It was always dark, in the Chetwood. Small packs of wolves were heard here and there, as was the baying of hounds, and soon, their masters. Bill pressed on, nodding toward one of the Blackwolds as he made his way to the Headquarters, a great ruin of one kingdom or another. They were long gone, so he doubted that they’d mind.
Within, were men, and women, roasting hunted meat, fighting one another, playing at war. Others shot their bows. Some sat around fires and exchanged stories, or spoke of grand dreams of becoming filthy rich, or skinning an animal or another for its hide. A motley lot, though most know this is their place. Folk who are willing to get their hands dirty, for what they want.
Though what they wanted was a broad term, and our leaders had different minds towards different things. Some wanted Bree. Some wanted to leave Chetwood, and become a band of brigands on the run. Others wanted to stay here, where they knew what was out there, and how things ought to be done. They’ve got their axes, thanks to Bill, aswell as a way to sell their pelts and other goods thanks to the man, who has become a large part of the Blackwolds incomes, due to the fact that he was an unknown leader amongst them. The Breelander wanted to fight against the Southrons, and for which a portion of the Blackwolds splintered off, and took their territory in Chetwood south. Which was alright, considering those of the Headquarters had free reign on how to deal with Combe, and Staddle. Archet remains a shunned topic. Most pretend as if it isn’t even their, either due to shame, or not wanting to own up to what they did. We still held the Roost, though not much action goes on there, and slowly the men there are abandoning it, to return to Chetwood.
Bill sat down on the bench, releasing a tired groan as he leaned on the table. A few of the lads sat down with him, though none of them spoke to him. They spoke of drink, and who can drink the most, who collected the most coin this week. One spoke of a murder, though it was a Southron, which caused a tight smile across Bills face. One of the younger boys looked to Bill, and cleared his throat, “You was the only one to come back.” he said. Bill looked up to the teenager, and tilted his head as he eyed him over, and reached forward, taping the mug next to him, “Get me a drink.” Bill asked him, and the boy went up in search of whiskey. The others paused in their conversation, and looked to the man, “You never told us what happened.” said a grizzled, older man. One of Bills axes was in his hands, he was sliding his thumb along the metal.
The Patriot was quiet for a long moment, before releasing a long sigh. “It was me, Fenflower, and some of the lads. Heard there was some trouble or another up at the Fenflower farm in the North.” he started, pausing for a moment as he thought of the weeks spent up there. “We stopped at Trestlebridge, which was up in a frenzy, their guards patrolling, and setting up a barricade on the Trestlepan. Their folk was up in arms, too.” he paused as the boy returned, filling the mug with whiskey.
Bill raised the mug, and drank slowly. “Stonehieght, we heard there, was razed to the ground, many of the folk killed, and some managed to escape.” he shook his head, raising his brows as he looked down at the contents. “Who done it?” asked one of them.
Bill leaned forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. “Orcs. And a great many of them. Armies of them came from further North, places we forgot all about. We pressed on, and marched along the Greenway, and once we were out of sight of Trestlebridge, we were set upon by a band of orcs. It was a harsh battle, though we came out on top, despite the loss of two of the lads. We would have buried them, but it weren’t safe. We walked off the road, though within it’s view. We saw the ruins of Stonehieght, and chanced upon it, although Watcher Fenflower thought we best speed along the way to his family farm. We found some gear, armour, a few swords and whatnot. Scavenged whatever else we could, before going along our way once again. We fought patrols of orcs, and started to ambush them ourselves, until we bumped into a larger force, though they were of men.” he said, raising the mug once again to drink. “Remnants of Stonehieght, and armed farmhands. Hunters and brigands, banding together to defend themselves against the orcs. They seemed relieved to see us, worn with fight, and dirty with orc blood. Their leader was a Captain of the Greenway Guard.” that raised the brows of them all, for none of them met Guards of the Greenway. They primarily remained in the North, in Stonehieght and Trestlebridge, patrolling for brigands and marauders. Though it is common knowledge that these men were the closest thing to actual soldiers this far north. “There weren’t many of the Guards left, just about forty or so. There rest were a couple hundred folk who had no other choice but to fight or die. They seemed used to it, though. They were lucky they took to the farms, as they just reaped their harvests.” Bill paused, shaking his head, “No, no. Lucky isn’t the right word.” he said. He paused for a long moment, forgetting about the story as he thought.
