once all recovered enough to walk definitely will. I can only hope it won't be enough to lose the trust of the locals. I mean them no ill will, but my duty can only be done if they are unaware of who I truly am.

I feel like this entry is too long. I should write down my musings more often to prevent that in the future. And with the three of us - Thorontir, Rowan and me - setting off soon, I'm sure to have plenty things to write down. Let us hope they will be less grim than the current.