Journal entry: The choices we make

The expedition is over and it was truly an interesting one. In many ways, it had taught me things about all folk met, including myself. Many speculations were made, and though I do not dare to assume I know people well enough to accept it as one final truth, I shall write them down to remember and reference in the future.

At the very beginning, we had been given informations from the dwarf that had hired the party to retrieve an item he called the Terrorhelm - a fitting name, as I have later learned. He was, however, extremely scarce in information sharing, which had caught suspicions from all of us, mostly Mymie and myself, as mister Oaksford was incredibly trusting, on the account of friendship. Furthermore, we have learned that some "mysterious allies" had granted us help to pass through Evendim unscathed. All the mystery seemed too much for Mymie, who had opted out on the travel. I can hardly blame - the scent of secret and danger was there from the beginning, with the would-be lawmen offering naught but threats, and now it suddenly was resolved on the account of a mysterious ally of Ulfey's. Even I had to play untrusting, even though I knew just who did the aid come from. It is a shame - the girl seemed of the inherently good sort, even if there was a vibe of mistrust and mischief to her.

Be as it may, we set off with but the three of us, stopping on Hengstacer farm to obtain a mule, to help us carry our supplies. However no mules were up for sale at the time, so we settled for a sturdy, local pony. And while at it, we had learned that the man who sold these animals for incredible prices - on the claim that they were his friends and it was hard to part with one - was, in fact, but a scammer, only caring of the horses when he knew there were people coming. And there was truth to that claim, as the man was distraught by being called out on it, so much that he's closed the door on us without remembering to accept payment. I had sent word to Thorontir as we set camp, to settle the payment to the man and observe him. Dishonesty of this kind is born of greed, and greed can lead to trouble.

Passing through the Shire, there were no issues, as one would expect of the hobbit lands. Treated as a something of wonder - after all, not many tall men openly ride through there, willing to trade, share a tale and perhaps a meal, which was what most of them hoped for it would appear. Behind those pleasant lands, there lied Lake Evendim, where we expected hostility. Even I myself was ready and prepared to quell the aggression, would it come to it, but fortunately no such thing happened.

Despite mister Oaksford being clad in armour (and learning that a salve for his swollen knee isn't applied by smoking it through the pipe - something he seemed surprised by, to my amusement), he had no use of it. We were followed - immediately upon setting camp I had noticed, the feeling followed all the way past High King's Crossing, up until the vicinity of Ost Forod. None came to intercept, despite us taking a slight detour to inspect the ruins nearby, which was where I expected hostility right away, and yet again, none had happened. Only down on the crossroads, a woman approached, calling herself an "ally of the rangers" and offering warning about the main path and bandits awaiting on it. She seemed genuine. Of course her words were dismissed - especially that instead of answering Oaksford's question, she strode off over yonder, giving the exact opposite effect to the one desired. We set camp in Ost Forod, having to flee early in the morning, before the folk so keenly interested in our belongings had the time to gather up and try taking them. Something to remember for later, perhaps suggest to our brethren truly watching the lake and the buildings surrounding.

I can only guess what changed the mind of those folk. Was it truly Thorontir and his allies, or perhaps the elven watcher somehow quelled the bloodthirst? Mayhaps I have misjudged these folk somewhat, based on the words said by those who had seen them? Unlikely as this sounds - I have no reason to find the judgment of my friend flawed or biased - I shall have to learn that for myself.

Past the land of the lake, we were met with snow. And the hostility we did not meet in Evendim reared it's head in here, although from a different subject than expected. Wild elves - or what seemed like them - decided to bar our way, biding us unwelcome, their wolf companions serving as the frontline. Through diplomacy, that was quelled and we had learned that the ruined dwarven fortress we seek is, in fact, inhabited. The dwarves were unwelcome guests based on an old feud, but we were allowed to enter, even though any hostility against the men living in the ruins would lead to our doom.

And the men they were peculiar. Speaking a simplified language and finding little value in jewelry and riches - which they had plenty of. They did, however, live in a land where jewelry had no worth nor use, therefore eagerly traded that for mundane, one would think, objects. I personally had traded my fishing supplies for several silver brooches, shaped like an eagle. Perhaps this would be something of interest to Thorontir, whose fixation with eagles is well known among our kin. Perhaps he could use those as a badge for our allies to recognise eachother? Something worth discussing, I'd say.

The Terrorhelm was also in their possession. And a terrifying thing at that - it was clearly an item of evil and darkness. The tales depicted on the walls revealed that the helm was used against the local elves in a feud that began over jewels of some sort ages ago. Was this chamber a part of the large dwarven kingdom, lost to the past now? It would seem so. In moments like these, I wish I was daydreaming less during the lore teachings we received. The errors of youth...

While Welten was honour-bound to bring the helmet back, he was luckily talked out of this. Such vile artifact would lead it's new owner to evil, willingly or not, he would cause misery to himself and those around. Once again, I had to resolve to duplicity - behind the man's back, I had traded my knowledge of fishing, honed by many years, for the helmet and a heavy, stone lockbox. With that, I had taken the item and parted ways with the caravan - now reinforced by two of the local traders, Aswaldr and his wife Berthog  - under the excuse of wishing to stay and fish some. From there, I had traveled - to a place this journal will not specify, in case it ever ends up in unwanted hands. The stone box was closed and anchored with heavy rocks, then sunken in deep, cold waters that no person would have any business diving in. While it was tempting to sink it in Lake Evendim, where the very zeal we feared would prove an excellent guardian, I chose against it, just in case it ever resurfaced. Such a helmet in the hands of people already harbouring darkness in their hearts would prove disastrous.

I had once heard a wise man say that the choices we make, shape who we are. I partially agree and partially disagree with that, my current choice being a good example why. I had consciously chose to be dishonest to the man I traveled with, and that choice was conscious, shaping my deeds from that moment on. But on a grander scale, while such deed can, and should, be considered a bad thing - it was made for the good of all, including the man I had lied to, who was already showing unhealthy obsession with the item I had taken. Such is the path I chose as the warden of men - one oft edging the border between good and evil. I can only hope such path will not lead me too deep into the darker side of said border. First the slain orc, now an artifact traded for behind a honourable man's back. Am I going too far? I will need to discuss this with someone of our kin. For who will watch the watchers if they fail to question one another?

My thoughts delve into grim and dark topics again. Maybe I should follow Thorontir's advice and seek the salmons upstream of Ered Luin. That would somewhat ease my heart's worries.