Ioranir

He had never seen totems like these... Not even in all of his times in Forochel. The beast stood head and shoulders even above The Little Lion who simply gripped his axe a little tighter as the creature snarled. He wore a wolves fur over his face and body, crawling and stomping around on all fours. He knew he wasn't alone. Two more had taken up behind the trees just to this ones left...

He pulled the tattered cloak a little tighter around him as he continued to trudge through the rain drenched terrain."Cursed land..." He muttered under his breath, looking over to his left to see the branch of the Greyflood that bent its way into the fell lands of Dunland. Ioranir paused briefly to look back over his shoulder. The fog from the Dunbog still gracing itself eerily upon the face of the marshes therein.

He heard the laboured wheeze escape from the mans lungs and found the strength to even bear his shield had waned shortly before it slipped from his grasp and landed with a thud on the grass. His feet felt as if they had become mountains as he trudged forward and his mouth agape at the sight that had set before him, his fingers loosing the axe he once held with what he believed to be the might of his forebears.

There were fell voices on the air. Whispers that I could make no sense of. The wind was cold and biting against my skin. It howled and moaned in my ears, but still, the whispers were tangible. My feet cannot move through the snow. Is it snow? Is it something else? I cannot move.

The winds snapped and billowed around the small camp, causing the Northling to pull the furs up further across his head and body shortly before a boot softly nudged into his thigh followed by a amused voice. "Breakfast is ready, runt."  The man sat down beside him, placing a plate infront of Ioranir who simply replied with a growl.

Somehow, Daphne had managed not to vomit, though it took most of her concentration to do so. She was vaguely aware of shouting, and she caught some words which had caused fury to rise within her again, before the feeling in her throat distracted her once again. Somehow, she was aware of a piece of paper as Furley slid it into her hand.

She didn't want to think back on it, but Daphne's mind still often turned to the events of the previous meeting. All within the Company who held any higher position were supposed to be there and most of them had been. The purpose was to sort out their plan of action after what had happened in Minas Eriol. 

Warning: Could be slightly graphic for some. 

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Our scouting mission through the Lone Lands has now become more than I every could have imagined. We have been on the road for weeks. Sir Ioranir has been on his own mission, to find those that raised him. As for Amathlan, he was to learn of those who we were tracking, the Sons of Burzum. These two missions have carried us all the way from Bree, to Evendim. But now we rest in a village, far to the north of Forochel.

Some time after the return from Forochel; Imladris, Third Age.

We all quickly gathered, hidden, to watch the scene and decide what our course would be. We watched as one of the men wandered off the side of the hill, seemingly having heard something. When he returned, it was with a man, but not one of their own. 

This man, as we would later come to learn his name, was Ioranir One of the Lossoth, but also known to our company.