If you have not read the last part that started the journey of Eometh then please follow this link!
Eometh stood atop the hill, Lightfoot grazing peacefully nearby. The wind blew gently past him and down below to the already finished battle, dozens of dead bodies strewn across the plains between collapsed and smoking wooden buildings. His eyes took in the riders atop their horses trotting across the dead, occasionally stopping to put out the misery of a dying wildman. He slowly rubbed his arm, bruised from a blow he had taken, the blood of a wildman still on his knuckles. He sighed and slowly knelt to the ground where his sword had dropped from his exhausted hands. Picking the sword up, he looked into its dim glow past the blood. Dirt and grime covered his face. He could not help but grimace at his beat-up form. Looking away from the blade, he wiped it clean as best he could with a cloth from a pouch on his side and then sheathed the sword.
Looking away from the massacre down below, Eometh’s eyes turned towards the sky and caught a flock of birds flying past, peaceful clouds high above them. His eyes spotted a particular bird appearing to be coming straight at him. Turning around, he stepped over to the still-grazing Lightfoot and pulled out a waterskin from one of the pouches on the saddle. Taking a long drink from it, he continued to watch the bird approaching closer.
The thrush fluttered its wings as it landed atop the saddle before Eometh and looked at him curiously. He glanced at the thrush’s leg and saw a small clasp around it. He removed the clasp and opened the small container connected to it and pulled out a message that read, “Mouth of the Greyfloods.” He recognized the simple six-pointed star on the metal: the symbol of the Rangers of the North. He looked up at the thrush fluttering away into the sky. His eyes then drifted back to the star.
“Must be Beravor, if I had to guess,” he muttered to himself. He climbed up onto the saddle and pat Lightfoot’s side. “Let us get going, my friend. We have important business to attend to, and it is surprisingly nothing to do with these Dunlendings.”
Lightfoot quickly trot down the hill. It did not take long for Eometh to spot Erkenbrand’s bright red shield and he guided his horse towards it.
“My lord Erkenbrand! I need to speak to you!” Eometh called out to Erkenbrand who stood before a couple of other men. Eometh quickly dismounted and walked Lightfoot by the reins up to Erkenbrand. The Lord was finishing giving a couple of orders to the two men before him who then quickly rushed off.
“Important news, Eometh?” Erkenbrand inquired as he turned around, standing as straight as he could. Even then, his tired appearance was evident, the battle having taken its toll on the lord as well.
“I received a message that I must attend to, from a Ranger of the North,” Eometh said. “I believe it is from Beravor.” Eometh offered the message to Erkenbrand. The Lord took it and glanced over it for a minute before looking back up at Eometh.
“I remember you mentioning your history with this ranger, but this is a grave time to depart. There are many Dunlendings left and this battle cost us five more riders. I can’t afford to lose another one.” said Erkenbrand.
“I know, my lord,” Eometh replied. “But, if she has sent me this message, then I believe the news is important for many others, not just myself. She has only helped the Riddermark in the past.” Eometh said, shifting on his feet, his legs aching from standing for so long.
Erkenbrand considered his words. “You are right, my friend. Take what supplies you need and depart as soon as you are ready. It is best you leave at once and be gone from Dunland before the Dunlendings seek revenge on us. When you finish your journey, return to the Mark, and I advise avoid crossing Dunland.”
“Thank you, my lord; I shall see you on my return.” Eometh said as he began to turn back to Lightfoot.
“Also, Eometh, get yourself another spear before you leave. I noticed you might have broken the point after the third wildman.” Erkenbrand said with a chuckle.
“Of course, my lord.” Eometh laughed in return. Climbing up onto Lightfoot, he quickly set off. Erkenbrand was already being harassed by several more riders with questions and news of different supplies gained and lost as well as reports of movement from nearby Dunland villages.
Lightfoot slowly trotted through the destroyed Dunland village, taking care to step between the bodies lying across the field. After passing through the village, Eometh did not waste time to gather up some supplies from a couple of horses standing by several riders. The riders eagerly listened to the news Eometh offered as well as the details about his new journey to Greyfloods. A lot of the supplies had already been ransacked, but the riders generously offered what they could. Last of all, Eometh helped himself to a sturdy spear (with a sharp tip) and then bid his farewells to the men before climbing back onto Lightfoot and heading off.
The smell of burning wood and flesh from the battlefield was quickly replaced by the fresher scents of the rolling hills. The sound of a distant horn matching that of Erkenbrand’s black horn sounded in the distance. Eometh briefly wanted to return to his fellow riders, but he quickly rid himself of the idea. Lightfoot galloped at a steady pace. Eometh’s bones were still aching but the ache was duller now. The battle just hours earlier held little weight on his mind now. Instead, his thoughts were on Beravor and what news she could possibly have for him, or if the message was even from her. It very well might have come from another Ranger of the North.
The hills slowly began to give way to forest as Dunland fell behind them. The days passed quickly as they rode on. The peacefulness of being alone once more settled his mind, his only companion being his stubborn horse that seemed to hate everyone else but him. It seemed fitting to Eometh, considering he was alone with Lightfoot a lot.
The trees were scattered until they reached the river Greyfloods. They began to follow it towards its mouth. As they followed the embankment, the trees grew denser around them. The entanglement of the trees kept him on edge. As an Eorlingas, he was used to the open plains of the Riddermark. Lightfoot was in no better shape, nervous at his surroundings and hating the unevenness of the ground along the river. As bad as the river was, the horse hated the roots of the forest much more.
Finally, after weeks of travelling along the winding river through the forest, they reached Belegaer, the Great Sea. It was by a small decaying wooden building that he set up camp for the night. Eometh sat before the freshly kindled fire, relaxing by its warmth and glow. The salty breeze of the ocean blew gently between the trees. He shifted at the sound of a gentle knocking. Glancing upwards, he saw a thrush atop a nearby rock banging a snail shell against it. He recognized the bird by the small clasp on its leg, and the sound of his friend’s voice came a moment later.
– The move to the Greyfloods from Edoras is where Eometh ended there turn during the game. Thus ending the first turn, as well as their starting quest to drive back the Dunlendings and reach the Greyfloods. The next part to the story will be starting the second part.
– As always critiques, suggestions, and questions are all welcomed either through the comments below, the social media pages, or my email at email@example.com