Eriador

While we rode on more warily after being waylaid by the Orc grunts that night by the border of Gravenwood, we kept pressing on as our hearts still burned for adventure. Perhaps even more so now that we had tasted its sweet taste and the rush. 'Twas not quite the same as patrolling the Mark with fellow Riders, battling whatever danger had passed the borders into fair Rohan and engaging them in petty skirmishes. Nay, there was a sense of excitement differing from it now that we were alone and a long way from home, me and Sigefaest.

Once again I find myself quill in hand. Since last I wrote I've found a peaceful area in Bree-land to call home away from home, though that is a story in itself. More than likely no other shall gaze upon these pages, but still I wish to pen my recollections. For myself and later years. Perhaps for some offspring of mine to read, should I yet be blessed with some.

Ever since I was a wee lad I've done my best to sift through all the books and dusty tomes I came upon anywhere in the Mark but never did I think of writing a simple diary, such that I've now opened and staring at its blank first page. It is because of... well, loneliness, or mayhap a need to document my travels and dare I say, adventures, in these far-away lands, that I now grasp the quill.

And thus the last (or maybe not?) journey of the Shadow Walkers began. With Sauron gone, it was like a weight was lifted from their souls. The journey was long but certainly fun in a way and sad in another.

They passed through Gondor, stopping in Bar Hurin, Arnach, Pelargir, Linhir and Lamedon, and they eventually went through the former Paths of the Dead. None of them ever feared this place, whatsoever. In Rohan, they made fewer stops, and they typically stayed in the wild, except that one time they went to an inn in one of the towns and drank some mead together.