Domruth

Mornenion would have just finished running down from the ruin atop Amon Sûl. Despite the injuries he gained, he keeps moving at a running speed that is neither too slow or too fast, good for running long distances. He still has his bow in his hand, as he is pursing Domruth and those that took her so it is certain that his pursuit make take a dangerous turn. From where he is now, Mornenion can't see the figures but he remembers, and by judging on how many times he turned that brought him to this position, he assumes that they must be straight ahead of him.

The ground trembles, not enough to unbalance the company but they can feel it and the skeletal hands that come out of it clutching weapons soon acquire arms, heads and the rest of their bodies. A quick glance would say that there are more than thirty, equipped with all kinds of weapons and shields, spears, swords, axes, hammers and halberds.

Caithryth hit the wet dirt belly first with a thump that almost knocked the wind out of her. Despite the storm she swears she heard the corroded tip of the undead's spear swing just over her back. Her fingers dig into the earth, as she's crawling madly forward, trying to reach the sword she has dropped earlier. She feels the ... thing behind her turning around, with deadly intent, just as her fingers feel the familiar hardness of the leather-wrapped hilt. Driven by pure panic she rolls onto her back, pointing the steel upwards and extends her arm in a desperate thrust.

The dark clouds reached Trestlebridge fast, coming from the North and within a few moments they covered the sky and an angry rain started pouring down. It’s drops carried South by the wind where the woodcutters of Bree worked in North Chetwood, along with the growing clouds.

-Let’s go back, it’s going to rain. Said one of the men.

-How is the search going?

-We are close… I think. We have been digging all over.

-So you failed.

-No! Not yet at least.