rohan

The road to the Wold was supposed to be safe, it was said. At least as safe as a road could be in these dire times of looming war, of roaming orcs and wargs, wicked and corrupted men from the east, and other horrors. And there was a mission to uphold, one that could not have come at a worse time for us. 

It was hard trying to fall asleep in Faldham’s Mead Hall. 

I had found a quieter corner, away from the guards and the few folk still at the table. It was long since dark outside, and their talking was past the earlier merriment and banter of the place, falling into more mundane concerns, and the odd joke. 

As I slowly ease my body down into a comfortable sitting position, resting my back against a stone in the process, I trust my sword into the moist sand next to me, before releasing my feeble grip on the hilt. For the last time, I hear myself whisper softly as I study the sword that has followed me for so long. With a heavy sigh I turn my head from it and stare at the spectacle displayed in front of me. It's quite stunning and beautiful to behold.