Knights Of Eriador

Sweat dripped down from Arenborn’s brow as he leant against the tree trying to and catch his breath, and he heaved a heavy sigh as he wiped it away with a gloved hand. Some days it felt too hot to wear armour, but he had to train on those days the same as every other day.

Jonn stretched out his limbs, preparing for his first morning constitutional in far too long. It had been some six weeks since receiving the injuries that required him to recover for so long, and he had done his best to heed his elf-healer's orders not to push himself. The rest was necessary to make sure he mended properly, but when he tried hefting his large shield and felt how much heavier it seemed than before, he realized enough was enough. It was time to start getting back into fighting shape.

Dear Diary,

Do you know what time it is? If you guessed, “Time to talk about Jonn's feelings,” you guessed right! So, what am I feeling? Frustration.

Why am I feeling frustration, you ask? Well, to understand that, you first need to know who I am, what makes me the way I am. And I don't really think you know that. So let me explain myself to you.

Dearest Diary,

How much I do love thee. So much. So very, very much. Well, not really, but I figure if I'm going to continue calling you “Dear,” I should at least occasionally add a little sweet-talk. Or not.

In truth, I don't have much to say today. Merely a few hopes, concerns, doubts, and fears. Normally I could keep them to myself, but it can't hurt to write them down, document them. Can it?

The whet stone rasped against the cold steel as Arenborn ran it along the length of his sword. He tested the edge, and pushed the stone along it a few more times. It was important for him to keep his sword clean and sharp, for his life was tied to it.