I awoke to the soft sound of rain pattering on my cloth tent. As I arose, the early morning sun was just creeping over the horizon, and I felt reassured about my current task. It has been 5 months since my last entry in my journal, concerning Forochel, and now again I set off to ensure the stability of the land.
Not much has changed since my discovery of the Angmarim leaking through the dark mountains of Angmar, and into the snow covered land. Our borders have been reinforced, and many remaining Dúnedain have been recalled to our home land to effectively defend against the threat from the North. It has been now seen that the Hillmen of Rhudaur again flock to the call of the Witch King, and while our enemy musters his strength, we Dúnedain are now left with few allies to turn to.
I have heard that a company of elves set forth from Imladris several weeks ago, though I know not their mission, nor their intent. I assume they must be on urgent business, though it does not concern me, my path lies elsewhere.
I have been sent to scout the southern lands for any other threat, guarding our flank from any wicked plot from our enemy. It seems to me that many strange looking folk have been moving north from Enedwaith and Dunland, I don’t think we will be bothered by them, although perhaps they are not all that they seem.
The High moor of the Trollshaws is quite desolate, in great contrast to its woodlands to the north. Primarily these parts are populated by small animals such as badgers and boars.
Continuing into a valley, named by some the “Giant Valley”, the path becomes far more perilous. The way is covered by worms and Drake spawn, the enormity of which strikes a fear into my heart greater than most other creatures I have faced.
A path leads through the hills and small mountains of 
the craggy region. After a few hours of walking, I come across the ravines exit, and gaze upon the great valley of the old elven kingdoms.
