Daellas

Tidhelm walked away of the group. The snow crisped under his boots. If Daellas and Wulfreda's ill timed words were not the end of the group at this moment than it would be the cowardly behaviour of Regnwald, Tidhelm thought to himself. As the old noble walked into the small woods close to the camp, the voices of the others started to become nothing more than mutterings in the distance. Tidhelm looked around for a moment before saying out loud: "You can come out now!" A few moments passed and nothing happened. Tidhelm walked over to a nearby stump and took his seat on it.

Argyll son of Eorath and older brother of Argath. Young Daellas of about 9 years old always feared his presence but in the same time wanted to be like him. Yet Argyll was rarely seen in Garsfeld or the crofts just like his brother. But he was there when times turned sour. Also at that moment when our lives were changed forever...

It was a large but simple farmhouse, standing just outside a rather small but typical village in the Southern crofts called Garsfeld. Many people lived and worked there tending the fields. The crops were traded with Snowbourn and with western parts of Rohan if the crops yields were good. Our mother Freia worked there every day together with her younger brother Brenthelm, our uncle. There were also stable boys, and lads of other families working on the fields daily now, it was the harvest season. 

Luzbug was overlooking the construction of the new fighting pit. Higher and with spikes on the top facing down at the contestants. Anyone that would want to jump out of it would be impaled. Workers from other parts of Dunland came to work on the project aswel. With the escape of a prisoner under the eye of the white hand, all of Dunland was put to shame.

Luzbug

It was night time, and the stars shone brightly. The world slowly returned to its normal shape again, as the haze of the shamans sorcery vaporized. I was sitting in my familiar dog cage again. I heard Frericks voice "What did they do to you? You look rather pale.." I shook my head "I have no idea man, the old goon was messing with my head." I soon fell asleep, and awoke a day later.

Ever demanding is the supply chain of Isengard. Wood, iron or work forces. It doesn't matter what. All flows to that accursed pinnacle. One of those shipments comes from a very unusual place: The shire. The white wizard has taken a liking to the halfling's leaf but also some of the foodstuff. Normally these supply chains were being handled by brigands under the pay of the white hand, with the exception of some half-orc goons. But this time the cargo was different. A certain delicacy was required for the task. It was not often that Isengard required life cargo from so far away.

The cart hobbled slowly through the green hill landscape. I sat and leaned against the iron bars of the cage. Once in a while I looked to the other two in the cage, a middle-aged blond and braided man of the mark and the second looked like a younger boy who could have been a Bree-lander. None dared or even felt like speaking. I saw we were heading further south. About seven Dunlendings walked around the cart armed with spears and swords. After many hours we reached their village, I saw many banners with a drawing of an ox-head.