Faerhild

(Gyric : Captain of the Forlaw forces, head of the footmen team (green V)

Ceorlghas: head of the archers (orange lines)

Radbald: head of the reserves, vanguard

Assigned team: Yrminas, Faerhild, Langhund, scouts and archers (purple)

Start position: crossroads (yellow triangle)

(The text needs editing, it is from our rp chatlogs, we will be continuing with the event on Sunday 19 Feb)

Darkness fell in the winter forest. Mist lying beyond the small band of Eorlings, among the trees low. Régnwald slowed the company to a halt. He instructed, "We shall camp here in the woods for the night. Let a fire be built and a guard posted." As the order was sealed with a firm nod, he dismounted his horse and his feet found the ground, leaving a hard song of clinking battered war-nets as he paced onward. Régnwald finally took off his helmet, and he would be at least equally fast to shed the iron-welded gauntlets he was wearing.

(Just a brief glimpse of a longer scene.)

Faerhild and her older brother, Saexwyrd, stood in front of their Lord to hear his verdict about their recent acts against the Reeve and his Witan. The sister had set convicted men free of their prison, hoping they would help her to save the Captain of the town. The brother stood accused  because he had witnessed her commit this crime yet had been too soft-hearted to stop his sister.

When the night was at it's darkest she arrived to the timber gates of Forlaw, guiding Gewind slowly up the hill. The wool clad woman offered the reins of her beloved horse to the guard by the gates, her both hands gripping his as he held the tethers of her steed. While holding the young man's hand tightly she smiled silently, bowing her head in vast gratitude. He had allowed her in and out without informing the reeve who had stated she'd be exiled if she'd leave the town.

Faerhild sits by the table, slightly crouched due to her wound, her gaze falls down at her trembling hands and she seems to disappear in her thoughts, her dim gaze growing gradually vacant.

Saexwyrd 's heavy steps can be heard walking down the stairs, along with those of a small group of men. The wooden stairs creak unter their weight. After a few nods and words of goodbye by the stairs, the men pull up their hoods and leave. Their weapons are handed to them by the guards near the exit.

Faerhild manages to open one of the Meadhall's doors, an act which seems to drain what little remained of her strength. Luckily a fellow guard steps in to aid her in the task of closing the heavy door. She freezed at his gesture of compassion, staring at the man for a brief moment in confusion with sad tired eyes. Eventually she nods her wordless gratitude before allowing her gaze to search the room.
 

Régnwald opened his eyes after what seemed like winters to him. A grim, worried expression growing in his lined features as he turned to gaze upon the maiden. What has she said, he thought. A hand finding the moisted rag embracing his chest, and he once attempted to study his wound, a deep sigh of pain following, which would mayhap be enough for Faerhild to wake up if she had not.