Ramield

The bright afternoon sun shone down onto Hookworth as Arenborn strolled leisurely through the village, breathing in the warm summer scents. He made his way along the well-maintained paths to the Sizzling Turtle Tavern and strolled through the grass to sit at the base of one of the tall trees in the yard and settled between two large roots.

The whet stone rasped against the cold steel as Arenborn ran it along the length of his sword. He tested the edge, and pushed the stone along it a few more times. It was important for him to keep his sword clean and sharp, for his life was tied to it. He was sat alone in his small home, his wife out on a patrol for the knights.

For a while I've been worrying a little about when I'll be kicked out of the house I'm staying in. It's properly owned by one of the Knights of Eriador, the folks whose settlement is what the village of Hookworth grew around. Being Knights, they go off on long journeys in perilous places, and sadly that means sometimes they don't come back. This particular one is owned by someone whose name I don't know, who has been gone for several years.