“Then what?” asked one of them, causing Bill to stir once again, “Hmm?” he made a questioning noise, before shaking his head, “Oh, right.” clearing his throat, he continued. “We stayed with the men a few hours, and they had it bad, lads. They barricaded themselves, to protect the farms, but the Orcs set up a camp within view of them, hollering, drumming, jeering, night, and day. Taunting them with the impending death. We pressed on, despite the demands of the Captain to remain. Either he was actually concerned of our saftey, or he needed more men to help him. In either case we ignored him and marched further, until we chanced upon the Fenflower farm, luckily hidden and untouched. Ben was relieved, as he expected the worse, though his brother, Hollace was hale, as was his parents. This was the purpose of our trip. I decided it was time I returned to Bree. Corrben had what he sought, but my business was with the Southron cunts.” Bill sighed at the memory, shaking his head once again, “Though leaving, wasn’t so easy. The Fenflower farm was safe, as long as it remained quiet, and hidden. Ben remained, with half a dozen men, while me and the rest decided to march back to the farms, and then go along our way. But it wasn’t that easy. Orcs pressed their attacks more often. Me and the boys fought alongside the Greenway Guards, but with every victory, more were laid in the dirt. Before we knew it, days, turned to weeks, and weeks, turned to months. Only during the first snowfall did we notice how much time has past, and I feared the worst of Bree. I told the Captain, Hame was his name, that I ought to leave with what remains of my men. He was a good man, though he looked torn to see us go. Twetny of us remained, then, and we decided to stalk along the land, and return to Stonehieght, see if we’ve missed something. And turned out we did. The basement of one of the towers, held a small armoury which was to our luck, unpillaged. We put on what we can, and armed ourselves in the arms of the Greenway Guard. We marched along back, and again, were set upon by another orc patrol. Though we were ready for them, and beat them back a final time. We finally met the Trestlepan, and marched across, after being questioned and prodded by the Guardsmen. The Greenway Guardsmen there were relieved to know of Hame and his resistance, that they yet live, though frowned about the news we bore aswell, that Orcs hold the North in a iron grip, and who knows when Hame and his men will run out of food?” he said, pausing once again, and raised his mug and took a deep swallow of the whiskey. “When we entered Breeland, we camped in a fort for the night. We were a dozen strong, then. And the Southrons set upon us. We beat them back, but at a great cost. Only four of us remained, and I told them to return home first, before deciding to return to Chetwood.” he stopped then, and looked down at the now empty mug, “We still need to crush the Southrons, boys. Only one organisation rules in Bree, and thats the Blackwold.” he finished grimly.
A few of the huntsmen approached the table, and everyone, including Bill turned to look at them, “Hauled in some furs, Bill. Two bears, we’re keepin’ the meat.” said their leader, an older man with the name of Tyg. Bill bowed his head to him slightly, “How much are you giving to the cause, and how much you want to keep yourselves?” he asked. Bill always gave the men a choice, whether to aid by selling their goods in order to gather more arms, or set the coin aside for them. “Half n’ half, Bill.Ought to fetch a pretty penny, really.” he said, giving him a wink. “Appreciate it, Tyg.” he said, before leaning forward, clearing his throat, “I had a thought, boys. Staddles been gettin’ fat and quiet. Thought we might make ourselves useful and steal some grain, or pipeweed. Whatcha think, eh?” he asked them, and they cheered. They started to drink more, and more, getting merry. Their laughs and songs filled the dark sky of Chetwood, joined by the hounds and wolves.
