A torn olive cloak floats with the faint stream on the ford, for a moment it seems that nothing stands in its way; that it will travel forever downstream and find it’s peace. For a moment there seems to be hope before the cloak hits a boulder that has managed to reach the surface of the ford while so many others rest beneath the water. The cloak latches onto the rock as water pounces it from behind; in a heartbeat the current picks up seemingly from nowhere; the cloak and everything that it symbolizes is devoured by the water.
All that remains is one rock with a single fleck of blood resting on its crown, or was it two?
21th of September, T.A. 3018
“It has been long since I felt the comforts of a warm bed, or even a cold one. I sleep among rocks and roots; me and my kinsman. A follow watcher tells us to be ever watchful but I must admit that I see meager threats that could befall our small friends in the Shire. The oil that I had brought from Bree is soon depleted and my lantern will extinguish at any time, perhaps I should lay myself to rest among the rocks, roots and my kinsman.”
The daybreak arrives, yet the sun struggles to crack the impenetrable clouds that have taken shape overnight. With daybreak no warmth of late summer follows, no, for the chills of winter have started to take root; yellow leaves now tiresomely struggles to hold on to their branches and the green of the grass has started to fade. Yet it was only yesterday that the late summer warmth cuddled the men that guarded the Ford.
Had it not been for the strange grey light that now rested in the wilds, one would not be able to know if it was day or night. A strange mist had now appeared on the water, dancing its delicate dance on the surface, breaking for rocks that had dared to emerge from the colds of the water.
22th of September, T.A. 3018
“I awoke today not because of the break of day, nay, but for a chilling bite that pierced my very being. The roots and rocks had not been kind to me this night for I awoke with a terrible ache in my back, yet I have carried on my duties for the day and I am ready for my long awaited sleep. When this watch is over I intend to -----“
The last sentence ends abruptly and only a horizontal line is drawn with the ever so light touch of a feather dipped in ink.
As the riders appears the watchers on duty shouts, “Who goes there?” yet no response is given. They are clad in dark garbs and hooded with even darker hoods on top of their horrible steeds. The Captain calls for his men to prepare for battle. Yet no battle ensues.
The screeches pierces their ears and have them running for safety, those who retreat survive and those who bravely attempts to hinder their crossing dies valiantly. The Captain calls for a retreat and his men follows his orders in attempt.
17th of October, T.A. 3018
“I awoke days later in Michael’s Delving and I am in great pain, they told me that they found unconscious faced down on a rock in the middle of Sarn Ford. I cannot recall what happened after He shouted for us to prepare for battle, wait.. Where is -------, it is coming back to me..”
The two Rangers ran in the water, their clothes completely soaked, panic enshrouded the camp as the Riders obliterated their victims. They had not gotten long but were ensured of their own safety, before a loud stampede of hoofs were approaching behind them; they turned and were overwhelmed by monstrous shadows.