A tale begins with a single word. Mine will simply be hello. How long my tale will go on for, I do not know, time will reveal this truth I'm sure. I have seen the birth of life, the harsh realities of it, and finally, its end. We are all trapped in this cycle as am I. I give no apology for my life nor my actions. I am what I am, a product of my environment. I’ve made choices and I must live with them until the day I leave these lands.
I am young. This I know, but I have seen much and have travelled far. One day, if a map is ever found I may be able to tell you, as for now it is sufficient to say I am from the northern parts of Erebor. The Grey Mountains are very familiar to me although I call neither of these places ‘home’. My people are nomadic, we roam from place to place until our lands became too dangerous even for us. As such we moved to the Dalelands.
I don’t care much for the men of that region. They seem to me…like domestic animals. Eating grass, living together in the same place year after year oblivious to the changes in the world around them and as I travel these lands, I don’t care much for the men here either. Petty, weak, selfish and narrowminded.
However the dwarves…now there is a hardy folk. As strong as the stone they mine. The elves, of what little contact I’ve had with them seem strong, determined and wise. Cross them at your own risk. Hobbits…they seem a very cheerful and carefree folk. I almost envy them. I hope their innocence from the harsh realities of this world, well, continues, but I don’t hope too much.
There is a change in the wind, the air. If you can’t feel it, you should. I don’t know what it foretells, I’m no wise elder, but it’s not good and the stupid men of these lands care not, doing nothing, expecting others to help them with petty tasks. So I help them, as least they don’t ask questions, pay me some coin and I have a place to sleep at night. I will be glad to leave these lands. They had some problem with a group of men called "Blackwolds", but they proved just as weak as the other men of this region, but this Amdir fellow seems elusive.
I know just what to do to him when I catch up with him too, the same thing you do to a wounded elk. Finish the job, quickly and without regret or remorse. Do what needs to be done. If only I knew of the poison in his veins before, I could have ended this in Archet. Still, at least I know should I come across this type of wound again. Ah, what a foul mood writing this puts me in.
I think I may journey to a place known as the shire within the next few days once this Amdir business is concluded, there are more hobbits there and this may bring my annoyed demeanor a reprieve. Good food, ale and music.
