Langhund

"Welcome to the annual Foaling Festival! As Spring approaches it's end, we are gathered to celebrate the fertility of our lands as we sow them, the winter we have weathered, and--most importantly--the bounty of newborn foals! Come one and all, and take part in the games and feasting of the season! May the festival begin!  The first competition shall be archery!"

(Gyric : Captain of the Forlaw forces, head of the footmen team (green V)

Ceorlghas: head of the archers (orange lines)

Radbald: head of the reserves, vanguard

Assigned team: Yrminas, Faerhild, Langhund, scouts and archers (purple)

Start position: crossroads (yellow triangle)

(The text needs editing, it is from our rp chatlogs, we will be continuing with the event on Sunday 19 Feb)

''An ambush?'' the word escaped Langhund's mouth.

Somewhere up ahead, the cry of an owl pierced the leaden silence and woke the Eorling from his musings. Régnwald turned his head, his eyes gliding over the grey sky and he advanced forth, the hair was long, straw in hue and tangled as the shrugs he often found himself clambering through. Adorning him were a tattered mess of skins patched around his byrnie, stitched together with as much skill as he could manage on his own. The snow drenching everything.

Darkness fell in the winter forest. Mist lying beyond the small band of Eorlings, among the trees low. Régnwald slowed the company to a halt. He instructed, "We shall camp here in the woods for the night. Let a fire be built and a guard posted." As the order was sealed with a firm nod, he dismounted his horse and his feet found the ground, leaving a hard song of clinking battered war-nets as he paced onward. Régnwald finally took off his helmet, and he would be at least equally fast to shed the iron-welded gauntlets he was wearing.

The snow was falling in frightening masses from the starless sky. Régnwald furrowed his brow as he looked back the way they had come earlier, his fingers subconsciously working the collar of the heavy leather cloak with the cape of wolf-fur over his shoulders, tightening it around his neck. It was cold, and the wind was further picking up. It was no storm yet, but it would soon become one. No weather to make for the narrow pathway to the hills, least of all by night.

THE PAST...

''A mighty man in byrnie are you, of proven bravery, bold in battle. Into my war-band will you come, to serve as warrior and counsel wise words?''

Warrior: Aye!