I'm writing this diary, to whom soever may find it one day.. My name is Berecht Fletchman, I'm a Hunter and Tracker from Combe, in Bree-Land. I've lived there for the past Twenty Four years. But, these past few weeks have opened my eyes to a much larger world...
It all started about a month ago.. A strange man, in Red Robes had approached me in Bree, said I was 'reccomended' to him as a talented Tracker, and said he needed help finding thieves who had taken a chest of great Importance to him. Normally, that wasn't my line of work, something for Sellswords or Merc's.. But, I was light on coin, I'd already lost my cabin, and Barliman wouldn't offer me a bed out of the Kindness of his heart. I had little choice. The odd man led me to a small camp, just outside the West Gate, introduced me to his fellows, they all dressed similarly; Red robes, crude fashioned weapons and odd trinkets I wasn't sure of the design of... But, they had plenty of money. Half upfront, half after we had stopped the thieves. A sum of no less than Twenty Gold pieces! How could I refuse, even though something seemed amiss..
For nigh on a week after setting out, we arrived in Evendim. As we arrived, the shady individuals who had hired me, got even shadier... They became shifty, almost Paranoid. This was my first inkling something was terribly wrong. A few days later, somewhere between Men Erain and Barandalf, I had picked up a trail, and we were following it. The red robed men had now become completely on edge, as if expecting attack from some unseen foe.. What had I gotten myself into? As we walked, I overheard snippets of Conversation. Talk of 'Wardens'.. Who were these Wardens the robed men seemed so afraid of... An answer I was soon to get....
On the breaking of dusk, on our fifth day, we had settled down to rest and make camp. I had traveled out into the tree line, collecting firewood for the camp. The men had become very, very strange, and were avoiding my questions at every given opportunity, as if hiding some secret agenda. I was planning to leave them that night, up sticks and run with my Ten Gold pieces and make for a Village to hide in until they had passed. I didn't fancy a fight. Out in the tree line, I noticed a large fallen log, big enough to keep a fire burning for hours. I dropped my bundle of sticks and made for it.
Out of nowhere, an arm came out of the bush, and grasped me around the throat, dragging me in.. I felt a cold, sharp object being forced against my throat, making breathing difficult. Then I felt more hands latch onto me, and force me down into the dirt.. I felt my weapons being stripped from me, and saw a burlap sack quickly, before I felt it go over my head, and there was blackness. Around me, quiet footsteps and horse whispers from around Three, or Four men. "What should we do, he's not an Angmarim"? I heard one voice say. Shortly after, another piped up "It's possible he's a Tracker they Hired.. Take him to the camp you two, tie him up. I want to question him later". Then there was a shrill whistle, as I was pulled to my feet. The same voice said quietly, "Wardens... On me". The Wardens! I had been captured by the Wardens, and they spoke of Angmar!? 'What had I gotten myself into' Indeed!
I was dragged for maybe an hour or so, hands tied behind my back and a sack over my head. I was completely unaware of where I was..When we finally stopped, I heard a crackling, then I was thrown hard on the ground.. Was this the end? Was my accustomed fate now? An Ill fated journey to the North, it seems, is what this expedition was all along...
