Creoth

Fortress of the Blood-maid

As usual, I began me storytellin' by the hearth shortly after the last morsel of our supper were eaten...

'If the lass Beeannaithe thought the marsh near Willowsong's sacred spring smelt bad, the tainted waters of the Blood-gloom smelt even worse. Much worse.

The drums rolled onward in the night sky, the warriors crowded around in their own circles surrounding the benches and high tables, dancing with their fellows and their women. Mead was poured, and meat was served, while a clutch of bloodied captives seated along the edge, watching the festivities with fearful eyes. 

Leaning against a high wall built by Men in centuries past, Lômizimril considered her options. What was she thinking, walking up to the Red Pass and declaring herself as Mornalpheth of Dol Amroth, then declaring herself later on as Dovirien?

There was a muted thud, and another a few seconds later, followed by a crash coming from somewhere in the building. 
That will be Connwear and the savages making their entrance. More than enough to draw attention to themselves.

"Lady Maerion, it is a privilege to meet you at last, and to welcome you to our fair city."

"Lond Daer? It was once a great and proud harbour of the Númenóreans, now it's a free port and a haven for all manner of seafaring outlaws, scoundrels, rogues, and smugglers. It's still mostly a crumbling ruin that's been abandoned to the ages, but near the docks it has been rebuilt, then that's rotted and been partly rebuilt again, and that bit is bustling with all the activity of a small town.

Gods, that smells delicious...
Ameren peered over the back of her mare toward the campfire. The hillmen had caught a young doe earlier that afternoon and, after days of no fire and cold food, the aroma of roasting venison was damn near intoxicating. She stood there and just stared at the rotating meat for so long that the mare grew impatient of having her grooming interrupted, snorting and giving Ameren a shove to voice her discontent.

She'd known that their luck would run out eventually, that it was only a matter of time until they were discovered during their little trip through the orc-infested region. That it had to happen just then, on that narrow path along the cliffs by the Greyflood with heavy rain coming down and the blasted hillmen too far ahead to help, that was more than piss-poor luck.

"It's no good, damn orcs are everywhere down there," said Ameren, pulling her mare to a halt as she came closer to the cart. "If we still had the cover of rain we may have been able to slip past them, but on a beautiful day like this they'll see us coming from a mile off."