Chaos

The cave yawned wide before her like the mouth of some slumbering beast. Deorla stepped into its gullet with blade in hand and eyes sharp in the dark. The scent of old fire, unwashed bodies, and rotted meat clung thick to the air. This was no mapmaker’s den. It was a nest.

Orcs. And not few.

The sun rose thin and pale above the hills of Dunland as Deorla moved swiftly across the grasslands. Each step brought her closer to the Gap of Rohan, and with it, a turning point in her quiet campaign.

She had declined the offer of Galtrev’s loyalty—for now. Her words to the chieftain had been firm, veiled in smoke and patience: "When the time comes, I will send for you. When I have accomplished what I must." That time had not yet arrived. Not while her blade still moved in the dark.

Dear Guriwen 

Dawn stretched her rosey fingers and slowly got herself out of bed, peering down on the world with bleery eyes. At her approach the darkness fled, hiding away from her as bright blue skies started to form around her. A few tendrils of mist slowly rose from the shadowy ground and joined the Dawn in her relm in the sky leaving the sky as clear as the brightest summer day and completely cloudless. The Dawn had such a brief time to see the happenings in the world, although she smiled when she saw the picturesque little in below her.