Nethrida

Torn, trapped, conflicted. 

When will she find war?

For every command, a question.

For every alarm, a pause.

For every advance, a failure.

For every effect, a cause.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, she forms the line again.

Wishing there was another, to lead the hopes of men.

Where shall she know peace?

When I awoke in the Rusty Barge, tucked away in a corner no one could see. My head rang like the hammers of Dain’s smithy under the mountain. My eyes were gummed together and my mouth tasted of sawdust and grog. As strange taverns go this one wasn’t so bad, well, not as bad as some others I have woken in. Although the body by the front door and the blood on the bar left something to be desired but the tavern itself was homelike and warm, then I remembered.

Linhir...Home. Of course it wasnt the first time she was back. But since her return, and thus the townsfolk having learnt she yet lived her old hometown had suddenly grown less pleasant to visit, and now the letter had made her even more anxious to return to learn the truth of the situation.

( The Masks of Imlad Gelair - Part 6 Complementary material for this story. Spesifically Nethrida's nightmare)

Imlad Gelair had changed.  One moment a bridge... The second the sound of howling Wargs... The whizz of arrows all muffled, distant... Like she was underwater yet she breathed in and exhaled in fright. The abrubt switch in landscape made she trip and fall. But ever the soldier she reached behind her to draw her sword only to gasp upon realising the scabbard was empty...

The company was making final preparations to depart from Bree as the sun rose. Mounts and pack animals were being assembled in the courtyard before the Prancing Pony as Barliman glared from the stairs, Nob hiding behind his leg as if he wished to confirm that the band were actually leaving. The Innkeeper had made clear to Xanderian and Xandilif the night before that if any more damage or upset were caused by the travelers, he would have to put a large surcharge on their already considerable tab.

Neth grunts as she's knocked off her feet at the end of the sparring match, she rubs her cheek and frowns, her sword on the ground next to her. She then looks up to her sparring partner, and they both chuckle.

"Captain... You really have let yourself go..." Miranwyn taunted playfully and extended a hand to Neth. Who shook her head, grabbing her sword and pulling herself up with the aid of her friend, "Yeah... I have... Havent I. Used to be I was the one picking YOU up the floor" She nods back and took a few steps back to prepare her stance again.