The Wold - Undeep watch
The air is still, the night is dark. No stars this night, thick clouds veil any light. In the distant down the hill, are sounds of activity and lights of campfires and torches. The Easterlings seem to be having a dinner over their fresh caught fish from the Anduin.
I walk west of the tower away from the river and the enemy camps. The tall grass bristles in the wind, covering the sound of my step. I overlook the grass field in the night, all seems clear. The sound of a breaking branch sounds like a thunder in my ears. My eyes sharpen and my body tenses towards the sound. A man creeps through the grass field heading for a nearby farm in the distant. I bend through my knees and try to sneak closer to the individual.
At 30 meters distance I can see the shape of his helm, round shaped with a spike on top and mail covering his neck, an Easterling. He must have sneaked past our ranks, and is now heading towards civilized lands. I follow him till we reach a river, the Easterling stands still and seems to be thinking about his direction. I emerge out of the grass a dozen meters behind him with a sword in my hand. The Easterling turns around and draws his bend and heavy sword rather quickly. He snaps something at me in a foreign tongue, it sounds vile in my ears. I stand still with my sword faced down and stare at him from under my hood. The Easterling steps closer making aggressive gestures with his sword, with every step he makes I can hear the heavy chain of his armor.
Once he is within sword range he starts swinging his sword at me. His posture is static and defensive, his shield raised high, his armor not allowing a lot of movement. Every strike he makes is strong but slow. At the first strike I duck, the second strike clashes against my sword. I strike back, sideways smashing his shield out of the way, followed by a downward strike at his shoulder. His armor takes the blow, and with an aggressive yell he kicks me back a few meters. He steps up and thrusts his forward aiming for my torso. I managed to parry the blow, sending his sword aside as he recoils. I slash at the upper sword arm where there is no armor. He screams and releases the sword grasping his fresh wound with the other arm. Curses of a foreign language fill the silent night that are cut off with one last swing.
Another body stains our green lands red. I sigh deeply while staring at the body on the ground. I clean the bloodied sword and return in the high grass, finishing my night patrol.
