Is this the thing I have craved? Orc roaming free, carrying the White Hand of Isengard, carrying the black mark of Mordor... where are the proud warriors of Théoden King?, where are the noble fighters, so strong in their pride and so proud of their prowess?
I was afraid to venture here, afraid of the judging eyes, the scorn, the anger, the hatred.
Yet who are they to scorn me... when they have let their lands fall into ruin, the crofts barren, burned, charred. How can they claim to be Rohirrim, who cannot even protect their own homes.
I am ashamed to be counted by some amongst them, ashamed that outsiders now see the ruin that has befallen.
In Dunland, the tribes fought the evil of Isengard, they ventured forth, chief of tribe and youngling, to fight for justice and freedom.... and what do the Rohirrim do? They bicker in their halls, they sit in their ruins, defeated, stating all is for naught.... son imprisons mothers, fathers punish sons for taking up arms against orc.... Who then holds honor, the Rohirrim seem to have left theirs behind, like so much horse manure....
They called me ill-fated, bearer of bad blood, outsider, bastard.
I call them cowards.
Anger simmers at the state of Rohan, anger simmers at the ignorance of the king. Fealty to one as such would mean fealty to one who has betrayed everything Rohan stands for... as the king has fallen so has his people. I will not count myself amongst them, for I will fight orc whereever I see them, and I will burn their banners and their totems, remove their vile filth from the plains.
And if I shall die along the way... no tears will be shed, I shall become just one more corpse littering the graveyard that once was, but never again will be... my home.
