Journal of Araenion, day unknown beneath the starry gaze:
Darkness...as much as I love the stars, I am grateful for the clouds this night. No moon and scantly a light on the heaven. Dark figures moving in the fog, shifting as if robbed of corporeal form. Ghosts, one might say, yet I know their countenance better. Travellers, they described themselves. Yet something about them disturbs me, the feeling of warning that has now grown tenfold as I track them through the mists.
Water stirs beneath my feet. The marsh is eerily quiet. Breathless, no rustling of leaves to be heard above me. Where do the men go on a night such as this? To what purpose they leave the safety of the camp? Why take their armor and weapons as if expecting battle?
*the hand writing appears weary now, the ink disfigured upon the parchment as if writen by a blindman*
Treachery! The foul beasts in Men's clothing that poised themselves friends of the Eglain have struck at those who offered freely what they have little for themselves! Robbery in the night is their payment. Ai! If only I saw through their guise ere now, tragedy could have been avoided!
Now I am lost. Lost in this accursed bog, where no fly or frog dears dwell! Alas, the fog grows too thick now to continue this passage...shall continue writing on the morrow, ere I move, lest the midnight cold finds me bereft of shelter.
*words stop here, a few drops of moisture gathered on the parchment beneath the writing, as if caught on and condensated from the very air around*
