Where am I? What in the world is going on? I feel as if I've been transported to some strange wonderland.
I'm starting over with Journal Entry #1 because my journal, along with nearly everything else we brought on this journey, has been lost, pillaged by these villainous Blackwolds. I had to buy this one at a dear price from a…hobbit? Is that what he said? More about them later. First, the thing I've been avoiding:
All my companions are dead. Arodamdir, Hannasdir, Ferndir (ah, how his name rings true now!)—slain defending me. Worst of all, my dearest Hodhon, best friend, companion, most loyal servant…gone. I'm not sure how I will cope without him. All my gear, possessions, money…stolen. I am left penniless and bereft in this strange land.
I suppose I should explain. I and a few companions were sent by my father, Caladon, to Arnor to investigate rumors that had reached him of Angmar. After travelling many leagues, we were set upon by brigands whom I later discovered were called "Blackwolds," whatever that means, who ambushed us, killed my companions, and took me prisoner after, apparently, knocking me unconscious. All I know is that I woke in a cell with no money and no equipment after watching my companions die like pigs on the road. A strange man named "Strider" helped me to escape. Fortunately—the one piece of luck in all this ugly business—my family sword was in the possession of one of these Blackwolds that he slew, and Strider graciously returned it to me. I believe that Strider is one of these Northern Rangers I've heard about—Father warned me against them, saying that they would hinder me in my mission if they could, but so far, those I have met have been nothing but honest and kind to me. I will keep my eye on them.
Ever since I woke, I have been seeing these strange little creatures—hobbits, they call themselves—everywhere. I have never heard of such beings, but they seem intelligent—indeed, I purchased the very paper I am writing on from one, with coins scavenged from Blackwold corpses (a dirty business, but necessary—and justified). No one here seems to blink at their presence, but I feel as if I have fallen into some sort of dream, like the strange one I had when I took a short nap at the Hunter's Lodge…
I have no idea where I am, except that the village's name is "Archet." I don't know if I have made it to Arnor, or have some ways to travel. I don't know how far my captors transported me, or even how long it has been since the battle on the road. Strider would at least know where we are, but I am wary of asking him for fear of generating more questions than I am able to answer.
I wish I could write Father and ask him what to do! But I have no way of getting a letter to him, and I am not certain what I would say in any case. I will have to proceed on my own.
One useful bit of information—one of these Blackwolds mentioned Angmar right before I slew him. That is hopeful news; I will have to find one and interrogate him, or, barring that, discover just who is backing them. From what I've seen, they cannot be operating on their own.
