Tidhelm

Tidhelm walked away of the group. The snow crisped under his boots. If Daellas and Wulfreda's ill timed words were not the end of the group at this moment than it would be the cowardly behaviour of Regnwald, Tidhelm thought to himself. As the old noble walked into the small woods close to the camp, the voices of the others started to become nothing more than mutterings in the distance. Tidhelm looked around for a moment before saying out loud: "You can come out now!" A few moments passed and nothing happened. Tidhelm walked over to a nearby stump and took his seat on it.

"Again!" The sound of clashing metal followed. "Again!" The sound of a cornered man, fighting to stay alive was heard. "Again!" The only sound that was heard was that of a man falling in the dirt. Ordlac gave a smile and the thane of Stock clapped his hands, seeing how his squire defeated his head of the quard. "You have been beaten by a fourteen year old Walda! Clean yourself off and see to the change of the guard before I let you fight Tidhelm another time.

It was still early in the morning when the sound of swords was heard clashing in the most awe striking battle ever to be fought. Two brave Knights were fighting before the great castle of Gonstow, the wood city. The brave ser-knight Tidhelm the mighty stood before his greatest opponent: the feared Folcbald the lesser, knight of the triangle stone. Tidhelm called out against his terrible foe:"Our battle through the ages is at its end!

A soft bed of straw. One of the stalks softly tickled under Clive's nose. The Breelander waves his hand in the general direction of the annoying feeling below his nostrils. It was almost getting light already and the previous night in the Prancing Pony was the end of the man's last funds. Clive felt the pouch around his belt, feeling the cold copper against his fingers. The man thought for a moment, moving his shoulders a bit to lay more comfortable.

My head still hurts from the party we had yesterday. We had such a great time at that lodge. Dancing, drinking and all that, but this is not what I wish to write about in this journal. I sure was glad to see Tidhelm Icwalsteng and his lovely daugther Eaden again, both I consider good friends. The discussion I had with the old noble keeps going through my head.  He had thought of a new path that would take us to our homeland. As far as I know we all seek to go to the East Emnet.

Luzbug was overlooking the construction of the new fighting pit. Higher and with spikes on the top facing down at the contestants. Anyone that would want to jump out of it would be impaled. Workers from other parts of Dunland came to work on the project aswel. With the escape of a prisoner under the eye of the white hand, all of Dunland was put to shame.

Luzbug

Ever demanding is the supply chain of Isengard. Wood, iron or work forces. It doesn't matter what. All flows to that accursed pinnacle. One of those shipments comes from a very unusual place: The shire. The white wizard has taken a liking to the halfling's leaf but also some of the foodstuff. Normally these supply chains were being handled by brigands under the pay of the white hand, with the exception of some half-orc goons. But this time the cargo was different. A certain delicacy was required for the task. It was not often that Isengard required life cargo from so far away.

Rohan is aflame. Only shortly have I looked upon the sea of grass that I once dared to call my home. Its destruction was already known to me. The Riddermark has little to offer me, at this moment.

Dawn was nearing. Akashpug, the chief of Târ Stazg, rubbed in his eyes and yawned. He looked around his tent. He sniffed in the air and soon a surprised smirk came on his face.  Slowly did he whisper to himself, still sleep disorientated: ''What smells so good? Man flesh?" The Uruk crawled out of his tent and rose up, looking at the sight before him.