Misty Mountains Campaign

The cold was as bitter as ever, the mountain passes as inhospitable as before. That much Tancamir remembered from the last expedition the Arrows had made to the Hithaeglir. But now they travelled slowly, scouting the path ahead so that the Hammers and other members of the company might have a secure path to tread. And there was  much stopping, and camping, and assigning of watches. He scowled. If the Arrow were not so encumbered by the progress of the others, they could have made it halfway to the Southern High Pass by now.

To the Lord Ambassador of Bar-en-Vanimar Parnard,

They had arrived at camp in the Hithaeglir without much incident, Makanárë could admit. The long march from Imladris had been uneventful, but still her heart soared as the path climbed higher and the air thinned. The keen bite of wind upon her face only served to heighten her senses, stirring them up into a constant awareness. Finally. Here she was, among the other warriors of the Order of the Hammer, marching behind the lords of the House. Grimly she laid her hands upon the hilts of her swords. There would be foes enough to slay in the Hithaeglir.

From her post high on the cliff, Luthelian watched the fire in the camp crackle against the wood, throwing its heat across the sleeping figures. Some paces away, she saw Tancamir standing watch over the frozen lake and beyond. Her eyes followed his back more often than she would have liked since his return.

Taala did arrive late, everyone was already gathered as she entered the grounds of the DawnHall, at least she could blame Rick Cobb for slowing her horse down...

“Some journeys take you farther from where you come from, but closer to where you belong.”