Breeland

The fire crackled the skin of the rabbit roasting on the spit, the small it of fat sizzling and bubbling. Gwennol shifted it away from the flames as it started to scorch and then sat back down, tossing some small bits of raw meat to Cysgod who opened his beak to snatch them out of the air. The shadows danced on the crumbling stone walls that surrounded her camp site and she could see the moon reflecting of the still waters of Nen Harn. Gwennol looked up at a sharp rawk sound from the craban who moved to perch on her shoulder. 

When Gwennol arrived back at her campsite, she saw Pren was awake. He sat on the ground, his long legs sprawled out as he gazed into the flames of the fire he must have rebuilt from the smoldering ash of the morning. He had a pensive or bored look on his face, she was no sure which as his beard hid so much of it and over half his visible face there was a smear of red ochre, three lines to be exact. War paint, she recognized, still fresh and wet. 

It was a man, a large man with swarthy skin, a thick beard and fierce dark eyes. Gwennol instantly recognized the look from his face to the fur and leathers he wore. He was a man of Dunland, her own kin and so very far north. Quickly she bent to untie the waterlogged rope that bound his arms and she noticed the blood stained wet clothing and a large slash in the tunic. His long hair was matted with mud and lake weeds tangled in the braid and she could see bruises and cuts on his arms and hands.

We were worried by recent reports of an orc threat in the north, of an encampment established only a few hours’ ride from Bree, led by an orc known as the Red Reaver. Their proximity to Bree concerned us, so five of us – Myself, Ceolaric, Calebriorn, Finellan and Herfi – Set off, with the intention of discovering more about these orcs, and raiding their camp if possible.

This war costs more than lives.

Dieudonnae's actions are far more painful than any wound, and it scares me.  I once thought of her as a friend, and killing a friend is something I will never be able to do.

So, to soar away from the horns of this dilemma I found myself perched on, I decided I needed to speak to her, to see whether any remnant (excuse the pun) of my old friend remained, and to do this, I would have to be arrested.

It was a quiet, unassuming night as he made his climb up the shrub covered slopes of the hill towards the dark and brooding pine tree forest above and the remains of once grand fortress that stood perched upon the hilltop for many long forgotten years.