Camp at Morva Torch, October 6, 1347

Written by Angmar

Jarl Broggha had ordered a great feast be held in honor of the dignitaries from the North who were visiting the camp. Fires had been built in the clay earthen ovens the night before, and the Jarl's thralls had been occupied at their task of baking bread since before dawn. Kettles of stew were bubbling over fires; deer, squirrel, boar and ox were roasting on great spits throughout the camp. The smell of cooking meat blended with the smell of mead, ale, unwashed bodies and the dungpits. Though some of the men had already partaken of too much brew, the Jarl insisted upon order in his camp, and rowdies found that justice was administered all too quickly.

The Jarl and his guests had been in conference in his long house for hours while the whole camp celebrated their arrival. The building was heavily guarded at both the front and rear entrances, for the Jarl had given orders that he was not to be disturbed while discussions were in progress.

The Jarl was addressing a distinguished looking man, taller even than himself, who sat across the table from him. The table, the chairs, and almost every object in the room had once belonged to an unfortunate landholder of Rhudaur, who had since ceased having a need for such things. Though clad in traveling clothing, the visitors' dress was far richer than that of the Jarl's. The tall man was quietly listening to the Jarl's words.

"The King will soon have naught to fear, for when Rhudaur is in my hands, it is also in his." When Broggha spoke, he was fond of using wide, sweeping gestures of his hands to emphasize the importance of what he was saying, and his hands sometimes were more eloquent than his speech.

"The tributes that have been sent to the capital have been quite ample. The King was especially pleased with the quantity of plate and jewels, the fine horses, seed grains, and other tokens of your alliance. He values the continued friendship that is shared between himself and you. You have his promise of support should need arise."

"There will be a great deal more of goods, I promise him! The lords of this land are ripe for the plucking, with plenty to provide for the levies and to pay my men." Broggha was waving his right arm in an extravagant fashion to emphasize the promise of the future. "The king of Rhudaur is weak; he fears me and my growing power and influence. He has sent emissaries to me offering me whatever position I wish to accept in his kingdom."

"And have you accepted?" the other man asked quietly.

"Aye, I have." The Jarl's hands stopped beating the air and he took a drink from his goblet. Though he had long been in league with the Northern King, he would let his liege's underlings wait for the announcement of what position he would hold in the Rhuduarian kingdom.

"And what is this position?"

"Besides my own castle, which is quite large and rather grand, I might tell you, I have accepted the position as chief advisor on the Privy Council."

"A commendable appointment," the other man nodded.

"Nothing more than an attempt to purchase time and try to buy me off. The fool does not know that I want much more - his kingdom and his daughter's hand in marriage!"

"Jarl Broggha, you have grown to be quite a powerful man." The other man's eyes glittered as they narrowed. "When Rhudaur is in your grasp and the land is divided, the name of Broggha will be remembered forever."

Sounds of revelry in the camp had reached a fevered pitch with the sounds of loud shouting and cursing mingled with the screams and giggles of the female thralls. In the long house built of logs that served as Broggha's headquarters, eight of his lieutenants lay sprawled and drunken, their heads upon the table. Several had slid beneath the table and were snoring peacefully with the hounds.

Holding his dagger in his hand, Broggha speared a chunk of cold mutton on the tip and plopped the meat into his mouth. His hunger still unabated, he reached a mighty hand into a platter of cold roast beef and began tearing off chunks. Washing it all down with a swallow of ale, he wiped his mouth off on the back of his hand and loudly belched twice.

Broggha smiled as he thought of the generous promises of Carn Dum. There would be aid should he need it - but Broggha was more than certain that his own men could carry his plans off quite well. The important guarantee concerned the orcs. Those brutes would increase their harassment on the holds of those accursed Dunedain nobles who were loyal to King Tarnendur but would stay clear of Broggha's people.

Broggha thought ahead for a few days hence when he and a great contingent of his men would march in triumphal procession through the streets of Cameth Brin. There would be many other of his men who would be cheering along his victory route. Their purpose would be both to add their voices to the exultant crowds and to make certain that no foolish Dunedain would get the idea to try to assassinate Broggha.

People were always awed with parades and show, but Broggha cared little of the affectations of people. His interests lay in the impression that his great force would make upon the king and his nobles. Broggha was now a force with which to be reckoned.

The hour was growing late and he called to the thralls to put more wood in the brazier. Broggha took another draught from his tankard, belched and stood to his towering height beside his chair. Gathering his fur robe around his shoulders, he shouted to Aewen and Maleneth, "Filthy Tark slatterns! The night will be cold! Come and warm my bed!"

Maleneth was able to hide the surge of resentment in her eyes, but Aewen, who was younger, could not conceal her indignity.

"Come here, wench," Broggha bellowed as he threw her across his shoulder and carried her off to the raised platform and his furs.

October 6, 1347 - a few leagues north of Broggha's Camp

Written by Valandil

Eryndil sat on the fallen tree, rubbing his chin reflectively at this latest bit of news.

His last orders had been to shadow Broggha's advance as far as Penmorva, reporting anything out of the ordinary, and then to seek what winter quarters suited them.

Keeping an eye on Broggha's enormous company had been an easy task. Even when his scouts started snooping around close by, it was no trouble to slip away. Easy enough to get lost in THESE hills. And these particular hills... he had known them from boyhood. "Eryndil" he had been named at birth, and as the 3rd son of a Thane, he had lived up to being a "forest-friend" from his earliest days - while his older brothers had more serious duties of learning to run their father's estate. And now... at 40, after 15 years in the King's service, men called him "Taurenol" - "wood-wise" for few could equal him in the wilds.

It had been easy enough to continue the chase a little past Penmorva. He wondered why Broggha had set up his camp - and how long he would stay - and why he didn't just march on down to Cameth Brin now - before winter began to set in.

He looked at the faces of his patrol - the 12 men under his command - all first-termers. Nine were from families of Householders - seven from his father's own lands. All of these nine were pretty good woodsmen. The three "city-boys" were learning well enough. Another year or two and they could hold their own, perhaps. Four of his men - three of those from the country, including the two brothers - were sons of soldiers. Eryndil's own father had done little soldiering himself - but Eryndil felt like he was making up for it.

This latest news though... first the young couple headed toward Morva - where that scraggly bunch of probable Arthedain deserters was. And now, the riders coming in from the north - headed in the direction of Broggha's camp. Who were THEY? And did they intend to ride to Broggha, or were they seeking Cameth Brin, unaware of the great camp of men in their path?

The wind whipped up, and he thought of winter once more. This close to his father's estate... that might be a good place to settle in for winter this year. He thought of his younger sister, whom he hadn't seen in 5 years now. And his father, mother... everyone else! Most of the other men could spend the Yule with their own families, and they could always keep 3 or 4 out afield, yet within a winter day's hike of reach.

It would sure beat another winter in the Ettenmoors, by Eru!

But before they made good on any winter plans, Eryndil decided to check into these latest developments.

"Let's go!" he said to his men, standing and turning toward where the new reports had come from, keeping to the shadows of wood and stone.