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Stones

Throwing Stones

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I throw stones! I usually keep a few in my pockets, but if I need to, I can pick up some larger ones and throw them a distance. For that latter, I am in my 'true' form of course. Sauron used to be my favourite target, Mairon, then the fallen Maia. A was as a gnat, constantly buzzing in his ear. Great though he thought himself, there were times when he ran. I knew it was a dangerous game I played, but someone needed to remind him from time to time. 

 

A trip, a tumble and a fight

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Story

The road was long and his pace slow as he was passing around the mountains, between which the orcs had their camps and Fiontann walked around them quietly, he had left Hedinn in Trestlebridge and made his way on foot so that he would leave less tracks behind him. Now the way back seemed longer than it was when he traveled towards Kingstead. The river was cold but luckily for him he found some shallow spots to avoid being too long in it and as soon as he reached the other side he made a small camp to dry out before setting off again, even a small cold could mean death out there.

Stones, rangers and old friends

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Story

Almost two weeks had passed since Fiontann left Bree, now he was in the heart of the North Downs, camping in the place called Kingsfell, between the Elven settlement in the South and the Dwarven in the North. Those abandoned farms were a good place to stay away from the cold and rain and Fion made sure that his presence would be unnoticed, lighting a small fire and covering the windows.

Scouting the Mist: Part Two.

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Story
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