Down in North downs
The first stop was Trestlebridge. The town’s name explained literally what it was – a bridge across a deep chasm, with foamy waters roaring on its bottom. Grim mood and stench of burned stuff was governing the settlement. Tarnon asked for directions to Esteldín, though anyway it ended up again with a job. The town’s pitiful condition forced him to offer help, and the desperate lady major gladly accepted. Tarnon’s appearance and voice obviously couldn’t scare her after what she’s been through. He knew he’d be miserably paid, but still he went for it. He slayed a decent number of orcs and brought the burgled stuff back to town. It has been gradually becoming a chore.
Next day, he was advised to mount a horse, because Esteldín was a long way northeast.“ Keep rather on the road to be safe,” told him the stable master. Well, usual stuff, ain’t it? thought Tarnon. But after a few miles north he understood. The plains before him, with ruins of mighty, old and ruined Fornost city were weird. Eerie. A chill wind was blowing, although the leaves on the sturdy local trees were still. Luckily, the road sign was pointing, that Esteldín lies now east. With no small relief Tarn continued on the road. But only keeping hooves on the road was not a guarantee of safety. A farm lying just at the road was being ravaged by nasty wargs. Thanks to speed of the horse he could escape, but it was a matter of a few feet and he would have become a prey.
Dusk was soaking the sky already when he finally saw the ancient city walls of Esteldín. His arrival caused a bit surprise.
“Not many are coming these days to the North Downs. Lately people flee from here,” said a tall man in grey hood. From his clothes he appeared to be one of the rangers, so Tarnon didn’t have to look for a contact very long.
“I’m Tarnon. Saeradan sent me here.” Better to be simple.
“Man, you need a pint of ale, or better a herb tea. The plains wind is harsh, maybe it hurt your throat,” said the man.
“Thanks, but there’s no cure for it,” shrugged Tarnon.
“I’m Daervunn. And it was my duty that sent me here.” His eyes reflected a spark of humor.
Tarnon smiled. “Good.”
Daervunn continued: “Don’t worry, all people here are Rangers or their helpers.”
He explained further. “It is Halbarad you need to talk to. Go through the next gate…” he pointed and described Tarnon the way.
The fortress impressed him much. Its position, wedged into a mountain gorge, with a single access gate was telling enough. An old but unconquerable bastion.
Halbarad welcomed Tarnon warmly, though wrinkles in his face didn’t disappear for even a moment.
“So here’s the agile slayer… I am glad that we finally meet. Candaith and Saeradan sent best recommendations.” Tarnon was not used to praising, but it was pleasant.
They talked long, and Tarnon had to stay for a few days. In this area there was great need of a silent inconspicuous scout. The Rangers paid well, and he had the possibility to eat and drink all he could.
He was getting used to the fact that he is but a day of travel from dark Angmar… His nightmares were not so strong anymore, but they didn’t cease in periodicity.
He bit himself in the lip and stayed tough. He needed to get tougher than his enemies, he knew it. He needed to win the battle against himself, this time by all means.
Days turned to weeks. There were many spy and sabotage tasks, but also a diplomatic ones. There was a dwarf outpost in the north and an elvish community in the south, both in need of help and in need of alliance. The north needed to unite.
Slaying orcs was always actual and numerous, amidst these important missions.
A nasty, necessary chore, that could almost become Tarnon’s bane, as we would soon see…
