Spring was in full swing, with lambs filling the fields of the dunlending farmers, and birds singing in the sky as they drifted weightlessly around the clear blue sky. Dunland was not however as peaceful as nature this day..
The war-camp of Wulf's Cleft was filled; men, women and teenagers were gathered in their strongest leathers and brightest paints of red, blue and green. Four clans were gathered in all. Three hundred and fifty came from the Dragon-Clan, two hundred and fifty from the Ox-clan. Another two hundred and fifty came from the Falcons, and one hundred and fifty of fine warriors came from the Bear-clan,
The Dragons, with red paints and robes over them. A mixture of shields they bore; many with a red dragon in flight whilst others were painted in large white hands. They stood in many lines, with commanders marching up and down making sure all were in place, and those that were not soon were put back after a quick beating. Dragon scale shone on the commanders in the sun as they shouted out at their men, preparing them for the march to come.
The Falcons, with oranges and blues decorating their feathered and furred robes. They bore daggers as sharp as talons, and some even had whole wings of birds attached to their shields and gauntlets. They stood clustered in a big flock, testing the strings on their bows and making sure they had enough arrows to deal with the enemy from afar.
The Ox, with blue and white on their thick leather armour and horned clothes. Big sets of hair and big beards were covered in war paint as they slammed their feet into the ground, letting out shouts and cries as they raised their weapons up! They were walking back and forth, a few hopping up and down while others headbutted each other!
Finally, the Bears. Brown and red was what they were painted in, with bear furs and claws covering them. Most of them bore axes and shields, though some had stolen swords of the enemy, and some even with stolen chain and a pauldron if they were lucky. They stood in groups, roaring and shouting at each other, some even throwing swings to prepare them for the hits they will take.
Standing in the doorway of a hut nearby, stood the Brenin of the Bear-Clan. Pren Rhyfelwr, and his advisor and warrior, Gwaeda. A short woman with brown hair caught short, with a fierce glint in her brown eyes and a fierce growl on her red lips. The two talked, about this and that, most of it related to the matters of war before they were cut off by a horn blast. The time had come to leave.
The one thousand dunlendings marched out, all clans mixed together. They called out all sorts of shouts as they moved throughout the Gap of Rohan, and late afternoon the host had arrived in Isengard, where the Old-Man lived. They were met by another one thousand warg riders, and a host that the Brenins thought could only be possible by the old-mans magic, -which was the thing that was to help the dunlendings take back their land -, seven thousand Uruk-Hai were gathered around the large black spire that stood out in the middle of the wasted lands..
(This is what is happening in MY storyline, it may differ in yours!)
