Tidhelm

The smell of fish is like a double edged sword. When the fish is still fresh enough it can be a good sniff yet when it is rotten, you will be unpleasantly surprised. Clyde swept some sweat of his brow when the last smudges of fish were of his cutting board. The middle-aged stallholder might not have the best place in Bree near the Stone Quarters yet he couldn't complain.

Five figures stepped into the ruins of the once great tower named Barad Eithel. They entered the ruins of Fornost through the gate waded through small wetlands that had formed just outside of the tower. Four of the visitors were clearly half-orcs by the way they walked and acted. The figure that walked in the middle of the group was shouting commands to them: “Loot the bodies! If you find any rings bring them to me, you can keep the rest as long as you can carry it!” The voice came from none other than Tidhelm, who was now wading through the shallow and murky water.

Gurzlum was empty. The once well garrisoned scouting camp had only a few measly defenders left. The Taskmaster looked to the South for a short while and sighed. “All the good boys are either dead or fled to the hills.” None were around to hear the taskmaster’s rumblings as the ones that could still fight, were placed at the gate to prepare for either aid, or their end. Gurzlum has lost their warriors and scouts on the elves and their wretched allies. The Ongbúrz licked their wounds and prepared to let their teeth shine again.

"You need to keep your rest, mister. " The old man looked up at the ceiling while hearing the woman talk. A think blanket covered the elderly man and a wet cloth was laying on his forehead. "I don't think that I have the strength to defy you." His speech was grizzled and showed a glint of the speaker's origin, something that he did not want to let know in normal circumstances. The woman that sat at his bedside took the wet cloth from the forehead of her patient. She drenched the object in a nearby bucket before placing it on the old man's forehead again.

It smelled like a slaughterhouse, the old man thought. No. It was worse than a slaughterhouse. At least they wouldn't set flame to the meat they couldn't find a use for. "And...that makes eleven!" Was this a turning point for us? Eleven of our scouts... where did we go wrong? Were we too careless or too shy to make our advances? If this keeps happening from a monthly bases from now on we will be out of muscle when the year is out. "Boss!

How much can change in a week's time? The meadhall of Walstow used to be a place where the fighters drank and feasted with their thane yet no mead has flown in days. Every spill has been cleaned, every table has been polished and every happy drunk now needs to drink at home. Tidhelm smiled to himself when he gazed around the interior of the meadhall. The old noble couldn't keep himself from speaking out loud:"Winsig should take council with the reeve more often!

The downwards slope leading from the cave felt cold on Hilde's feet. "Damn that cowled bastard. Who does he think he is!" One of the brigands that said near a close by fire laughed loudly and patted on the floor next to him, looking with almost teary eyes towards the young maiden. Hilde almost threw herself on the ground next to the man she knew as Gyswin. His speech was slurred when he opened his mouth. "Why do you even push yourself on to him?

Noon approached like a running horse. Einar Ravnson protected the sun from his eyes with one hand, then blew the whistle to call back the hawk. The bird of prey returned with a hare on it's claw and Grimbold, thane of Grimslade nodded approvingly before turning his attention back to Hraidar. Few matched the thunderous voice of the experienced traveller, but when Grimbold's words made him look even larger than he already was.

The light of a nearby candle illuminated the small cave. The walls were smooth and blackened from the large fires that once burned in here before its current occupant made his stay in Helstor. A couple of tomes laid scattered on a table in the middle of the room. Two figures were standing around the table. One pleased, the other not pleased. "Are you even aware of what you brought before me?" Asked the older man while looking up at the tall Eorling. "You tasked us with recovering dusty old books and look before you!

Tidhelm looked across the banks of the Anduin. Spring was starting to fade into summer. The smoke on the horizon was a welcome sight to Tidhelm. Not only were the Gundaband raiders fighting those pesky woodsman, but the Western bank was clear of danger. "Soon all of the Northen misty tribes wiwill be under the sway of the white hand, as will all in due time." Tidhelm spoke to himself. Before the old noble could turn around a swooshing sound passed his head.