The morning sun was blinding. It had just crested the eastern rooftops of Bree-town, and now blazed straight over the landscape and into the huntress' squinted eyes. The village seemed different somehow, from her perch atop an unwitting house, whose inhabitants had not heard her quietly scuffling shoes over the wooden tiles. Her back was set against the chimney, one leg dangling on either side of the ridgepole. The street below was beginning to awaken and bustle with the goings-on of the townsfolk.

When she reached the group, Captain Larol rested a hand on Kraddock's shoulder. "Captain...such a loss so early in your command...such an ill omen..." She nodded to Gareth. "Hail cousin....it is good your vital duties have allowed you to attend, I do hope there are not gates or supply rooms left unguarded....'

After travelling to Minas Tirith, a small assemblage of our Band of Misfits stood on horseback before the mighty gates. Addiela, Xanderian, Calidis, Nethrida and Caryneryn waiting uneasily as other guests arrived. Most wore uniforms or armor of one of the Regiments or Companies of Minas Tirith, though there were a handful of other civilians as well.  Finally a guide wearing a black armband arrived and cleared his throat. “Welcome, invited guests, worthies all, on behalf of Arne, Margrave Palaniel.

The lady lay there as the winter breeze beat against the window of her cottage, her son was sleeping in his room. The other side of the bed cold and she was reminded of the fact that she was indeed alone. When she was younger she had a small string of lovers in the beginning. It was a dance, a game. But the girl inside had hoped for her happily ever after in one of them. But the woman, the woman that she now became thoroughly doubted that there ever would be that ever after.

‘Dag…’