Warning: Could be slightly graphic for some.
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Our scouting mission through the Lone Lands has now become more than I every could have imagined. We have been on the road for weeks. Sir Ioranir has been on his own mission, to find those that raised him. As for Amathlan, he was to learn of those who we were tracking, the Sons of Burzum. These two missions have carried us all the way from Bree, to Evendim. But now we rest in a village, far to the north of Forochel.
Along with Sir Ioranir and Amathlan, Hiril Celossiel and Master Dalbran have also come this far. Though I know not their reasons for following, I have come to Forochel because I could not let Amathlan go alone.
We spent our first night in Kauppa-Kohta, a tiny village in the south of the land. It is cold, frigid. Even wearing furs and my warmest clothes, I can barely stand it. That first night was rough on everyone. Tensions were high and lots of words were exchanged that nobody truly meant.
But now, I write from beside the fire. We have made it to the village where Sir Ioranir grew up. Though it is not with joy that I tell of this day. There was no glad reunions. No tears of joy, only tears of grief and anger.
As we approached the entrance of the village....I can not speak of it. The sight that greeted us was a horror I have not seen in ages. A massacre. That is what it was. The bodies and the blood.... just thinking of it makes my heart strain.
Everyone.... gone. Their lives snuffed out, just like that. There was no sign of a fight. It must have been a surprise attack. Strung from the entrance posts of the village, limbs missing and bloodied, was Sir Ioranir's mother. My heart goes out to him. He is so young, and has already lost much in his life.
I wish there had been time to let the man grieve, but we had to search the town, for survivors, or those who had attacked the village. The trek through the streets was a nightmare. There were bodies everywhere. Limbs and blood flooded the paths we took. Small bones, perhaps from children, had been thrown to the ground.
I have never felt so sick in my life. The bastards who have done this deed will pay. I can not rest until my arrows are buried in their skulls.
The main hall of the town was no different. The bloody vision bringing bile up my throat. The sight was too much for me and I had to retreat outside to keep watch with Amathlan.
We know now, that it was the Sons of Burzum who did this. Their banner hung violently upon the now broken throne of the hall. We seem to be just one step behind them no matter what we do. After a time, we all gathered together outside. No one seemed in good spirits. Everyone had their own thoughts.
But now, we have been torn apart. Our group split by missions and wants. Amathlan has left.... for a fools errand. He goes to Angmar, to find these kinslayers. He will be joined by an aqcuaintance of Master Dalbran, a wood elf by the name of Cedmon.
And I have been left here in the cold, with Hiril Celossiel and Sir Ioranir, to pick up the pieces of this tragedy. What our next step is, we have not decided. Amathlan wants us to go back and report to Sir Furley. But that brings me further from Amathlan. What am I to do?
