4 Sulimé of the Year 3019 of the Third Age
According to the Steward's Reckoning
Just a few hours ago, my fingers thought they would never again taste the salty, blandness of parchment, or the feel of a quill in my hand. Heaven has smiled upon our plight and brought with the dawn salvation like no other.
Like the bright light of morning spilling across the plains of my beloved home, the wizard, Mithrandir, brought aid in the form of the son of Eomund, Eomer, and my brothers and the rest of the Rohirrim that is loyal to our king. They came just as we rode out and met our foes, felling them as we traversed down the breeching wall like the legendary gods of old, battling with honor and valor.
They washed over the orc army like a wave over the shore, though I have never seen the ocean or the shore. And we wrought out retribution upon them, bringing the taste of vengeance and black blood to our parched and tired lips.
The women held their own. A few orcs burst through at the last, but they were dealt with quickly by the wives, daughters and mothers of the soldiers that fought outside. Like true shieldmaidens of old.
I thank the gods that my sister and mother still live. Pellonae was one of the women who slew her share of orcs, pregnant belly and all. She must have known in her heart of her husband and brothers' deaths, and wanted revenge, for she cut off the head of one of the uruk hai and stuck in on a pike outside the caves, much to the joy of the women.
I fear, though, that surviving this battle means that we will have to survive a war. I see the looks in the faces of my people. We have all lost someone, a relative or friend. We all grieve in our hearts and nurse a black hatred and anger toward those how have wreaked such a terrible massacre upon our nation.
We shall have to fight, but we are ready. May we survive more combat if it is given to us, and may we never forget the glorious dead. They live forever in this place, and will never be forgotten.
Gods' blessings upon you,
Penath son of Penar of the Rohirrim
According to the Steward's Reckoning
Just a few hours ago, my fingers thought they would never again taste the salty, blandness of parchment, or the feel of a quill in my hand. Heaven has smiled upon our plight and brought with the dawn salvation like no other.
Like the bright light of morning spilling across the plains of my beloved home, the wizard, Mithrandir, brought aid in the form of the son of Eomund, Eomer, and my brothers and the rest of the Rohirrim that is loyal to our king. They came just as we rode out and met our foes, felling them as we traversed down the breeching wall like the legendary gods of old, battling with honor and valor.
They washed over the orc army like a wave over the shore, though I have never seen the ocean or the shore. And we wrought out retribution upon them, bringing the taste of vengeance and black blood to our parched and tired lips.
The women held their own. A few orcs burst through at the last, but they were dealt with quickly by the wives, daughters and mothers of the soldiers that fought outside. Like true shieldmaidens of old.
I thank the gods that my sister and mother still live. Pellonae was one of the women who slew her share of orcs, pregnant belly and all. She must have known in her heart of her husband and brothers' deaths, and wanted revenge, for she cut off the head of one of the uruk hai and stuck in on a pike outside the caves, much to the joy of the women.
I fear, though, that surviving this battle means that we will have to survive a war. I see the looks in the faces of my people. We have all lost someone, a relative or friend. We all grieve in our hearts and nurse a black hatred and anger toward those how have wreaked such a terrible massacre upon our nation.
We shall have to fight, but we are ready. May we survive more combat if it is given to us, and may we never forget the glorious dead. They live forever in this place, and will never be forgotten.
Gods' blessings upon you,
Penath son of Penar of the Rohirrim