Faustino’s Journal, seventh night since the eighth moon of this year. The Pony, As always the stench of inbreeds and snobs could be smelled from a far, the normal patron’s walked around the Inn talking about their latest victory or their latest hunt. Somehow, I came in contact with a young lass again, I’m beginning to wonder what these young ones see in me, We talked about past and present, even future, this lass lived in Tribe’s like I did, she even lived amongst Angmarims for a while. Fierce men, or so I have been told.

Long was the soldier just sitting at his small desk and staring into the fire, mesmerised by the dance of flames and the swirling ambers that tried to escape the fireplace but always fell short and died on the warm stone.