Rainith

            The world has shrunk to three – I barely remember the crowd of witnesses standing to one side. The full weight of the moment seems to hang above me in the still air - even the wind seems to be holding its breath. Galdorion stands before me, waiting by a huge figure swathed in red fabric. Beside me is Lord Anglachelm, standing silently, an imperious presence – impossible to ignore, even though I am almost afraid to look at his expression as he listens to Galdorion.

To Lord Veryacano,

Lord of the Hammer, Protector of the Swan and its Virtues.

21st of Tuile, 33 to Laire. Eregion

Field Report

Galdorion stopped suddenly before entering to the room, his hand stood still in mid air and slowly descended down. It seemed like he was unsure what to say once he is in. Laters he started to evaluate his reflection from the polished brass door handle with a sad face.

What brought him hither, to the doors of his Tûr? Was it a petition for being deployed into far away patrols like most of his kindred hammerites bother Anglachelm for all day? Was it yet another complaint for Daegond? Or perhaps something else?

 A hand comes down over the sheet I am working on, startling me. Wordlessly, Condir pulls it towards himself, frowning at what he sees.

After a moment that frown turns into his familiar wry smirk, although he says only, “This is not entirely what I expected.”