The road has, indeed, been long and hard. There is little rest to be had out here, very few safe places in which we can make a camp. The land gets uglier and more desolate the further east we travel and, unfortunately, also more densly populated with creatures of the enemy.
Wherever I looked I saw wargs, orcs or evil men seeking to do us harm. Even the turtles and flies of the springs will attack on sight and they, much to my surprise, are unnaturaly large! Everything out here, though, seems wrong somehow, twisted and warped almost beyond recognition.
If I thought the path through the southlands of Angmar was bad, though, it would only get worse as we crossed into the north. Our road took us through a place called Imlad Balcorth. I have never seen the like!
The Barrow Downs, when Baradar had taken me through there, had been scary enough but this land of the dead was terrifying! The stench was unbearable and as far as they eye could see the dead would shuffle along their way, to what purpose I do not know. Even disembodied limbs crawled through the muck and slime whilst what little water there was to be found is perilously poisoned. Nothing here lives, not in the true sense. Things and creatures from the deepest darkest nightmare simply exist.
We were attacked along the path through. Our leader had warned me this might occur, for it was not an occurance unknown to the group. At the first sign of a wight breaking from a shambling shuffle to a lurching run, the men formed up in a tight-knit group, seeking to shelter me behind and within their protective circle. I dearly appreciated the sentiment, but it was not to be.
So many fell upon us at once that even I was forced to fight. I am far from expert in such an activity, but I did put what I had been taught to good use. Somehow, stabbing and slashing at these things did not bother me overly much. I was still very much afraid, but I was not regretful. All I could think throughout the encounter was: If Davick could see me now...
If Davick could see me then, standing with these men, fighting back against the monstrosities, swallowing my fear enough to stay and do battle instead of flee, perhaps he might not think me so useless or pathetic. Then again....
I was glad once we made it out of there, thankfuly with few injured although more than one, myself included, sported wounds from those few of the undead that had carried blades. We went through a mountain pass, then, and around the rocky outcrop itself before climbing a slope that ultimately led us to our camping place.
This, then, where I now sit writing my account, is to be my home for as long as we need stay. It is a somewhat sheltered ridge overlooking a wide bowl-like valley. Before us, in the distance, I can see some horrendous towers - all black stone, black metal and cruel curving spikes seeking to pierce the very skies. Below, I can see huge wargs wandering freely, interspersed with strange furless creatures with beaks for faces - but no birds are they for they walk on four feet! - amongst other, more recognisable enemies: dwarves, goblins and strange twisted folk of small stature and skin as pale as the underbelly of a fish.
We have only the night, I am told. On the morrow, the group will seek battle and then I shall truly discover what I am made of. I hope that is a figure of speech only.
