spies

I am a Man of honour, a Man of my land and ancestry. I am a Man of Rohan. The two always went together, or so I once believed. In days like these I am no longer sure. Bema be thanked, although there have been minor battles and skirmishes a plenty, my people have not seen the full force of open warfare in this generation. At least not yet. There are always orcs, always opportunist Easterlings. There are bands of Men of lesser sorts that are mostly brought to swift justice.

((The following is a compilation of the RP done by the brilliant players of the characters involved in setting up Dazelia's epic encounter designed to progress her story. I did my best to use their words exactly as much as possible, only making what edits were necessary to facilitate the flow))

The first hints of winter came to Breeland with the last of the autumn rains.  It beat the last fading scraps of leave from branches and churned roads into mud.