Easterling

     Here is a tale for you, passed to my grandfather by his father, and then to my grandfather’s two sons (my father and uncle, you understand), and then told to my father’s wife (who, of course, is my mother), and from each of them to me.

Tell me, Easterling. Have you ever heard the tale of Tallûch?

He was a Wain-Warrior, mighty among our people. He bore a great axe and a golden helm, and took for us all the lands of the Dorwinions, long ago. It is said that our brave village was once the site of his stronghold, and all about were grapevines, grown and harvested as tribute to him.

A short while before dawn, Tazamul, his servant, the cat, and most of their valuables made landfall on an empty strand of beach at the edge of Rhovanion. Their boat, so small that it hardly deserved that title, ground its keel into the sand a short way from shore, where the water was so shallow that a man might disembark from the boat and make his way to dry land without wetting any more than his boots.

As the third son of a minor Rhunish noble and with little else to do, Tazamul's latest plan for financial gain was to sponsor a company of brigands to raid trade routes between Dale, Dorwinion, and the Iron Hills. His plan lasted for at least 3 weeks (a record) before he was found out by his house. Although robbing their Western rival was not necessarily frowned upon by the Easterlings, it was still considered a crime in order to keep the peace, and so Tazamul would have to be exiled. 

The moon was high in the sky, casting its cold rays down over the fields and limning each leaf and blade of grass in pale silver. It gleamed like a half-lidded eye among the stars, watching the world drowsily. Like it, Sarnai was awake.