Dunlendings

Gwennol rolled up the hide tent, lashing it tight with leather straps leaning it against a tree. She slung on her bag, picking up her staff before whistling for Cysgod to begin her morning foraging. The sound of thundering hooves were heard suddenly and she turned, her long hair whipping around as she held her staff. A heavy dark chestnut horse galloped towards her, the hulking like rider glimpsed as it pounded towards her through the trees. It was nearly abreast of the young woman who tensed to dart out of its path and turned to run.

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. 

Gwennol listened as Pren explained how the people he had met on his first journey to the north had accompanied him south, only betray him and leave him for dead. He spoke of dark figures firing arrows, swift and strong they were but he did not see their faces. All he knew was that he had lived and lusted for revenge against the faithless man who he believed was behind it all. It was a fight with this man that left him in such a state and once again, they had tried  to kill him. Tying him and leaving him to drown.

The village on the hill was her destination, Gwennol was certain of it and yet she was confused as to why. The symbol of the boar was everywhere, on banners and carved from stone and spouting water. In the fields surrounding the town, there were signs of boars in the field. Her heavy drab robes dragged against the cobblestones and she saw the stares and gawking mouths as she passed by the merchants at their stalls. The common tongue was spoken here and she could understand more than what she could speak back. Her craban cawed and flapped his wings, setting on her shoulder.

                As I now travel back home on the northern road, I think to myself concerning what I have seen and learned in the past few days. Upon my arrival, I was fascinated by these elven ruins I see scattered throughout the land, and I wish that someday I may return to examine them more thoroughly, as they may hold many secrets.

                As I reached again the foot of the mountain, the snow had turned to rain, which covered much of the landscape in a foggy mist. My eyes again came across the hill covered in dead trees, and I chose that would be my next destination.

                When I had returned to my campsite, I quickly gathered my remaining supplies, and took a path heading south, in the hopes of avoiding any Dunlending scouting parties. I made my way through some craggy cliff sides, and soon I could see far across the landscape. To the west was the peaks of Caradhras, which could barely be seen, piercing high through the clouds.

                I could not sleep. The forest is restless, and I can tell there is something going on here. Collecting some of my equipment and dowsing my campfire, I chose to investigate.