Fighting

Eduwiges of Faldham listened to the grunts and clanging of men at battle. The shield-maiden smelled sweat, leather, grimy carpet and shame as it wafted across the giant room being used as a training hall in Minas Tirith. Eduwiges was amazed. In her eyes, a place to train was outside a fort on the plains of the Norcroft or under the trees of Imladris and flets of the Golden Wood; not in this huge palace hall with giant chandeliers and dangling tapestries.

Domruth stands in the middle of the circle that is in the middle of the water that is more than knee deep. Around her are the ruins and from all over one can hear chanting in a strange language. Domruth holds two curved swords and her raven black hair flow to her right but... There is no wind.

The roads are lain upon a grassy hill just outside of Oatbarton, and the breeze plays with the trees to the left and right, causing all traces of whats passed to fall from their slender, jagged branches, and preserves the deep forest color of the canopy roofs and walls. It isn't too long up the road, the so far had-been peaceful road, that the next trial awaits Stitches. As the hill dipped down and the little hamlet of Oatbarton was left far behind and out of sight, the road straightened and leveled out, and three broad fellows would wait at the very bottom dip.