864, Winter's 44th day,
The robed man instructed the group to stay alert since we are close to "The Bounds", the border of the Mog Brush; that is where I begin my trek back. Finally I can remove this armor.
He peeked up and stared at the back corner of the room, where dim candle light drew contours of the clunky plate mail. He resented those scraps of metal more than that monstrous arm of his. Ever since his return from the Bounds of Akinn, the darkest corner of the room became the armor’s final resting place.
864, Winter's 46th evening,
We finally found the place The Black Robe spoke of after we nearly died the night before last. A group of Parins attacked our camp almost having me reveal my arm. I'm seriously getting tired of this axe.
We had finally found the edge of the forest when we saw, beyond a chasm,the ruins of an ancient fortress nearly swallowed up by the brush. That's when I saw The Bounds of Akinn, as the Black Robe calls it. It was an unbelievable sight, like a dome of white smoke spread thin over the old fortress.
I watched the robed man cross the narrow stone bridge with his three companions behind him. They stopped at the middle, bordering the strange barrier before the man cut a hole in its surface with his fingers.
Awkid placed the open journal on the table and rose to his feet, turning to the hammock behind him. He studied the brown robed hobbit who was still asleep within. The Dwarf wondered if he was anything like The Black Robe.
"Get up Hobbit" His deep voice rang out, shaking the hobbit awake. The young map maker searched the dark room with probing eyes for the Dwarf before he felt the heat of the candle beside his face. Its light quickly came into focus, along with the bearded face of Awkid Anvorbeard.
"Your map." He added with a demanding gesture. Wiping his eyes clear, Balamor responded tiredly,
The Dwarf rose one eyebrow before he continued,
"Yes, give it here." His wrapped fingers fanned toward Balamor.